Long Snows Poems
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In my row of bushes remains one rose
not wilted yet nearby the garden bed -
Last rose of fall in beautiful repose.
Roses tend to perish when chill wind blows.
Her sister roses vanished in her stead.
In my row of bushes remains one rose.
Her ruby petals still unfurled she shows
although long days of cozy warmth have fled.
Last rose of fall in beautiful repose!
Although each fall day swiftly comes and goes
and soon to winter Autumn shall be wed,
in my row of bushes remains one rose.
It rains a bit. Sometimes it even snows.
It seems as if this flower has no dread -
last rose of fall in beautiful repose.
It won’t be long now as the coldness grows
all blossoms everywhere here will be dead.
In my row of bushes remains one rose -
Last rose of fall in beautiful repose.
Nov. 16, 2022
For the Third-Person Villanelle Poetry Contest of L MILTON HANKINS
You have haunted the garden of my thoughts, unaware of the endless conversations,
About sea butterflies and flights mingled with white, forgetful snows.
I wove you into the celestial tapestries, you were my astral laboratory of dreams,
A solar vagabond returning from a dark night to caress the dawn once more.
In profound silence, I have tried to paint you on the stretched canvas of serenity,
With tones of fantasy, in my heart, the sanctuary of your barely visible halo.
And how often, wrapped in murmurs, you fell like a star into my open palms,
Bestowing upon me, from your astral trials, a warm and ephemeral embrace.
I called out to you, ah, secretly, in dreams whisper by whisper, to return from where you departed,
To rebirth hope in my far-off seasons, to rewrite the stories of the fallen leaves.
Among remnants of long-set autumns, you were the invitation to my new springs,
To give life to my wanderings among ruins, to drape your promising tomorrows over an ashen yesterday.
Yet you never knew, I never let the words swim freely towards your shore,
How sharp was the needle of longing that stitched my days with its invisible and heavy thread.
The sea tear filled the inner seas, reaching dry shores, salted by sighs,
Loaded with that innocent suffering that dissipated within, unseen by your eyes.
Its time to face the truth croons the singer on the radio and I die
Curling up in to a ball pulling my hair out and screaming
Because I know this to be true
I will be there again when it snows and snows
I will be there again if you call
I will be there again if you whisper out my name
In the eyes of my memories you're beautiful
In the breaths I stole with my camera you're beautiful
Across these lips that will never touch yours again you're beautiful
I thought I heard you call out my name tonight
But I knew you weren't home
In the cold under the city lights beneath the blanket of night
What if it was you I think now as I linger
But you weren't home
And still...
I wish I had turned around
To see you standing there in the gently falling snow
But I thought you weren't home
I have lost sleep tonight and I may never sleep again I fear
Because I don't know what to do
I don't know where to turn, where to go
So that I may, I might,
Dream of your smile and your eyes across my soul
You're so beautiful,
I let slip this pen from my fingers
Staining these last few lines I know it to be true
And I don't really care about that now
I will never be with you I know, I know...
And this is the truth I must learn to face
A local park i walked
Just the other day
Surrounded by nature
In the snow kids played
I felt a feeling of joy
In this incredible grounds
This park of beauty
In a modern concrete surround
Nature in standing
In her winter stage
All the beautiful plants
Withstanding her rage
She mellows with time
As the spring appears
The winter snows melt
Is it her sorrowful tears
The buds appear
Enriched with her sun
Her vistas of bloom
Have just begun
But around the corner
Another season awaits
The golden browns of autumn
Await their fate
In the local park i walked
Just the other day
Thinking of the marvels she brings
To us, every single day
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-7.php
As emotion's embolism petitions
a mirror sea for endless blue transparency-
through oculat lens flare, an albionic estuary
garden variety of pleasures appears, obligatiry-
in full disclosure, for poetic reason- to be vetted
by replay of open book read cover to cover.
A commercial grade bewitching -
in season- laid bare, to pardon a dare
Vespers of ancient psalm, timeless tale
of the re-awakened takes abionce as a Seer to come.
Where Eden-welcomes, home
to it's Shrangri la- Sangria- wetnursed bosom,
full- of the Mother's milk of Elysium.
In center-folded trappings beside firelight screenings,
beneath the fluttered kiss of frolicked summer heat,
heart mappings deriving
wind aided fireflies serenading,
in the silence of a seraphic breeze.
The heart suggests an accounting
of lost dreams as they vie for clemency
and doth softly cry verdant reprieve.
In the Goliath peer of mountain cleft,
overseeing the caress of foliage
begueathed to the canopy of emerald green,
sun dresses honey bee chaperones,
drunk in lily while
bestowing a still of radiant beam.
