Shocks more than it ought
Face, cordial, lit.
Darker, for what now looms up
More in fear of it
Way of the stranger. Paved. Cracked!
Home to shop's. Too long!
Once for such, a pleasanter
World-age moved along.
Oh for the days the Sun did shine
To feel a warmth upon my face
It brings a smile to everyone
In Winter time our worlds a desolate place
The Clouds rush by and rain doth bring
Or even a Snowy glistening glow
A slippery surface under foot
With a severe coldness well in tow
But as Spring approaches so does the Sun
It’s a bit brighter and warmer now
A much more pleasanter place to be
It brings a much better feeling somehow
Our seasons bring special Joy
Whether it be Winter Spring Summer or Fall
Each brings it own unique story to tell
A wonderment to us all
The mind’s eye sees more wondrous joy
Each time of year will bring
In springtime it brings out the best
It’s a joy to hear Birds Sing
In Summer its a nice warm glow
Makes us all as happy can be
In Autumn the trees all shed their leaves
Sadly dying off until another time
And in Winter its cold and miserable
Though sometimes the Snow can look sublime
This world of ours is a wondrous place
God gave us to enjoy
I have loved it all my life
Be it as a man or little boy
Methinks all antediluvian Love was
Whiter than snows atop higher tors;
And with more troth dudes did kiss
Purer maidens for pleasanter bliss.
I deem Art shortly after Noah’s Ark
To have been of better-spun spark;
And bards of far more sublime quill
Did indite with stouter metered skill.
Niftier lines which Columbus hymned,
On virgin voyages to terrains deemed
By soil-tilling mortals uninhabited yet;
Such ditties do dim both fear and fret.
Tighter Calvary Faith as Bunyans
Prisoners fell in Hades' vile plans,
Wet-toweling martyrs' spirits bold,
Felt saltier with truer saints of old.
Daintier Oratory and Polemics alike
Did with indeed finer Lincolns spike;
Notches less finessed minions today,
Such steadily sorrier contrasts betray.
It’s December. And bold
Blackberry is young. All freeze nothing a poet can do.
What a winter's palette
Spread out of mercy
Ah, holidays! How sharply
Hearts can bite
With color gray and wave
And evening pregnant with stars
Here and there a dared bloom
In wild-geese high from above, the seasons
Come. Tomorrow
The pleasanter will gentle beam.
And an old year will be gone.
Spring, like autumn, brings
Changes to the air;
Cold stil bites one sharply,
But pleasanter and clear.
No regard 'ny more
For chill nipping frost,
Such things come to nothing
'Fore flowers and are lost.
The days arise 'neath
A cerulean sky,
Old southern winds die with
A voluntary sigh.
And a lark lingers
Where black clouds once were,
Rejoicing with every
Wing-beat the springtime stir.
If poets were a color
Would all of them be blue?
And wouldn't it be pleasanter
To write in brighter hue?
Some poets might be somber shades
And write in dullest grey.
I choose to be a happy pink
To drive the blues away.
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