Dead leaves lay upon my lawn
Barren trees from Autumns dawn
I look outside at what went on
Another Summer come and gone
Gloomy skies of cloudy gray
Aching bones from falling rain
Discontent with seasons change
I think I'll stay inside today
Turn the thermostat on high
Ok, maybe sixty five
Just enough to stay alive
And somehow, maybe, just survive
Water drips from houses eaves
Inundating fallen leaves
Has me longing for reprieve
From up and coming Winter siege
Rockman
Spring arrest my soul.
Confine my fantasy to reality.
Imprison my frivolous nature.
Fill my joy with thy beauty.
Singing chirps flutter the treetops.
Critter-chatter wafts upon the breeze.
Life surges; colors emerge…laughing.
Cold returns for a day…teasing.
Hens sit upon their clutch.
Roosters banter in the barnyard.
Suckling young thrive in warmth.
Newness arrives…pleasing.
Delight me with delicious scents.
Invigorate my longing senses.
Warm my waiting spirit.
Welcoming a renewed earth.
© March 23, 2012
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Entered in Poetry Soup Member Contest: Spring~ Any poem about SPRING~ (new or old)
Out my window
The brown rusty quail
Sings on the lawn
Looking for a friend
Finding a tasty meal
Beckons and calls the night
Shadows disappear as grey
Becomes darkness
Reminding me of the beauty
Blessings pouring out
To this longing heart
Weeping willow 'lone
Hummingbirds refuse to land
On its longing dew
The meadow flowers growing ever green,
as winds do rush the hill and blow new seed.
Within fall brush the feral pair conjoin,
their tiny hearts do pulse a starting life.
A youth of opposite seizes a straggler’s eye,
no glaring or long courtship will they need,
nor is there a need to consult mom or dad,
for the paw or wing that attracts the gaze.
Young hands touch while longing bright eyes embrace,
with stares piercing deep into callow souls.
An empty-silent-heart, pounds so vibrant,
against hollow-beating-resonant walls.
An implosion will soon erupt desire,
releasing veins filled with flowing hot blood.
The kiss upon sweet lips seals to bind hearts,
in an enchanting-mesmerizing hold.
Unlike the wild, ravenous, spicy love,
the man is somewhat more tender and tame;
however, wild-spicy comes much later
when years of wedded bliss has been proclaimed.
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Gently flowing like a breeze
Trickling water so carefree
Not raging as a river flows
Just peacefully along it goes
Aimlessly drifting this tiny brook
Flowing softly through every nook
Not having a specific destination
Just longing for some appreciation
Passing through a forest of trees
Wildflowers and fallen leaves
Until at last it eventually meets
A mighty flowing stream or a creek
Copyright © 2010 Lena “Lolita” Townsend
*For Brian’s “Flow, River, Flow” contest
Bottled up verses
Longing to be free from lungs
sore throat closes shut
Sad sounds young apart
From mother longing empty
Joy when united
I remember the first day we met
In the morning dew soft and wet
The mist of love upon your breath
And you blushing like Negril sunset
I remember your flared dress
Your perfect beauty and loveliness
May tongue longing for your breast
Engorged globes of happiness.
My father caught me open mouthed
Just when honey visions sprouted
Honeysuckle was the word he qouted
While the butterflies there floated
But I heard before men called you
Morning glory, passion red and new
I touched your petallous lips and knew
My heart would always belong to you.
Pouring down its torrents of warmth
I look up to behove this splendid sight
Beaming love and happiness on all around
Earth drenching its goodness into the ground
Each flower peeps out its sensual soul
Slowly soaking in this serene whole
Each amphibian basking in delirious abandon
Coveting each moment in secret longing
Avarice and greed, facetious noneties
All hold back and surrenders in peace
As I deliciously embrace this soul from above
Filled with wholesome and pure sublime love
Sauntering through this intimate slumber
Barefoot and unabashed I inhale this wonder
You can almost hear the funeral procession
of leaves drifting lowly to earth, symphonic
children’s laughter bounces off crispy tips
rain completing its wash; lost
wet clothes saturated with a day
that will enter history.
Softness of winter foretelling a story
the one washed down storm drains
wrapped in black tied laundry bags,
suitable for the shedding skin of trees.
Swirling wind tosses the pile of dry bones
nature, a chef mixing a salad
water the dressing-- children the tongs;
lunging through piles as if waltzing
without mirrors.
Time, a rake with bony fingers
scraping delicately across
an earthen scalp. Longing
for new birth, sprout your wings
lullaby the past.
Lost within reason
singing without words
wrapping around
the rusty rake
propped lazily
across a skeleton fence.
If we face the east, can the west capture thoughts
a limp wristed boomerang never returning expectations?