Does love ever die is the
question many of us ponder.
In this world of ours
Have you ever wondered
Where love goes when one
says that they don’t love you anymore.
Love doesn’t just disappear or
Vanish into the black of night
I think it just shifts into
A milder version of love
What is love if it is not
Caring about a person
Their well-being, or their health
Or their happiness.
There are many types of love,
Such as for your lover, your parents,
Your children, your family, your friends.
Love has many shapes and forms
Love at first can be all time consuming
Flowers, excitement, passion, sex
But through the years it metamorphosis
Due to busy lives and commitments
To where we think
Love has died, but in fact
True love never dies
Original poem by
Linda Franklin
My heart is made happy by so many different things!
What joy to see the majestic eagle soaring on plum'ed wings!
Or skeins of geese in autumn skies in perfect V formations,
Guided by The Master Compass to milder destinations!
My heart is made happy to see a child in sweet repose;
'Tis akin to viewing the morning dew upon a magnificent rose!
To stroll along a woodland path 'mongst trees that've shed their leaves of jade,
Now in autumn, wear splendid robes of bronze and scarlet, all by nature made!
I hear the water's hymn as it trickles o'er ancient stones in a nearby rill,
And hear the dulcet melodies of golden finches as they sweetly trill!
My heart is gladdened enjoying the fellowship of family and friends, so dear;
I marvel at the boundless beauty of God's handiwork on this vagabond sphere!
My happy heart is joyful for the privilege of living in this great nation!
These are just a few of the things that fill my happy heart with elation!
Wind sighs gently, breathing her smile through the leaves
Whispers of light flow with each word, so I’m blessed
Praising and praying with kind hearts love believes
Oaks, elms and maples writing memoirs I’ve guessed
Autumn has a grace that can’t be written gone
It is with my last breath, I’ll sing her love song
Though I love her ways, I sometimes kneel to pray
For those who cannot see past the forest’s gray
Wind weeps as the snowdrifts climb higher, wilder
Ice paths cross through the darkness of this season
Seems I’m grouchy, hope winter will be milder
Hate this weather, who feels lost, without reason
Living through winter, one of life’s greatest feats
As the sun swallows up the darkness she cheats
Leaving shy flakes surrounding me with night’s grief
I pray through the silence, met by one lone leaf
milder days and nights
more frequent pollen showers
newly built bird nests
Here is a poem requested on my Instagram account daisymeadows2023. Autumn was the topic chosen by bunnersgram.
AUTUMN GIRL FOREVER
I am an Autumn girl forever,
Autumn, I always wish to see,
Even in the milder weather.
The trees put on their Autumn clothes,
Bright orange and red flames on the leaves,
Golden yellow hues glows.
It's such a beautiful site.
There's whispers of the breeze gently blows,
The changing of the seasons,
Create such a beautiful show!
Astounding nature in Autumn,
So mesmerising to go and explore,
The days still warm enough and light nights
Days like these, I wish for more!
The beautiful colours of Autumn all around,
The wonderful hues of the leaves,
Conkers and acorns, I have found.
Whenever Autumn is upon us,
Stop for a minute and remember me,
I am the Autumn girl forever,
I will remain in Autumn,
Because that's where I want to be!
lamppost flickers soft
inviting a slumber deep
amidst taps of crystal mist.
outside, skyscape flaunts its view
to pinpoint evening , aglow...
lamppost flickers soft.
wrapped in quilt,
thoughts milder gently slip by
inviting a slumber deep.
chants this nocturne
where lullabies hover low
amidst taps of crystal mist.
When will it be that it’s my time to go?
I see all the signs in the air.
Must I wait through storms til there’s nothing but snow,
or is there a milder path there?
When I was young, I never spent time
nor took any thought just to sit by and think.
I guess there was no need when weather was fine,
but seasons have passed in a blink.
But somehow there’s comfort here watching leaves fall,
though they be the last on the tree.
For I had the chance to experience it all.
May winter’s snow soon set me free.
The last snow of winter
blown by the wind
bares the gray
of branches to the sun
pregnant with buds.
Is it spring?
Testing spring
torpid from the winter
sleepy tiny buds
hesitant of the wind
search for the sun
between stalks of gray
A flash of red among the gray
a robin singing spring
drinking the sun
snow melt of winter
unfettered by the wind
shaking the buds
Softens around the buds
warmed by the sun
the frozen clay of winter
helped by the gray
showering clouds of spring
and milder wind
With gentler wind
and warming sun
the colors of spring
unfold in the opening buds
after the long gray
days of winter
Good-bye winter winds
Gray days without sun
Hello new buds of festive spring
Spring has long taken off
its Bermuda shorts.
