“Neither desire nor aversion
Meditation our immersion
Conditioned beliefs discarded
Hymns we hum are our own version”
After rain, the burnt paddock smells of iron.
Rusted wire hums along the boundary,
teaching the grass its old obedience.
All my life, I mistook such lines
for safety.
I do not have to follow.
My mind is a dry, hot wind
stirring the ash;
a frantic moth beating
against the unyielding wire.
It is the sudden clawing of a frightened animal,
the bitter, ancient lure of being right,
the tide that pulls the old hymns from my throat.
I do not have to follow.
Instead, cold rain enters the ash-dark soil.
The run-off clears, stripping the blackened crust
until desire and aversion
loosen their old grip.
A single grey thrush resumes its quiet call,
and what was rigid loosens into breath,
unbound from the boundary I carried within.
I do not have to follow.
I walk away from the rusted wire,
humming no song I was given—
only the rain’s small rhythm
finding its way through me.
Grey-green waves are crashing;
Cold south winds whip through the twisted coastal tea-trees—
foam lashing.
Dune grasses sigh;
bare beaches cool under grey skies,
sea high.
Kelp drifts;
tide pulling free—
still.
Grey-green waves are crashing;
bare beaches cool under grey skies,
still.
I got used to everyday feeling good
I ran out of words in my book
Then the book started to burn
And new pages started to turn
Scrambling, I tried to reverse
But I couldn't stop the adverse
Days turned into night
No sun was in sight
My chest felt tight again
Just when my pain was at an end
Life takes a different trend
All the fireflies of the town
Have gathered in front of
The Town Hall.
Being mere sources of light
Not worm
Nor life.
Mere sources of light -
The way sometimes
Humans become
Mere genitals.
I can't look at their light
Are they brighter than the Sun?
I can look straight into
The sun, Day and Night.
Still, I can't look at
The Fireflies
Like the people who
Look at the genitals
Can never look at
The Eyes.
Autumn weeps green cascades,
bone chilled usher omen for blazing trail of hues,
as mint fades
fall colours bloom,
singed red, golden flare, plum purple,
bright plume
sharp cold,
warm spells breed tints
bold
Autumn weeps green cascades,
singed red, golden flare, plum purple,
bold
As the Seasons Change
Winter comes with signs as the trees grow bare
God's creatures huddle under a blanket of gold
Yet the pines stand well dressed without a care
Autumn comes with her breath so cold
And winter follows suit, it's true
The summer green fades to gold in these days
As nature waits for spring to blossom anew
While the passing of the seasons change our ways
When that cold winter comes
and the chilly wind does blow
best stay indoors
as it's freezing down below
but enquiring minds need to know
who ploughs the roads
so the snowplough man can drive to work
and plough the snow?
rain
books
silence
between pages
the quiet weather
the mind hears its own thoughts falling
September is busting out all over,
leaves with pretty colors,
fill the cool air.
A new sweater for the cool morning air,
will keep me warm as I pick up pretty leaves over and over.
I love the red and orange colors.
Birds of many colors,
are singing as they are flying through the air,
they keep going to the bird feeder many times over.
September will be over with new colors to fill the winter's air.
The hottest streak of days I've ever known;
Enough rays to heat up both dust and stones.
Heat hangs low beneath the dry clouds.
She smiles and waves continualy and loud.
The nights cool but just a bit.
Much gratitude is offered for it.
Officially, Autumn's just a few days away.
Perhaps she will bring us much cooler days.
Until the next season breaks heated waves,
We'll keep cool and try to be well behaved.
Mare's tales aloft, I'm feelin' soft
Feelin' as wispy as what's blowin' cross
They come and they go, like all of these states
This will blow over if I will just wait
The autumn wind of fourteen-
ninety- nine
Blew over Basel in a crisp, sharp
line,
Where Swabian battles found their
silent close,
And from the ash, a sovereign
peace arose.
On twenty-second days of that
September chill,
The ink was dried, the clashing
swords were still.
The Holy Empire loosed its ancient
hold,
As Swiss resolve was etched in lines
of gold.
The treaties signed, the mountain
cantons free,
To chart their course of armed
neutrality.
While far away, across the shifting
deep,
Old empires woke from centuries of
sleep.
The month drew closed, the
modern world awake,
With every bond the Swiss had
dared to break.
A second half of autumn, fierce and
grand,
That drew the borders of a fearless
land.
I step outside as the day thins beyond the balcony,
noticing how the wind nudges the empty ,chairs,
and how the last warmth fades from our cups.
A sparrow startles somewhere beyond the balcony,
its small flutter drifting between the chairs,
as if it, too, recalled the hands that once lifted these cups.
I breathe in that faint sweetness hovering near the balcony,
thinking of the conversations that lived inside these chairs,
the way morning warmth once rose from our cups.
Evening drifts onto the balcony, touching the stillness of the chairs and glancing off the cups.
The babysitter across the hallway
lit a candle during the blackout.
Soft music played in the apartment
I checked on their place
to see the toddler asleep on the couch,
the parents away on a date.
A soft glow shared.
We left our doors open
to keep an eye on each other.
Dusk swept over a line, apartments
at the edge of town. We were left
to the resonance of our silence.
A line of residences
along the street rested
on a Sunday night.
Just beyond a line of trees
a creek took in what the rain had left.
Stars to the west hid somewhere beyond.
And if you have nothing to say
Except what is strictly necessary
What are the points that you may
Be fed up with, so measurelessly
It could be the war you are taxed with
Or the regular fiddling with apps
Are you not a robot, they ask you
You probably are, under wraps
Or maybe it could be the weather
Repeatable orange alerts
A wind that’s too warm for the leather
But cold for the cotton t-shirts
And everything looks plainly evident
Spins like the merry-go-round
You know fairly well what’s been said
You don’t need to echo that sound
May speakers apply to the air
In tireless wondering why
A few withered leaves over there
Drop down the expected reply..
Weather Categories
Definition | What is Weather in Poetry?
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Related Poetry Forms
climate, elements, clime, withstand, resist, survive, surmount, suffer, overcome, brave, season, expose, acclimate, harden, stand, toughen, come through, pull through, get through, ride out, bear the brunt of, bear up against, become toughened, grow hardened, grow strong, make it, rise above, stick it out,