Poems from our Contests!

[Odetta]

Included below will be a collection of all of the poems (alphabetically by authors) entered for our assorted Poetry Contests. Winners (1st, 2nd, and 3rd places) of the contests will have a rose placed in their titles. Please enjoy!

Contest # 1



Armand St. Pierre

Practically painless pineal practitioner
Is not gone It hasn't melted
But secretly infiltrated in the most
Publicly proclaimed pivotal palace

Anecdotally analyzed anonymously accentuated
Is bearing upon our senses like
But bearing no resemblance to
Acquired ascension artificially acquiesced

Throw it out All THE RuLeSSS
Adorn yourself with what
Love you poses
And Rise to meet the shadow
That is also arising

From within you
And without you

BROWNING'S CHILDE

Flashfried

Welling up within me,
Unseen vibrations coalesce.
Friction produces vibrant waves of electric blue,
Alive with hair raising potential.
Inaudible, Intangible humming,
Searching for an outlet.
Energy brimming over,
Barely contained.
Finally,
An unsuspecting victem,
I drag my feet as I approach.
My hand extends an innocent greeting.

SNAP.....the discharge is serene.

Chooch

Of Blood.....

Of Blood, first of honor
of heart pumped full with
the strength of life...
unknown of threats or danger
Of God and country, no regrets
no blame.
It will be done...

flaggwalkstheline

Closeup of an eyeball

Electric water taking in all the information it can consume
Greedy blue muscle swaying like a tide
Floating through a salty ocean
Ominous black dot silent and yawning
Pulsing every so often inside the circle
Staring close and curiously
At itself in a mirror

Jon

Mass Dementia

Roaring in fury toward one another.
The human waves seek only war and pain.
Like in the end of days, brother against brother
Each glare at the other with choler and distain.
The human waves about to collide.
Like mass dementia, mass genocide.
It splashes and sprays, becomes many more than two.
E pluribus unum

Lady_of_Shadows

blue

blue dances down me
nerves taut with pleasure colors
electrifying

Letti

Colours

Black and white
gray and blue
these colours make me
remember you

The black of your hair
is like the midnight sky
stars fall on it
and they never cry

The white of face
is the home of my hands
It's like a snowy field
or snowdrop lands

The gray of your smile
shows fears you try to hide
Your body is trembling
when you try to lie

The blue of your eyes
is my infinite well
How could I help?
Why don't you tell?

Black and white
gray and blue
help me to help her
help me to be true


razz

Eternity,
Growing, shifting
floral Rebirth
crucified
it wears a mask

SpaceMaN

Soul, searching
Entrance, subdued
Inside, compounding
Exasperation, orgasmic
Escape, exotic

[alinda]

Oh nice, all of the past poems will be in one place then...genious!

[Odetta]

Contest # 2


Aaron

Celebration of the Majestic Murdering Circus

Dance beneath the wheel again,
the lights are burning bright;
Come celebrate with us on this,
our night of death’s delight.

The sweaty hooples shuffled in
like cattle to the slaughter,
confused, yet laughing, to the song
of pleading sons and daughters.

The souls of these unwitting dupes
snuffed out to please the soulless.
Come one, come all—admission’s free—
At the Majestic Murderering Circus!

And look! There’s Sam the Shotgun Man
at cartwheels with the witchers,
his top hat smeared with a preacher’s bile,
while blood-soaked monsters smile for pictures.

The Lincoln Twins are juggling
two arms, one foot, three heads!
Come quick and play amongst the meat,
else grind the bones for Sunday’s bread.

The moon drops low as dawn draws near.
They’re on their way before first light.
For Hayward waits to see those tents;
another night of death’s delight.

alinda

The night was full of promise
Yet alone here I do stand.
What makes us think that
life is good, a joy ride by the sand?

My heart is ever hopeful that they are
having fun.Still I stand and watch them,
I'm not the only one.

There's many a wounded warrior
that wishes they were here
and still I stand alone in fear.
The water mocks my reflective mood.

BROWNING'S CHILDE

Solitude

Away from all the others,
I can scarcely hear them scream.
I watch them from a distance.
Surreal as if a dream.
Popcorn and corndogs,
I taste in wisps of air.
Flashing lights and ringing bells,
The world without a care.
A fleeting thought of joining,
But no, I do not dare.
Cause I am always over here,
And they are over there.

