Summer Ode Poems

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I love how the wild rose
doesn't take direction
it takes charge in summer

it blooms in generous abundance
permeating the air with its perfume
for passersby rich or homeless

the...

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I grew up surrounded by bright flowers,
my mom had a pretty cottage garden;
of vibrant blooms going on all summer,
my favorite was the Painted Daisy!
With lovely...

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“Of all flowers, methinks a rose is best.” – William Shakespeare, The Two Noble Kinsmen

Sweet Rose, for ages you have blessed the human race
with your...

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Behold, the lonesome lake amidst the evergreen woods. 
'Tis drifting in the quietness of wondrous solitude, 
Upon the visage of languid silvery hue, 
The earthly...

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The world awaits with bated breath
pause, listen and most all feel
there it is, a deep sense drumming
in the back ground coming to life.

we all feel...

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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves...

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Spontaneous,
All caressing,
Wind,
That she has loved,
As much as a glass,
Of champagne,
In evenings splendor,
That has sighingly,
Caressed,
Her wild sweet laughter,
Her hairs golden tenderness,
Warm and chill winds,
That has caressed,
Her...

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Image by: Kimberlee Baxter
The nonpareil of a a violin plays late into a golden era
its "An Autumnal Farewell, by Debussy"

With magnificent beauty in dazzling colors...

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Gnats, fruitflies, midges, black flies
What do you call them?
I call them pests.
Unwelcome guests
I call them demons from hell.
They fly past my face.
They go for my...

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??
O thou whitish heaven's deity
Rowing on the waterways
Hellen of the birds in heaven
Heaven of the world of fays

In the foggy eves of winter
In the moonlit...

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Farewell, au revoir, goodbye, convivial summer. 
The day is late now, and the breeze is warmer. 
A vacant ocean-side barricaded motel. 
Wild geese are soon flying in lines...

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I still love you
Like I loved painting when I was eight
I still look at you 
Like I was seeing a puppy when I was nine
I...

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Winter February finalises, 
his tenure o'er, so oft unkind, 
let Winter withdraw with firm good-bye. 
Hence I eager look to milder clime. 
Comes March, thus...

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A soft rustle in the trees from the gentle
Winds blowing through.
Flowers produce pollen for the next
Flower on its way.
The smell of freshly cut grass.
Birds chirping...

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