Hawaiian shirts are left
on tree-lines to fade
under a red-faced sun.
If there are worms in the dry earth
the Robins cannot reach them,
and now scramble after
bugs on baking walls.
No one complains
except the English
and polar bears.
Hardship in America
is just called climate.
In Gentlemen's Clubs
strippers
have turned-off the stage lights,
sweat flop
cannot hold a slippery dollar.
Motel ice-machines
have succumbed to heatstroke
and only dispense
a crunchy tepid drool.
Global warmers pant
for cold beers.
Armageddon is near,
but in pats of Alaska,
summer
is just called
a milder shade of winter.
I used to claim, I'm just getting old til
a friend said, "no, seasoned", with a gentle scold.
It does sound better. I must admit, but am still
pondering which spices fit?
Was I seasoned by the sea with its salty air?
Am I spiced by my anger which at times flares?
Was I peppered by my individual journey, and all
of those people who influenced me?
Are those milder spices acquired with time, like
a touch of coriander, or a pinch of thyme?
I'm hoping to acquire a taste for sage as I
could certainly use some at this ripe old age.
Something is missing from our winter days
which seem irregular from former years.
This is mysterious in many ways-
although convenient, winter has changed gears!
Here in our Hudson Valley, New York State,
scant dustings of light snow we've seen to date!
No ice on ponds where country folk could skate!
The temps each day are warmer than before-
buds waking up! Such fair clime can't ignore!
A milder winter- should we ask for more?
But wait! Our March is gearing up her phase!
Will she make up for what's kept in arrears?
Should we stand by for blizzards at her gate?
Let's see what fickle March will have in store!
February 23, 2023
Premiere Contest: Fragmented Rhyme
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Checked With RZ and HMS
It is gratifying that,
Words still have simpler forms,
And feelings still have milder versions.
That seasons still change,
And I get to soak up the sun everyday.
How I know,things most don't,
And jauntily skip the world that don't recognize me.
How I can love,
And know my heart's bigger,
my sky's bigger,
my smile's bigger,
Than those petty bundles of flesh and bones will ever know
The world for me isn't just a place,
It's a mother's love,
A young girl's dreams,
A dead man's wish to be reminisced,
Sweet summer breeze,
A bouquet of tulips,
A child's curiosity,
Not merely a story,an allegory.
It is gratifying that,
Words still have simpler forms,
And feelings still have milder versions.
That seasons still change,
And I get to soak up the sun everyday.
How I know,things most don't,
And jauntily skip the world that don't recognize me.
How I can love,
And know my heart's bigger,
my sky's bigger,
my smile's bigger,
Than those petty bundles of flesh and bones will ever know
The world for me isn't just a place,
It's a mother's love,
A young girl's dreams,
A dead man's wish to be reminisced,
Sweet summer breeze,
A bouquet of tulips,
A child's curiosity,
Not merely a story,an allegory.
It is gratifying that,
Words still have simpler forms,
And feelings still have milder versions.
That seasons still change,
And I get to soak up the sun everyday.
How I know,things most don't,
And jauntily skip the world that don't recognize me.
How I can love,
And know my heart's bigger,
my sky's bigger,
my smile's bigger,
Than those petty bundles of flesh and bones will ever know
The world for me isn't just a place,
It's a mother's love,
A young girl's dreams,
A dead man's wish to be reminisced,
Sweet summer breeze,
A bouquet of tulips,
A child's curiosity,
Not merely a story,an allegory.
Goodbye fellow Poetry Soupers
It’s time to change my ways,
Time to adjust my life for the
Coming longer, milder days.
There are weeds to be pulled,
Seeds to be sown,
Hedges to be clipped,
Grass to be mown,
Walks to be walked,
Friends to be seen,
Places to be revisited,
New places I’ve not been.
Winter sloth is over
Time for life to get back underway
Time again to start achieving
My ten thousand steps a day.
Time to get back more
To the way things have been
Time to spend less hours
Before an Apple monitor screen.
So, goodbye fellow , Soupers,
I've really enjoyed my stay
But all things in time must end.
It's time for me to be on my way.
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