The crunch of frozen
grass underfoot... awaiting
Indian Summer
For ten years I write
one poem. Now, pale winter
snow edits my lines.
Greens fading away,
as misty mornings step in-
autumn at my door.
harvest moon aglow
long witchy fingers reach out
brittle leaves tango
Winter willow waves
opaled arms, bearing weight, white
of innocent snow.
Snow falls on lake's shore.
Winter fingers work magic,
turn water to ice.
summer's fragile reeds
now ice-layered bend to write
our names in the snow
winter's icy feet
pressed in the small of my back
keep me up all night
hummingbird's feeding
spring, youth and stolen kisses
taste of sweet nectar
vision of Winter:
outline of geese overhead
not making a sound
blanket of fall leaves
foliage of memories
crunching underfoot
Ripe for the Season ~
And I held a reaping tongue ~
For this sweet Harvest
Silent company
On this early spring morning
My pensive shadow.
flock of wild geese drifts
under the late autumn moon
ghosts of my young life
A purple crocus
springs up through the winter snow.
Daffodils take heed.
An autumn bruised black
leaves swept under the roadside
for winter to bloom
Huddled together
Pining for sweet summer fruit
Snow-covered Monkeys!
summer wanderer
enticed by sticky sweetness ?
uninvited guest
November iris
springtime blue in autumn cool
petals quivering
Grass blades wilt here now
Cold shade in a winter haze
Moon peeks through bramble.
winter snow falling
two crows then three like black snow
hopping on a tree
Old oaks dwarf the house
where seasons change from shade to
acorns, leaves, despair
Perusing fine words
Used pages like winter skies
Then, her lost blonde strand
On still winter nights
the hunter stirs in slumber
to fawn's quiet sobs
An audacious heart -
alight with the bloom of hope,
she comes as the spring
soft merino wool
magenta and vermillion
autumn's overcoat
The dripping night air
Clings in heavy defiance
Of autumn's onset
Sailboats wrapped in snow
sigh softly and ache for spring,
dreaming of the sea.
crowds of autumn leaves
dance at dusk through graying streets
lifted by the wind
winter morning run
quiet, still, silent solace
chase my icy breath
A glass of iced tea
on a balmy summer night.
Nearby, a graveyard.
The air is white with
thistledown. The sky is red
with the Harvest Moon.
looking down-- instead
of up-- to see these apples
the end of summer
the dogwood is dry
from the hard sun of summer
her leaves look for rain
an autumn morning
the stream drifts languid and crisp
the old turtle sleeps
the Autumn sun shines
golden leaves fall from the sky
Listen - the wind speaks