Chooch

Bright white light...
In the dark of night...
I've seen you there...
on the ferris wheel...
with rainbow's of color in your hair....
Do you know I'm here....
wishing to be there....

CPU

Final Illumination

I shine, blazing atop my column
My lone light illuminates my friend bridge who appears so stone, silent, and solemn

Across the pool at the end of my quiet partners span
I see my family dancing, beckoning to visitors come to that isle of man

I watch my cousin Red, Aunt Blue, and Uncle Yellow weave their dance of color
The visitors mill about, mouths agape, excitedly staring in wonder

I am not sad that I do not dance, sitting motionless atop my tower
I am confident, and quite happy, here with my friend at this late hour

I know soon, when my kin end their revelry and finally go dark, the visitors will trudge again home
I will once again be the last light to have shone.

flaggwalkstheline

Coney Island shines in the night
Neon heaven glowing across the bay
The Circus's reflection marches across the water

The midway shines, gaudy and loud, across the bay
He stalks the boardwalk slowly back and forth from railing to railing
Watching the lights spinning and the giddy sound of children screaming
Tinny brass music floats across the water pretending to be stately and unaware of the overflated sillyness of it's tooting
A piece of cotton candy lies trampled on the rotting planks
All the sweetness gone out of it and dripping away
No ferryman will be coming to take him there, no orbitting charon after midnight
Yet still he waits for a boat to carry him across the pitch black lake
To an neon deep fried paradise which smells of puke and sugar
He waits
Even if it takes till the morning

Frunobulax

Pores
Rotundas filled with phosphorescence showed the pores.
And as they turned anticlockwise we saw the sores form on the throats.
Cool wind rush, cool wind rush, entering lungs.
Scattered into thousands of shards, a bell is rung.
And as they reformed in solitude we saw the throats covered in feathers.
Slender necks protected from the cold weather,
Inclemency oncoming inclemency here.
Turning left to avoid the oncoming fear.
And the rotating lights changed colour.
RED GREEN BLUE YELLOW RED GREEN BLUE YELLOW
We looked at each other.
RED GREEN BLUE YELLOW RED GREEN BLUE YELLOW
Is this hit real?
RED GREEN BLUE YELLOW
Is this shit real?
RED GREEN BLUE
Just let me feel.
YELLOW
And I see what happened.
RED GREEN
All the rotundas and sores,
All the illuminated pores,
BLUE YELLOW
Were an illusion from panic.
RED GREEN BLUE
Sedated now with calm and your warmth, we ride the circus wheel.
YELLOW RED
Embraces. Wrap in white.
GREEN BLUE
Amaranthine haze show my face.
RED GREEN
Stay.

Jean

Ways to Be Remembered

To throw a big party, inviting all friends
all family, close or remote,
and swallow some poison, and happily end
one’s life, leaving a note,

which would be remembered forever by those
who shared that memorable night.
Alas, he clearly, distinctly knows
he has no-one to invite.

To come to a school with a machine-gun,
or to subway with handmade bombs;
to see all them people fall down or run,
and pretend it’s a part of Islam’s

war on those with westernized mind,
against the crusaders’ grandsons. -
But he can’t use weapons of any kind,
he has no access to guns.

What’s left to him, then? What is his last chance?
To patiently stand in the line,
then, on top of the wheel, to cast one last glance;
for a moment, to feel divine

freedom of flight, as he will jump down
from that Wheel that glows in the dark,
to make – forever - the whole damn town
say, “It’s Mr.Smith’s gravemark”!

Jon

By Three


They walk and enjoy the fair, and the fairer sex

a casual stroll by three.

Father, son and son’s dear friend, to celebrate a country young and brave

As they pass, a Hoosier ignites a light, the product they know as the Strobe light®

Many a migraine sufferer know the furry of this beast.

A flash brighter than the sun over and over again.

The migraine sufferer turns away too late, but an idea grows with his pain.

Before the Hoosier lights again and sparks flashes of Hell

The three huddle and plan. The Hoosier must pay.

What would happen to an epileptic sufferer would do with no recourse

from this unending assault on one’s God given light sensors.

A hiss and the searing flash over and over for hours it seems but only minutes pass.

The father now knows how to teach this Hoosier ass!

The flashing fades, a quick glance and the father sees more of the hated product.

