I always have a sort of melancholy outlook towards the season's change. I can never pick a favorite, and always wish each one would hang on, just a little while longer...as always, thanks for reading..B.
I feel her, don't you?
Her meddling of affairs is beginning
and it stifles the rise and fall of my lungs.
When the rain came the other day,
in sheets that became a counrtyside's linens,
I suddenly became aware that she lurked in
the day like a thief;
Waiting to steal my summer;
hoping to skulk in on arthritic feet
to cast her yellowed spells on my day.
Leaves fell; only a few, but the sight of it
was akin to a flock of pigeons instantaneously taking flight,
loud and forcibly noticed.
That great announcement, that things change, and remain the same,
and perhaps I am the only one who holds difficulty in my bosom at the thought.
When she gets her way, and she will,
she'll wash out the colors and subdue roots.
She'll sigh in my hair with her cool breath,
and run rims of frost around the flower pots.
She'll entertain her friends under early dark skies and
hold back my mornings for herself to sleep in.
She'll ridicule the grass and it will brown in shame for living;
and when she finalizes her touch of timeless spell upon
the trees, their masses will rust in what was glory;
they'll shake and cry until they have no tears left
standing cold and naked, doing her bidding.
She'll sprinkle seeds so delicious that no bird can resist.
Once ingested, the hosts become her catalyst;
and one by one, all but those who have built up an immunity, leave me
with only my own vices to sound morning's alarm.
Eventually I will learn to love her again.
Change for me, a momumental task that I am never prepared to mount.
Yet for her, a rule; a consequence of being.
She and I have been here before,
She and I have been here before.
Poetry by barbie
Read 740 times
Written on 2006-08-13 at 13:35
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Change and the Same
My heart, my heart!I feel her, don't you?
Her meddling of affairs is beginning
and it stifles the rise and fall of my lungs.
When the rain came the other day,
in sheets that became a counrtyside's linens,
I suddenly became aware that she lurked in
the day like a thief;
Waiting to steal my summer;
hoping to skulk in on arthritic feet
to cast her yellowed spells on my day.
Leaves fell; only a few, but the sight of it
was akin to a flock of pigeons instantaneously taking flight,
loud and forcibly noticed.
That great announcement, that things change, and remain the same,
and perhaps I am the only one who holds difficulty in my bosom at the thought.
When she gets her way, and she will,
she'll wash out the colors and subdue roots.
She'll sigh in my hair with her cool breath,
and run rims of frost around the flower pots.
She'll entertain her friends under early dark skies and
hold back my mornings for herself to sleep in.
She'll ridicule the grass and it will brown in shame for living;
and when she finalizes her touch of timeless spell upon
the trees, their masses will rust in what was glory;
they'll shake and cry until they have no tears left
standing cold and naked, doing her bidding.
She'll sprinkle seeds so delicious that no bird can resist.
Once ingested, the hosts become her catalyst;
and one by one, all but those who have built up an immunity, leave me
with only my own vices to sound morning's alarm.
Eventually I will learn to love her again.
Change for me, a momumental task that I am never prepared to mount.
Yet for her, a rule; a consequence of being.
She and I have been here before,
She and I have been here before.
Poetry by barbie
Read 740 times
Written on 2006-08-13 at 13:35
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Kathy Lockhart |
