Every month, we are going to feature one of our member's poetry! Please feel free to read, comment, and enjoy BROWNINGS CHILDE's works this month... I will start by posting 3 poems to discuss! They each have personal significance to me. ENJOY!

Congratulations, BROWNINGS CHILDE!!!!!!!


His Season

Life springs forth, anew and curious.
Trails untrodden, untaken, untried.
Lessons learned, a pace so furious,
As April thunderstorms collide.
A world of wonderous work awaits,
A willful one would soon descry.
Though as the novelty abates,
This wounderous world one will defy.

Summer sunshine, and rich desire.
A frantic race to experience all.
Each end of the candle alive with fire.
Carefree climb and ingnorant fall.
Newfound passion, hot as the sun,
Awkward lovers, entranced, enthralled.
His legacy he attempts to emblazon,
A disjointed message hastily scrawled.

Then in the Autumn, the passion cools.
His acorns, the squirrel methodically tolls.
Content to watch the younger fools,
Along his beaten path he strolls.
He sits and thinks all by himself,
Of how the pace of life has slowed,
Of polished dreams upon a shelf,
Unto his young they're now bestowed.

Bitter winter, now has come.
Weathered hands and aching bones.
Icy wind, a howling thrum,
Icicles long and gnarled have grown.
Though death is nigh he has no fear,
His life he's lived, his seed he's sown.
His season, long, shall pass this year,
As he came in, he leaves...alone.



A God Among Men

For he is a jolly good fellow,
Least thats what he'd have you believe.
A facade of a smile, and a "Hello",
With maniacal hate up his sleeve.

He's tidy and neat in appearance,
Yet inside, he boils with rage.
A master of more adherence,
The beast he keeps in his cage.

A spurious imposture by day,
Until he returns to his den.
At work, by the rules he will play,
But at home, he's a God among men.

He quietly tallies his victims.
He dreams of his glorious day.
No jury will ever convict him,
As he'll die soon after his prey.

And after his bloodthirst is slaked,
Confused and bewildered they'll be.
A life of camaraderie faked,
For a jolly good fellow was he.

Note: more in this poem is mor-aye (as in social standard)


Without Your Light

Without your light,
The soil of my soul would be barren.
No seed of happiness could find purchase there.
I would be an empty, wandering, shell of a man,
With no purpose or direction.

Your smile is my sustenance.
It strengthens and nourishes every fiber of my being.
Without it, I would shrivel and starve.

My existence would be futile,
My life, without purpose.
Indifferent to direction,
My compass could never again find true North,
Without your light.