Three close in, very close now.

Shouting distance, 10 yards, 5 yards, mere feet

Arm’s length.

The Hoosier ass thinks he has an audience.

A hiss, a flash, the show begins

Father drops, writhes, jerks in feigned convulsions. Saliva gleams in each strobe.

“Help !” “HELP” cry the pseudo worried teens. My dad is epileptic!

The Hoosier ass now only thinks of lawsuits and such.

He knows little of medicine, but this pathology and light he knows.

“What can I do?” he cries, seeing himself in a three piece suit, in court.

There goes the pick-up, RV and plasma TV,

his mind displays for him.

The large teen cries “Give me your wallet so he doesn’t bite his tongue.”

The other teen confirms. “Damage control” thinks the Hoosier ass.

His wallet surrendered. The large teen places it into his father’s clamping teeth.

Quickly the father rises to his feet, migraine and all

The wallet is spit out of the father's mouth

and into the father’s hand.

Catcalls and laughter accompany

a casual run by three.








__________________

[sarah]

Thanks O for putting these all together. We have a talented group of people here.

[Odetta]

We certainly do!

[alinda]

Looking mighty good Odetta!!

[Jon]

Interesting. GREAT idea Ms.O!

[Odetta]

It was Jean's, actually...
can't take credit for bear's ideas

[Jon]

Beary good jean!

[Jean]

It was Jean's, actually...

!t was Keystone Bears'n'Roses'!

[Odetta]

All ideas start and end with the bear

[Jon]

It was Jean's, actually...

!t was Keystone Bears'n'Roses'!

Bears and Roses...wasn't that a 90's band?

[Jean]

No, it's an eternal moderation team.

[Odetta]

I love that!

[Odetta]

1. Armand St. Pierre...

Dorthy's Spell

This depth
which performs for me
during moments of arcane obliviousness
and calls to some who dream
Is not mine but serves as my home

Their rainbow
showcasing from red to violet
stars who give little hint
to those who dream
of something beyond

That Possibility
seemingly limited by probability
plays nervously for the observant to hear
for the sighted to see
It's Unification


2. Jon...

...And The Hits Keep on Coming!

Harriet Tubman, John Brown

Two humans, now of great renown.

Metacom, Pontiac, Tecumseh, and Cuauhtemoc and Sitting Bull

Saw a battle for their peoples’ soul

Martin Luther King Jr, John F. Kennedy and Abraham Lincoln

Stories of demise to America’s chagrin.

Nelson Mandela and Anne Frank

Torture, with bigotry to thank.

All victims, in a round about way, of the almighty Dollar.

But, truth will reveal them martyrs for the sake of COLOR!


3. BROWNING'S CHILDE...

Bend of Oblivion

Venomous orb
Murderous, pulsating eye
Oily, dark bile within

Maerlyn's black thirteen
Odious, gaping abyss
Down the rabbits hole

We go.......

War and pestilence
Plague of human existence
Rotting, putrid souls

Revolting secrets
Unspeakable sins are told
Deadly lies unfold

Mothers drown their own
Sinister, murky waters
Depth of which, unknown

Hateful dream of death
Walk with Walter O' the Dim
Come and stay awhile

Sanity undone
Unraveling and threadbare
Laughing and screaming

Forever


4. CPU...

Calling Out Loudly On Rooftops

Look down to the neon street
tubes glow with anger there
others flicker come-hither come-ons like, Girls! Girls! Girls!
in their electron-excited glowing lust

Blazing auto eyes cut through the darkness
The traffic lamps choreograph the dance
...it's cool, pass on through
...little warmer now best slow it down
....HOT! you best come to a stop

At night the sin shines
the barely clothed girls stand beneath the bulbs
the hot illumination bathes them in constant blush
by morning they'll regain a virginal glow

A monochromatic priest wastes his time handing out tracts
his stark contrast disrupts the flow
he is an eddy in the current of the brightly and dangerously clad

Look down until the dark runs away
and the sin no longer shines
the tubes calm
the lust dissapates


5.flaggwalkstheline...

