Poetry Wanted: Seasons of a2k.

Izzie, déanta go maith cailín.

A bleak Gothic winter in those verses Letty. Seasonally perfect.

My Ethnic Garden in spring

I had an ethnic garden in the old Virginia soil.
Japanese lanterns , iris, dutch tulips in turmoil

The baby's breath surrounded all, and looking back at me,
Were French and Spanish lavenders and shrubs of high degree.

The daisies of South Africa took two long years to grow.
but it was really worth the wait when they begin to show.

Awwwwwww! A very timely poem to shepherd in the rains of spring.

An original and lovely poem Letty.

Come look through my eyes at the ocean today.
It's waving and foaming and welcoming May.

The breeze and the sand and the beckoning shore
Are calling your name and asking for more.

Stay calm, and gather the shells with your tide,
That hover beneath and await your soft ride

They'll be gathered by many, admired by us all
Reflecting the sky and Triton's deep call.

springtime in houston

its springtime in houston my friends
the time the hot weather begins
the blue jays fuss and they bother
azaleas early martyr
sending blooms like comets to die
in lovely streaks before the eye
we make obeisance to the sun
like cats we make the hot tin run

You write some good poems, letty.

Thanks, edgar, and I love, love, love your poem. Your reference to "cat on a hot tin roof" was awesome.

I'm not a beach person Lady Letty! But your poem (almost sea chanty) makes me long for the a sunny day and a blanket by the New Hampshire beach. Add an umbrella and a good book.

A wonderfully evocative poem indeed!

Never had the honor of visiting Houston Sir Edgar. In 8 lines of your original poem, I get a glimpse of a city preparing itself for a blistering Texas summer.

Thanks for another great poem Edgar.

Thanks, stepan. This summer may be a record breaker. It was 99 degrees near here this afternoon.

I just got sunburned reading your post Edgar.

To The Spring

Welcome, gentle Stripling,
Nature's darling thou!
With thy basket full of blossoms,
A happy welcome now!
Aha!--and thou returnest,
Heartily we greet thee--
The loving and the fair one,
Merrily we meet thee!
Think'st thou of my maiden
In thy heart of glee?

I love her yet, the maiden--
And the maiden yet loves me!
For the maiden, many a blossom
I begged--and not in vain!
I came again a-begging,
And thou--thou givest again:
Welcome, gentle Stripling,
Nature's darling thou--
With thy basket full of blossoms,
A happy welcome now!

( by Friedrich von Schiller)

thank you for sharing this link...

This unfinished work has been languishing in my Gmail box for far too long (years). Just a little snipping and tucking and I'll post it without further new lines.

Tonight is a ghost tale.
I wade across Park Avenue to its western shore.
I stride to the Eastern shore of Madison Avenue.
Turning north, I drift against the stream.
© 29 May 2013

Robot Koch and Seasonal Snow
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=7R44-pcFaj8

Autumn

What a season full of shame
stripper trees here and there
no one found whom to blame
the whole thing is never fair.

Streets and roads full of stain
that is removed with a rake
train, plane is all in vain
trying to flee is just a fake

No more choice but praise the wind
admire the funny color of the leaf
my complaints are to rescind
what a pain... what a grief...

(with love to Autumn, carloslebaron)

THE WISDOM OF THE AGES.

There's a place down deep inside me
Where I mingles with me past,
Where the spirits of me Father's share their light.
And I often drowns me mind there,
And if you do it friend..... you'll find there
All the wisdom of your Fathers and their wonderful insight.
It's like, when a drop of water falls in a vat of wine,
It take the colour and the essence of that drink.
And lately, and this is not some yarn,
But me descendants who are yet unborn
Have been coming down to me to make me think.
They want to suck me brain for knowledge
Or some wisdom what I've gained
But it's got me how they know just where to look
I mean, I'm a bloody no one, just a shadow in their past
Unless of course, me words get in a book....

Source: Metropolitan Diary, The New York Times, Sunday, November 13, 2022

The hot barren earth
Drinks of the falling dew drops
Which are of no worth

With the rising sun
The dew drops steam and shrival
And then they are gone

The man prays for rain
His dehydrated body
Praying, waits in vain

The dried bones--bleached white
Strewed round the dry water hole
Glow in the moonlight

They rattle and walk
To the man whose swollen tongue
Cannot scream or talk

They sing songs of death
Soothing the soul of he who
Longs for his last breath

The hot sun awakes
The crows from the branch above
Feed by a dry lake.

Unless otherwise declared, any poem submitted by the Anointed was written by the Anointed.