seasons change again
renewal and hope emerge
growth is possible
Tag: seasons
Chilled
chaotic winds emerge
white snowflakes blanket branches
globe starts to settle
Unceasing Turns
i know
fall is here
the warmth is slowly being replaced
with only slightly heated winds
the thick moisture
once heavy with density
begins to lose weight
and the sky shining less bright
anticipates the swollen clouds bearing snow
the cold winter will march in
to dominate our senses
until just before we can’t take it anymore
then spring relieves us
signaling a renewal
until summer begins to overheat us again
the change of seasons
life’s emotions unfolding in nature
Aishwarya Saby
Delicate leaf
delicate last leaf,
succumbs to strong gust of wind,
as a new leaf springs.
Spring Beauties
bees dance eagerly,
around vibrance of roses,
stashing up nectar,
cuckoo’s joyous song,
calls to open summer blooms,
melody’s rhythm.
Summer Relief
crows pause awhile to,
seek elixir of life, those,
endless summer days,
colours splash across,
as rainbow draws curtain to,
a much awaited spell,
orange flowers,
brighten up dull city roads,
long past summer days.
Winter’s round the corner
as lakes fill up, seek,
refuge from winter at home,
migratory birds,
brightest star takes break,
and darkness hurries to dawn,
know winter’s around,
remnants of fire,
warming up memories from,
a cold winter night.
An Emperor’s Penance
journeys into middle of an ice-filled
landscape, guards an egg, his very own,
freezing, battling unearthly climes,
in company of his men,
journey to fatherhood,
after lady lays,
she walks away,
he stays strong,
until,
she,
comes,
and takes,
chick back to,
sea, together,
without a morsel,
until then; he braves cold,
Antarctic climes for his young,
an emperor penguin’s penance,
like no other here – year after year,
cold environs cradle warmth of father.
~~~
Aishwarya a.k.a kittysverses loves writing poetry. Her poems have been published in Spillwords, Visual Verse, and Word Weaving Journal. She blogs at kittysverses@wordpress.com. This is Aishwarya’s first feature on The Short of It.
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Heather Carr-Rowe
Stars in Our Eyes
It can be said
that all love
starts like a star
-atoms collide-
stars in our eyes burn
until gravitational pull
puts our feet firmly on the ground
-stars collapse-
perhaps, not all love
is like the death of a star
Dead Flowers Rise Again
from sadness,
let spring
rise from the darkness,
sprout seeds from remembrance,
that sunflowers
shall shine once more
Beacon
slivers of moonlight
shimmer between dancing leaves
illuminating
Duplicitous
moonlight masks
dark
aspirations
Sky
crystal blue
light
everlasting
The Messenger
A mourning dove
visited me one day.
He did not coo,
much to my pleasure,
he bobbed his head
all-knowing,
walked about the garden
as we once did.
~~~
Heather Carr-Rowe is an educator and tree lover living on the prairies. In her spare time, she loves to hike, weave, embroider, and write poetry inspired by nature. You can read more of Heather’s poetry at her blog, Sgeoil. This is her first feature on The Short of It.
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Ken Gierke
Milestone
Well worn,
our path together,
though not
well-traveled.
Our destination
nowhere near
the one we chose.
Where we parted,
all that remains
is a milestone
of what once was
our life together.
Reading Between the Lines
Expression
Fine lines, creases
Framing the lips
Corners of the eyes
Within those eyes
A gleam of enthusiasm
The dull shade of weariness
Regarding those lips
The glimmer of teeth
A solemn line of doubt
Impression
A gleam in the eyes
Taken for joy
Or is it anger?
Teeth shown in anger
Or is that a hint of laughter?
The lips might say
Or is it all weariness?
The answer lies in both
Behind the mask
Shorter Still
Far from brief, the time left
when viewed in the past.
A lifetime to shape a future,
with no end in sight.
Shorter now, it seems.
The slideshow of bygone images
little more than a time-lapse,
details fewer each day.
Shorter still, ahead.
The end on the horizon,
while goals slip beyond,
their time misspent, gone.
Beneath the Waves
Nearly whispering, I say,
“Every wave that ever passed over
this shell is held inside for you to hear.”
Eyes wide, you ask, “When I get bigger,
can I dive with you and hear the shells in the water?”
And so your thirst for knowledge was born.
Yours is now a world of numbers,
but you have known wizards and knights,
poetry and prose, music and art.
And, from time to time,
you still hear the waves
washing over that shell.
In the Dark
What transpires in a week? In a month?
You show a different face, revealing more, yet less.