The White Crayon

Here I go again
Falsely inspired by this and that
I'll be a botox prophet yet
Writing of things wrtten of a thousand times before
News of more impending death
Comes more and more frequently as I get older
I'm learning this now at the over-ripe veritable rotten vegatable age of 19

An exponentially increasin math equation
Growing into too many numbers to comprehend as anything but statistics
Reaching for that fabled event horizon across the sky and at the edge of space
Everybody's an astronaut in some way

Me?
Oh well me head's fulla helium floating high above my shoulders
The great mystery is I don't know who's holding the string

And as I grab the instrument with which I would like to demolish minds
Scribbling like a man doused in gasoline who knows he'll be burnt soon
I realize I grabbed the white crayon
And thus said

Nothing


6. LadyHitchhiker...

Coloring Ghosts

Soft and sweet
were the days
when I was allowed to be an innocent.
Sitting at the dining table,
crayons in fists
as I swung my feet
from a chair that I would say -
in fact insist -
was too tall for me.
I liked to color
in between the lines on notebook paper.
Over and over and over again.
I said that they were ghosts.
The crayons were too soon locked away.
Saved for other days.
Then as time passed
and I became a mother
my own mother allowed me
to use those same crayons - they passed
from her hands to mine - with my daughter.
Her favorite first was purple then blue, yellow, and pink.
I see those colors in the sunrises, and think
of her
and all the time we’ve been forbidden.
Now the crayons are locked away
at another place.
No one colors with them anymore.
I consider sending them to a better place
another place
to children that may need them.
But who will actually appreciate our old crayons
and what they had meant to my mom
and me as a mom
and ultimately just to me?
Now they are locked away.
I guess that knowledge only hurts me.
Something I never knew I would get to share
and now I have no one else to share
this with; how soft and sweet
and fleeting
life can be.
Just like those moments
coloring ghosts
at the dining table
frantically coloring ghosts
perhaps to color away my bad dreams


7. Aaron...

Stella's Breasts

Wondrous things were Stella's breasts to me,
Great swelling enigmas, coffee-
colored and swinging
In nakedness.

They were full enough to nurse me
When Mother fell ill--
still full from Bobo,
The baby that they buried
on a Thursday morning.

I remember him sometimes, just barely;
Like recalling a story
told long ago.
Cold dead newborn eyes;
irises so black.

He stared into forever
From his pretty white crib,
and the baby blue
walls
Reflected in his eyes.

Stella cried while she fed me,
Stroking my head with her nipple
in my mouth.
"Six days," she would whisper,
"Six goddamn days..."

Babies should probably live longer,
their bones would surely be stronger.
But 'tis good that his days were not seven,
for the milk is far sweeter in heaven.


8. Gaberax...

White
Or gray
A thread-bare, sun-bleached flag
Flips lazily in a painfully blue sky
And I close my eyes
But the voracious sun
Soaks through my eyelids
And through my blood’s
Meager protection
To create roiling amber clouds
That only I can see
Till my arm comes up
To block the insatiable sun
And I plunge into deeper grays
Where colorless images arise
Unbidden
And your face
With all of its expressions
Of love and happiness, anger and pain
Forms and floats
Inside my internal visions
And as I listen to the quiet sonic booms
Of the restless flag
And register the sun’s burning kiss
On the crows-feet around my sealed eyes
I am frozen by the now of the moment
Till consciousness
Evaporates.

[Odetta]

Letti...


Fall

I am a leaf
And my whole world is falling down
Can't recognise my friends
Their new clothes are yellow, red and brown

When wind gets stronger
Some of them make up their mind
Take a big jump
And like butterflies they start to fly

Sometimes I feel
their passionate dance will never end
Time is their slave
None of them ever needs to land

But sooner or later
They all fall and kiss the cold ground
If I look down
I see never-ending colorful crowd

I am not ready yet
But the wind is sighing my name
I am just a leaf
And I am part of this beautiful play


flaggwalkstheline...


A time for waiting

Autumn is the only time of year
For us
The lonely people in black coats who wait on street corners with our hands in our pockets
Digging deep into emptyness
For the rest of the spinning sun cycle
The land is green and joyous or celebrating eventual growth
We scuttle like asthmatic rats in the sunlight
But when summer’s citric tidal passion finally ebbs into waves of dull gold and cracked brown
Autumn waits like an expectant lover in a darkened motel room
One lightbulb hanging powerless
The leaves hack chlorophyll tuberculosi as they drop no-eyed from the trees
Coughing under my boots
I wait for further equinox instructions
The wind smiles but it’s the smile of bitter victory and bruised apples
I wait
Through leafless lilac bushes and the peeling of white paint
Through burned out bulbs and nights growing long like dark hair
I tap the smudged windows with my dirty fingernails and wait
I wait for a spear of sunlight to pierce the veil of ice
But at least during autumn when the leaves speak to me
And the sky holds it's grey breath until it turns briefly blue
Like a child about to dive into a swimming pool in those bright but lost hours of summer
I do not wait alone



Frunobulax...


