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Summer Fall

'As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away'
No matter how tightly i hung on
The Summer would not stay! ;
The Autumn came in heavily
Weighted by its dying leaves
Their burnished-russet just blew away
Taken by more than an Autumn breeze;
For it 'twas an icy-icy wind
That took my mother that day
'Twas but a thief in the November night
Blanketed in: Grief Stricken Clouds Of grey;

For my mother
Who shares a birthday with Emily Dickinson
Using: 'As imperceptibly as Grief the Summer lapsed away'
As my inspiration
This was an Emily Dickinson quote

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poem by Theodora Onken
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My Twighlight Time

'Cross the Green of yesteryear, tears~
Comes a gradual ripening of seed~
It cloisters itself, in the valleys deep~
Amongst the fertile sod, it feeds....

Encircled by a range of Mountains~
Frosted themselves, with past snow~
Left o'er icy topping's~
Shining now, in the Green May, We Know!

The snow has been there, a while~
Or at least, since November fourteen~
When the last, of premature snow fell~
Upon the Mountains and Valleys once Green!

November, now remembered, for its most icy womb~
While May, for the ice, melting itself away~
And an opening, to a Civilization Of Beauty~
As, the Seeds Of Goodness, They Bloom In Our Hearts Today!

poem by Theodora Onken
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The End Of Time (Terza Rima Sonnet)

I pray, although it's the end of the time,
The angel wakes up to flutter his wings.
Fluffing up the cloud's pillow, he's sublime.

Snowflakes are the angel's feathers, like springs.
They dance with the wind of change, in despair.
The sky glows pinky in the shades of things.

We're like icy trees screaming at the air,
With icy leaves and crystal hearts, we dream-
The crystals of wept tears in our prayer.

Within sky vastness is our bleeding scream,
Digging early graves in the war of crime,
While our thread of love weaves wounds for life's gleam.

I pray, although it's the end of the time,
Fluffing up the cloud's pillow, he's sublime.

poem by Marieta Maglas
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Autumn

The changing cycle of a seasonal swap
Farmers harvest there final crop
The warm light evenings slowly drift away
Vibrant colours perform a magical display
The winds cuts deep like razor wire
Leaves dance around like flames on fire
Cooler air draws in from the east
Animals forage for a needed snack
In preparation for long winters nap
The icy artic air starting to creep
Surviving leaves admit defeat
Emerald leaves carpet the ground
and vibrant textures yellow and brown
A flawless picture an inspiring view
Crispy mornings brings dancing dew
The naked trees stand in prevail
Will soon be part of a winters tale
The lake forms a blanket of icy glass
As autumn days will merely pass

poem by Nic Hillen
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Only as Winter

Beneath a blanket of frosty snow,
Silently sleeping below icy green,
Slowly swimming under black ice,
But only as winter did you know.

Such vibrant life awaits the spring
Bloom and sprout through this blustery cocoon
Slowly she tilts back to the light
Water begins to flow, and robins sing.

Slowly emerging from burrows below
Fighting to regain summer strength
To feed and dart through shadows upstream
But only as winter did you know.

Behind the scarf of icy winds
Squinting to see the light of day
Accepting winter only as a season
This too shall pass I say my friend.

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poem by Jack Dylan
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Seasons

Icy fingers of silver and blue
Make my aged body shiver and shake
I pray for springtime anew

Warm breezes release me from my frozen prison
Sunlight is a welcome radiant friend
Fragrant aromas arrise from the earth
And the skies fill with birds who ready for birth

Then the time for oppressive heat does arrive
Feels like hell but I am alive
Sweat pours from my body
Like a hydrant for fire

Soon leaves start to fall
Beauty surrounds me
In colors of red green and gold

But I start to shiver anew
Icy fingers of silver and blue

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poem by John Shea
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Love For Death

The cold warmth of darkness icy old kiss
as i drift away with his icy cold grip
hand stretch from beyond touch
not my heart or soul
but gaze on as i move along
for my sweetest tale
is the tale of death
embracing its warmth
as i stare into his bottomless eyes
i see his fears i see his life
a cast out like me
with none to lose and none to gain
no one to love
no one to help him when he screams in pain
he faced his sorrows alone
and now i must face mine
so when that guy in black comes for you
don't scream don't run but accept with open arms
cause that guy just might be me next time
as for midnight no longer do i care

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poem by Robert Roberts
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Convinced Me She is….

Is she an angel?
I asked the stars
They were dubious

The angelic smile,
The ruddy cheek and
Divine magnanimity
Convinced me she is…

Is she a glacier?
I asked the arctic mountains
They were too, dubious

The radiant beauty,
The well carved and
The blazon sculptured features
Convinced me she is…

Is she an icy mountain stream?
I asked the icy mountains

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poem by Nooruddeen Mathilakathveetil
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Changes

Can you hear it calling in the wind?
Winters chilling sigh?
Howling brisk icy waves
Over freezing days she cries;
Winter will soon leave her fingerprints
Everywhere in the snow
White noise will loom in the atmosphere
It's eerie silence shall grow;
Comes the world at a standstill
Perilous roads-difficult to drive
Sparrows bearing the icy lace
With the thaw they will survive! ;
Tree branches weighted heavy
With many a bough to break
It's a white frosted Mother Earth
Frozen pond-once a lake;
Resting or in mourning -for losses
Repose or utter despair...
Longing for the energy of the Springtide
And the arrival of warmer April air;

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poem by Theodora Onken
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April

SAVOR of love is thick on the April air,
The blunted boughs dispose their lacy bloom,
And many sorry steeds dismissed to pasture
Toss their old forelocks, flourish heavy heels.
Where is there any unpersuaded poet
So angry still against the wrongs of winter
Which caused the dainty earth to droop and die,
So vengeant for his vine and summer song,
As to decline the good releasing thaw?
Poets have temperature and follow seasons,
And covenants go out at equinox.

The champions! For Heaven, riding high
Above the icy death, considered truly;
'My agate icy work, I thought it fair;
Yet I have lacked that pretty lift of praise
That mounted once from these emaciate minstrels.
They will not sing, and duty drops away
And I must turn and make a soft amend!'

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poem by John Crowe Ransom
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