Seasons

I remember spring,
with its hope, its youth,
the unending possibilities,
with imortality felt
coursing through the veins,
Spring was good.

Summer was the season of work.
Early to rise late to bed,
long long days and short nights,
chock full of life
and unending activities,
Summer was vibrant.

Autumn cooled the air.
The shortening days brought
less work and more rest.
The harvest begins and joy abounds
as one sees the fruits of summer
Autumn was gloruous.

Winter came silently
barren, dry, desolate,
with Die-back personal,
and I, a daffodil planted
in the grave to wait
the spring of afterlife.

Hate is such a strong word, a strong acid of thought,
no less strong than hydrochloric acid on metal.
Shall we reserve it only for actions and not people?
Is it OK to hate a person’s actions, yet still love them?
Is it possible to segregate our thoughts in such a manner?
Our attitudes? Our words? Our actions? Our beings?
For surely our thoughts lould who and what we are
and whatever we are is shown by our very words.

I would like to bemoan
The passing of time
As the autumn leaves fall
But I live in the land of perpetual sun
Unless rains count
As passing of seasons
In which case
Every other day
Seasons pass

I would like to claim
Melancholy as the
Seasons pass
As summer fades
And winter comes
But alas there are only sunny skies
To greet my eyes
Beyond my window stills

I would like to be as sentimental
And wax lyrical about the
Seasons moving on
In a relentless beat
Time passes on
But what happens if seasons
Remain unchanged
In the land I live in

Perhaps it is best that
I am not born melancholy
Otherwise imagine my disadvantages
Compared to the poets
Who has both the temperament
And the right temperature
For inspiration.

i hate that person for sending you awful remarks. their creativity must suffer immensely from their negative attitude, not to mention the rest of their life. anyway, i promise, the hurt you received by that person is MINUSCULE to how much you’ve helped me in just one day. keep it up – you’ve inspired me so much!!

thanks!!

<3 Erin
.-= Erin´s last blog ..You Are Beautiful Button =-.

It is a good thing I won’t be awake
When my true year, my new year passes on
And green leaf turns to gold and red passion
On the trees so far above my head
I’d much rather read a book
Than picture their dramatic postures
Perfect as they may be, despite all definitions
Sometimes you can’t help hating
People like that, and these flamboyant trees
Aren’t going to help me forget
That I wake up each morning to numbers droning
And instruments squawking, and teachers talking
And everything fading away into rhythm today
That is completely meaningless
And all others care for is who cares for whom
And why I skipped school today
It was to look for the stars
In a sky drunk and obscure from city light
And lingering sun rays
That stretched out to me, in one last
Parting glance of warmth
Before the earth rolls on
And presses uncaring winter upon us

PS, this is fictionalized I would never skip school. I’m one of those people who like to write persona poems.

it’s Spring Equinox
here in the South of the world
a time of balance
between the light and the dark
then new life starts as light grows

sunshine and thunder
wind and the smell of new rain
from a warm blue sky
and the blind vine thrusting up
seeking light and sustenance