Reddening
Crushed beneath my hands,
Worn into the dirt,
Leaves evaporate into sand.
Stems and veins burst.

In this season of changing colours
Feel the gentle bite of cold.
Each green turning duller
Reddening to look old.

Now we enter the season of fall.
Look into the sun.
Still hear summer's long drawl?
Look into the sun.


ladysai...

brilliant dying shades
echoing joys of time passed
the wheel turns again


Cozener...


End of Autumn

We stood facing each other in the chill orange gold
Each of us wanting to speak but finding no words
We just stood, our thoughts stymied by pain and pride
Never so loud seemed the breeze and chirping of birds

“I’m sorry” burned in the front of my mind
But I could not force it up from my throat.
I could see the need for it in her eyes
But between us had formed a fathomless moat.

As she turned away my heart reached out
But she said not a word, no farewell bidden
I watched my friend walk off into autumn
And I knew I would never see her again.


Nerak...


Falling
Spinning
Swirling
Turning

The leaves of fall are dying

Sighing
Crying
Settling

The leaves of fall land

Stomping
Crunching

The leaves of fall trampled

Empty

The trees of fall all alone


Lady Hitchhiker



Almost a Dream

In a clearing
almost a dream
I stand
barefoot
waiting for absolution
waiting for resolution
waiting for the future

while the world dies
and spins
and falls
and changes
color dwindling
color growing
my decision grows clear

air crisp
toes crinkling through the desolation
wondering why death is so pretty
and rebirth so uniform
waiting for the reincarnation
waiting for the revolution
of season
I still stay here.


Jon...


The beauty of leprosy




The search for food and I struggle again

Oh how you all marvel at the beauty of my pain

I slowly starve and you gawk at the colors of my decay

I shade you for the hot season and then I am merely a display

My body changes colors as my energy is sapped

I hold little reserve to be tapped

I withdraw into myself as body parts turn brown

Then, in a few days you must harvest them from the ground.

Your back aches from cleaning up after my leprosy

Let’s make a deal among all of you and all of we.

You ask that yellow disk to always stay in the sky

And we will spare you the mess each year as our hunters die



alinda...


When I was a young girl
as summer faded slow,
We kids would rake the yard
the parents pride you know.

For hours it seemed we'd gather
the remnants of its glory
Father would take some and
set them afire, the smell of it
still in my memory...

It was always permitted tho'
before that last leaf fell
to make that one last pile.
Then we would laugh and leap
into the late days dream.

I remember, and still smile.


educatedlady...


The Change
The trees grow bare
Skies a gloomy grey
Reds, golds and browns
Mix together in death and beauty.
Soon the snow will begin and
I will say farewell to autumn.



Jean...


Autumn Chant

Bright are the colors of doom and defeat,
Funeral wreaths please the eye of the dead,
Red-cloaked drummers will beat a retreat,
Hope me no hopes, for the future is read.

Show me no rubies, no gold of the loot:
Bright are the colors of doom and defeat,
Frail was the armor you crush underfoot,
Red-cloaked drummers will beat a retreat.

Colors of gore come to lighten the grief:
Funeral wreaths please the eye of the dead.
Scarlet the plague that will ravage your fief.
Hope me no hopes, for the future is read.



Thaine Rogers...


One fine day
The air tastes crisp
Cold
Stark
Against my tongue.
Every inhalation
breath
moment
is another taste of autumn.
Golden yellow leaves fall
topple
drift
And settle soundlessly on the pavement.
Where they sit
Snap
Mumble
Underneath the boots and shoes of a thousand hurrying souls.
One fine day.
One fine day


BROWNINGS CHILDE...


All Hallow's Eve

The westering sun soaks the earth,
With tints of burning crimson.
Sinister shadows creep behind,
Or crawl along ahead.