There is a cloud hanging over you. Below,
around you. Are there secrets you would share
under different circumstances? The greater the light,
the less I know of you. Are you more open to another,
while I am left in the dark? You make no promise
I’ll see you this evening. We play this game,
you keeping your distance as I try to read you, each day
the window ever smaller, till you fade from sight, again.
Passing Madness
There’s a madness to it
this rush to color
From a blanket of green
to red
yellow
blazing orange
and, finally,
to brown
We are seasoned in this experience
And so we wait
for the return of green
Until, once again,
the madness of color
that marks the passing of the seasons
Path to Winter
golden leaves
warm light on cold day
honeyed tea
maple leaf
on path to winter
will not wait
fallen leaves
carried by river
memories
bare branches
seen in fading light
shorter days
single leaf
clinging stubbornly
winter wind
~~~
Ken Gierke has been published in The Short of It, Vita Brevis Press, Silver Birch Press, and Amethyst Review, as well as in The Moons of Autumn from Word Weaving and easing the edges: a collection of everyday miracles, from D Ellis Phelps. His poetry blog: https://rivrvlogr.wordpress.com/ Ken also had pieces selected for the first anthology – The Sound of Brilliance.
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Scott Richmond
trees
branches reaching up
wanting to touch the bright sun
roots keep them grounded
beaches
turquoise blue waters
soft white sandy shoreline
paradise surrounds
seasons
rebirth, then living
gracefully ending, then death
cyclical weather
snakes
slithery rubber
some safe, some totally not
coiled up beautiful
flowers
colors of rainbow
multiple shapes, mostly round
such joy for noses
pets
human companion
best friends until very end
part of family
~~~
Scott Richmond worked in IT for many years, then discovered haikus, and has since become addicted. He lives in Southern California. This is Scott’s first feature on The Short of It.
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Fall Begins
Inspired by Reena’s Exploration Challenge #251 – Jamais Vu &
Moonwashed Weekly Prompts – Autumn
as the heat recedes
you can smell the approaching coolness
the morning air feels crisp
not weighted down with moisture
the comfort level of autumn
changes to include new colors
the families looking forward
to fun events and gatherings
time-honored traditions on repeat
jamais vu, if you will
an annual experience of been there, done that
another memory-making here we go again
Tremaine L. Loadholt
Pressure
she sits on the sea’s floor
shaped by the world
above it–changed forever.
the workers of ancient
tongues sift through
her words, chanting
their dismissals.
the pressure from centuries
ago labels her again
and again.
is this the chosen path
home or not?
The Brave Girl Knoweth Not
enchanting winds sway
over the clandestine clouds
she speaks of hard times
the chosen few laugh
behind her back, valleys shift
to the hills of life
brave girl knoweth not
of love or impending storms
she prepares for pain
Good Dog
good dog sleeps alone
savors the sunlight of morn
drifting into dreams
human loves her more each day
Mother Nature gifts them peace
Winter Knocks But Isn’t Allowed Entry
Temperatures tank throughout
the day, mimicking winter blues.
We shuffle along in life, wrapping
our bodies in extra clothing.
We are layered for bitter chill,
the calm of every storm spits
in our direction–we war
our way through the hell of it.
A long walk lends frostbite to
the limbs–we shake ourselves
into warmth–turn the thermostat
up, shoot fire into the bones.
Winter knocks. It is premature.
We howl at its presence–fangs
sharp enough to slice through
hardened flesh.
We are not ready. We are not ready.
Forgotten Words
We aren’t the warriors
of the past. We have
different methods–different ways,
but we still work words
the way the ancestors intended.
What we say can
be misconstrued, but what we
mean, never is.
~~~
A North Carolina writer, Tremaine L. Loadholt has been published in literary journals, anthologies, and magazines, and published three poetry books: Pinwheels and Hula Hoops, Dusting for Fingerprints, and A New Kind of Down. Her artistic expressions are at A Cornered Gurl and Medium. This is Tremaine’s first feature on The Short of It.
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Cheryl Wood
WINTER FUN
Snowfalls
Ice balls
Gets a black eye
Puffy
Toughie
Never would cry
ICE SKATING
Frozen
Chosen
Get the ice skates
Sliding
Gliding
Happiness rates
LIGHTHOUSE
Foggy
Boggy
Here at the bay
Streaming
Beaming
Light shows through gray
LAUNDRY
Laundry
Quandary
Dark or lights please
Labels
Ables
Decision ease
~~~
Cheryl Wood is a mom and grandmother who enjoys scribbling some words, hopefully with humor. She started writing in 2015 after a second bout of cancer to keep busy while recuperating. Cheryl’s first feature was on April 20, 2020, and she had her work published in The Sound of Brilliance.
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I Write Her 