Crowning chance adds a touch of dandelion garland,
tendrils of sentiments worn on the sleeve,
becomes the first snows virgin fleece,
onlooking tears of starry night, light bending the knee,
peers through immodest canopy,
altar ego ghosting as
mist soaked silver valley's pheromone stair,
married with the encore of fading light laying polaroid down aware.
Amidst the ruins of a broken dream mending a solar flare of Valkycries,
the fragments speak of romantic math,
mosaic of future memories bellowed love leaves
lanterns of light ascending over calm seize.
Her Emissaries of the wind caressing her foliage with
the palms and
apothecaries drawn from a crystal song.
A symphony of nature's tender wails,
creates the plumlines of this Great Hall.
But in the quietude of night's soft glow,
Hope blooms like a rose in spring,
A promise of renewal, a whispered vow, places it all.
In a world where shadows dance in preservation ritual
of first snow's pose of
virgin purity. kept chaste as pasts echo of prose.
7. “Autumn leaves don’t fall; they fly. They take their time and wander on this, their only chance to soar.” Owens, Delia. Where the Crawdads Sing, Chapter 17: “Crossing the Threshold” (p. 124).
Somberness into existence is not a tumble.
Earth's ever-changing season mumbles.
Longing, pining, and scouring to leap, a sense free.
To beat, rupture of the endometrium of worry.
Find out how to tour this aesthetical orb.
Whatever you might protect is potherb.
Each step will pay off; Earth seems endless.
Maintain in mind her charming prowess.
Without mild radiation, stars would be ablaze.
The sparkle of your eyes makes you in a daze.
Shine bright, we made you for this world.
The zeal of fate, separate yourself from the herd.
It soars, snows, splashes, and seeks shelter.
Grasping beyond, setting up a binding welter.
Fall leaves were reflected on the bright floor.
Is it confined to a life of pain, as to explore?
Will the fall petals retain the bitterness of the shrub?
Was it chopped from moisture roots and snubs?
Are you rebelling over harsh conditions outside?
Or maybe the mood wasn't truly steady inside.
I identify dry autumn leaves with a restless soul.
How are the parts pulled out of the whole?
During leisurely walks. Integrate, and create a flow.
Awareness of the paradox of infinite glow.
Written: December 24, 2022
Feel Free Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick
In Georgia now, there's not much snow
At times strong winds do howling blow
In winter Sparrows on ground play
Red Cardinals join in fun some days
In winter plants rest do not grow
Once a blizzard stacked snow in rows
Winds, cold so inside with cup of joe
Unprepared for snow no horse_sleigh
In Georgia now
When it snows, things go very slow
The birds visit__ even young doe
Come to my door eat acorns stay
Squirrels and Chipmonks search for cache
That they hid_ softly buried away
In Georgia now
" I am sending you a gift of poetry,
dear heart."
For this was inspired by your poem.
"And, the snow is gently falling"..
This is for you, Constance...
Sara Kendrick
This life beholds a promise…night awaits
When frosted snows are memories of past
And charm of May adorns our garden gates,
While tending flowers, spring returns at last!
Dusk lingers on, the moon a brighter blue,
Emerald the grassland instead of hay
My journals toss , as August flares anew--
Yet I drain paper and ink by the shore.
For in summer , wrinkled hands uncover
Quaint pebbles, the campfire… all lusty days
to think about, as my stories hover:
A moment to thirst for breath’s passion, ablaze.
Though seasons unfurl their immortal dance
I’ll embrace old age , chasing time’s romance.
Written for My Muse, Mortal Contest ( Sonnet)
Sponsor: Gregory R Barden 6/25/2018
Sweet lady of my dreams
Enjoy my winterlude
Time has come
For us to slow the pace
Enjoy our embracing
Snowing outside
The cold is fierce
Fire’s warm
Hold my hand
Soft notes play
Its Braham's my sweet
Keep you safe
From the storm
Sweet sonata in blue
Winters slumber
Snows piled high
Animals hibernate
All is calm
My heart is true
Everlasting love
Always we have each other
Settle back close your eyes
Blizzard conditions
Safe inside
Your face so delicate
In the fire light
winter rages
I’ll keep you warm
With my lullaby.
Winterlude.
Rains,
Snows:
Heaven’s
Precious gifts.
They do not return
Without first watering the earth,
Yielding seeds for the sower and bread for the eater.
Likewise, the word of my mouth does not come back to me void, but achieves my purposes.
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To be clear, this is an adaptation of Isaiah 55:10-11 so that it will fit nicely into a fibonacci pattern, but is not my original thought. Here are the verses as written in the English Standard Version of the Bible:
10 “For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven
and do not return there but water the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
11 so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.