All Hallows Eve's crepuscular rays,
Bring gloaming death in season.
The darkness bests the sun's assault,
And fills the soul with dread.

The children laugh from door to door,
As demons watch and wait.
Ensconsed within each gloom and shade,
They'll stay untill they've fed.

As monster's scream from plastic masks,
With threats of "Trick or Treat",
The real ghouls lurk with growing need,
To rent, and tear, and shred.

A groaning wind whines through the trees,
It whispers and it sighes.
Jack-O-Lanterns search the night,
With eyes of gleaming red.

As ghosts and witches roam the streets,
A straggler falls behind.
The ambush happens silently,
And in the dark he's bled.

Though most will make it home of course,
With candy in their bags.
At least in one child's room tonight,
There'll be an empty bed.



Gaberax...


Autumnal Sacrament

The old oak tree outside my front door laughs.
Shaking its great shaggy mane of yellows and browns and reds.
Shedding its frabjous green summer coat, now worn in patches, of ochre and umber and carmine.
Stretching, yawning and twisting its mighty limbs in the cooling evening breezes.
Basking in the pale fading sunlight.
Anticipating another winter’s hibernation.
Tucked away inside itself; silent and still.
Sleepily admiring the work it has prepared for me.
Spring’s leaves of promise; contorted and desiccated
A mottled arabesque littering the earth below
Waiting for my final rituals of plastic rake and garbage bags and aching muscles
And pagan fires
Lit beneath its gnarled branches.
Humble votives
Ambrosia to imaginary Gods
A silent prayer for us both
For safe passage through the coming darkness
To the promise of the light
Beyond.

[Odetta]

candy...

You’re my hero my saviour, my medieval knight
You reached out and saved me on that autumn night
You held me and rocked me and told me you cared
As I sobbed in your arms, I no longer felt scared

She’d attacked me and chased me out of my home
Out into the night and the thundering storm
Fate brought you to me when I need you most
When I saw you at first you seemed like a ghost

And now all these years later as i sit in the sun
I think back to childhood that should have been fun,
I think of the hurt and the tears start to flow
I sit in the sunshine in the afternoon glow

My heart it is breaking because I miss you so much
Your picture in my head I hold and I clutch
Icicles pierce my heart and my head as I think of you
My hero, my saviour my friend that stood true


Fruno...

For SC, S, LA

Elysian fields! O rain down on me with your all enveloping sunshine!
The gentle kiss of your rays soothe.
The gentle caress of your beams are manna.
Brush aside the gray autumn lies.
Weather is but a state of mind.
Settle for frost in winter
As the iron maiden of icicles close in on you.
Why?
Why? You can be sitting in the high sunlight!
Settle for heat in summer
As the humidity drowns you.
Why?
Why? You can be sitting in the cool shade!
Settle for thunderstorms in fall
As the danger shrinks you.
Why?
Why? You can be living happily in the soundstorm!
Elysian fields!! O shine down on me with your encompassing beauty!!
The gentle touch of your heat calms my heart.
The gentle weight of your time eases my mind.
Brush aside the idea of time.
Everything is plastic, and I
I am happy to be in the moment the season presents.

flaggwalkstheline...

Not this time

When the sweltering breath of summer rolled across the asphault
I missed the glow of autumn

And when winter dropped its weight upon the fields
I wanted a spring thunderstorm

I’m really in the shivering season of icicle lust now

This time
I won’t freezedry the sunshine of an unexpected giggle
Not this time


Gaberax...

Brutal Samsara

Winter murders Autumn;
A piercing icicle to the heart
Spring attacks with thunderstorm
Ripping Winter all apart
Relentless blazing sunshine;
Summer scorches Spring to death
Autumn kisses Summer
With toxic lips on lethal breath
Corners on the circle
Stations along the wheel
Life to Death to Life again
Dancing to the endless reel


Jon...

Sweat for Snow



The autumn moon, ochroid with its dust blight

My world draws my sweat to make snow

The sunshine and thunderstorm wither my crop

I make ready for the harvest of icicles

I, the farmer, with my scythe and pen.

I, the poet, with ice cubes and gin.

To cool my poison, a new crop is sewn

To move the pen, new fulmination is grown


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.


Cozener...

Last autumn I saw an icicle glistening in the sunshine right after a thunderstorm. It was way fuckin' cool.