I am in a cold and empty house.
It is an English summer, not too warm.
From a window I can see the garden,
it is a cottage garden,
vegetables and flowers
coexisting in a colorful niche of heaven.
The house seems to lean toward the sun,
yet no rays penetrate its gloom.
From room to room
there are nothing but sleeping ghosts.
The wraiths do not walk or talk,
but recline and loiter,
as if death took them
as they meditated on life.
The garden flourishes,
only the onions dream,
musing upon their circular and layered
existence
as bugs nibble their roots.
The Temperate Month of May
Season of renewal and showers
Boasts trees of leaves and blossoming flowers,
Opening up green, yellow, and red
For warbler perch and honeybee spread.
Amorous advances by trill sing
And enticing blooms beckon, “Come drink!”
There in the meadow where sun rays beam
And in the thickets down by the stream.
Rain livens the arisen spirit
To conduct the ensemble lyric
Of the traditional spring display
In the temperate month of May.
“Bravo!” I cheer from under the umbrella
As audience to nature’s phenomena.
The Temperate Climes
the temperate climes arriving soon
taking possession of what will be hewn
as untrimmed flora will be heaven bound
with new seeds of love the earth will be crowned
rain from the skies will bless holy ground
to lease for awhile and wait while they’re housed
natures complexion is no longer roused
the flowers and plants conjoing as one
continuing life as once there was none
the bracts are mature and forming a bud
the color of gold released from the mud
and bright is the beauty that rests in the shade
and I compare thee as creation made
the external beauty for all to see
a daisy enhanced awaiting a bee
Summers Day Redo Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Michelle Faulkner
July 31, 2019
in our temperate dimension
brimfull of flesh humour
life's grand arena
we're all made
champions of Nod
with laurel wreaths of
hot wire and gristle,
with gilded medallions hung
on faded ribbon,
bent when bitten,
signifying nothing,
echoing hollow cries
of fickle crowds that don't give a damn
huzzahs sharp with only a blood thirst,
we shred,
we claw,
we saw all the bones,
crazy for the marrow,
sprinkle a scalp with love or not,
marinate with greedy benedictions,
basted in the eyes of grinning gods,
with just a jigger
of black hate and conviction
anyone can feast like horselords
racing hot winds on the plain
zealot riders of a crimson sage
in their longhouses darkly lie
gorging upon
flesh of ourselves
sizzle crack'd on spits
turned slowly
by shrouded imps
grinning,
ghastly grinning
at the joke
that no one gets...
Impermanence blows,
Analysis of summer,
For crystal clear snow.
In spring the sun shines brightly
after the wind has blown
away the clouds
Bright flowers bloom
Let's take a walk by
the stream
A peaceful day
Bright eyed squirrels rush by
Overhead a red robin
is flying home
Ah,the joys of spring!
But now we are nearing winter
a light snowfall signals
the beginning of harsher weather
Winter does have its joys
Holidays - and the beauty of snow
In a temperate climate
One can take joy in the
change of seasons
Feel happiness
in the special aspects
of each of the four seasons
Lie on rock
Think of feathers
While this cave keeps me sheltered
I’ve slept like any man
Crawling through dreams
As bones curl
Round, like limp branches
On an empty willow.
And hair dampens in our quiet cellar
Or like an old rope, lost in trampled mud.
Pale skin, creased and folded,
Folding over.
Murmured withdrawals
As the face drips down,
Down, to where the fleas feed on inviting fingers.
But I’ve tossed and turned
And tussled with my thoughts
To wake screaming in unfamiliar rooms.
Dusk to dawn,
The smell of a burning nest,
Yet I lay still on a crushed pillow
Waiting for something and nothing
As the outside claws at the half open windows.
And the birds seem to sound like sirens.
Temperate tongues mingle and press,
And i cant lick without tasting sweet,
My tongue glides up your leg but not past your dress.
The power of unhealing emptiness needing to be stuffed seems to cross your feet.
Endurance is where my tongue doesn't get tired of tasting,
And like good wear I'm Everlasting,
Kegels will not help you with this problem your facing.
I'm consuming your every drop and my lips aren't the only ones that's smacking.
The flavor is so light not pungent yet full,
Yet I'm tonguing like I'm digging,
In the crevices of your vessel forms a pool.
And slippery when wet is an understatement when I'm giving.
Early snacks are always followed,
And while you accidentally play with your food i stare,
Desert topped so delicately with cream gets swallowed.
And as you lay panting, gentle gestures with my fingers in your hair.
A man who has rule over his spirit
Is better than a temperate hero;
The little seed of the meek grows every season
But the mighty barn of the fiery man burns to zero.
A little pinch on a temperate man
Make him burn from morning till night ,
Even when he doents speak, in his mind
He is vibrating with vigor and all his might.
He might be your friend, that’s not bad
Just learn to appreciate his weakness,
All he done to you might make you sad
But a prayer for meekness might clear his mess.
A man who cannot rule his passion
Is like a leaves tossed by the whirlwind
Do not dwell in his beautiful mansion
For he might pull it down with his fiery wind-
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