SPRING
After a long winter spent mostly indoors, I am captivated by the first signs of Spring. I feel as though the Earth itself is waking up, and this poem is my way of capturing that magic.
Awakening Earth
Beneath the quilt of winter's snow,
A secret garden starts to grow.
Whispers wind through old tree's bark,
As Spring unlocks the frozen park.
Tulips stretch to kiss the sun,
Life and light twined into one.
Every bloom a whispered prayer,
Thanking Earth for love and care.
Raindrops fall like notes in tune,
A liquid dance, a sky's sweet croon.
Spring is here, the world declares,
In blooming fields and scented airs.
Each morning dew, a precious gem,
Nature's transient diadem.
Spring has come to break the spell,
Awake, dear Earth, from winter's shell.
During a solitary night hike in the early Spring, I stumble upon a meadow. I am struck by how the moonlight brings life to the landscape, even in darkness, and imagine magical creatures celebrating Spring's arrival.
Moonlit Whispers
Moonlight weaves through buds and leaves,
As Spring unfurls her emerald sleeves.
Fae dance where human eyes can't see,
In hidden groves, they're wild and free.
Their laughter fills the soft night air,
Tiny sparks in the dark, beyond compare.
In Spring's embrace, magic is never far,
For this is the season where dreamers are.
Blossoms twirl in moonlit dance,
A hidden, midnight, Springtime trance.
Elfin songs of love and lore,
Sung by streams and echoed more.
The night's not dark, but filled with tales,
Of Earth’s rebirth through moonlit veils.
In Spring, the line between each sphere,
Of Earth and magic, fades and clears.
SUMMER
I spend a day hiking with friends during a particularly hot summer. I am inspired by how life thrives even in extreme conditions, encapsulated by the sunflowers that seem to worship the sun.
Sunburnt Stanzas
Summer paints in bold, fierce strokes,
Her canvas lit by sunlit yokes.
Sunflowers turn their golden face,
A hymn of praise in summer's grace.
Their heads held high, they seem to say,
"Chase your light, don't shy away."
Summer teaches, in her silent prose,
To be the bloom where sunlight glows.
Heatwaves dance upon the land,
Nature's brush in unseen hand.
The world may wilt beneath the sun,
But life persists; it's never done.
Each sunset is a lover’s kiss,
A fleeting moment not to miss.
In Summer’s arms, I feel the might,
Of endless days and golden light.
I escape to the coast for a weekend. As I sit by the shore, the constancy of the ocean waves helps me find peace amidst the chaos of my life.
Tidal Secrets
Summer's song is a lullaby,
Played on shores 'neath an open sky.
The ocean waves caress the land,
A gentle touch, a timeless band.
With each ebb and each salt-soaked flow,
The tides speak truths that all hearts know.
Love is constant, like the sea,
In Summer’s arms, forever free.
Seagulls call to the salty air,
A summer’s tale, if one should care.
Footprints vanish with the tide,
In Summer, secrets do not hide.
Horizons kissed by setting sun,
Another Summer day is done.
As night unfolds her starlit cape,
I see the world in altered shape.
AUTUMN
Whenever the Harvest Moon rises, I feel like the world is suspended in a magical state. This poem captures that spellbinding transition from late summer to early autumn, a season that always fills me with a sense of ancient rituals and mystical transitions.
The Lure of the Harvest Moon
Autumn whispers to the trees,
"Shed your leaves, embrace the breeze."
A Harvest Moon ascends on high,
A glowing pumpkin in the sky.
As fields turn gold and fires burn,
The Earth itself seems to yearn,
For Autumn’s kiss, so sweet, so brief,
A moment’s pause in time’s grand thief.
Woodsmoke winds through evening air,
A hint of mystic, old-world flair.
I hear the distant owl's hoot,
And wonder what he does compute.
The maple flames in colors bold,
The year itself is growing old.
Yet in this end, we find the start,
Of something new, a work of art.
There's something almost supernatural about the way crows gather during the fall. For me, it's an otherworldly sight that sparks my imagination and makes me think about the hidden aspects of nature.
Gatherings in Twilight
In Autumn skies, the crows convene,
A secret council, rarely seen.
They trade dark tales of magic lore,
Above the trees, forevermore.
To human ears, just caws and cries,
But in their songs, old wisdom lies.
Autumn is when the veil is thin,
And crows may speak of what has been.
Leaves swirl in dances, crisp and brown,
As twilight slowly treads the town.
The crows disperse to roost and rest,
In Autumn’s chill, they know what’s best.
Their council ends, but leaves behind,
A subtle shift, a change in kind.
Autumn’s magic isn’t just in trees,
It’s in each crow and whispered breeze.
WINTER
Every winter, I find that the first snowfall brings with it a sense of peace and quiet that can't be found at any other time of the year. It's like the Earth is taking a moment to breathe, and this poem is my ode to that serenity.
The Solace of Snowfall
Snow descends in silent grace,
Covering the world’s tired face.
A blanket white, so pure, so cold,
Winter’s story, softly told.
In this quiet, one can hear,
The heartbeat of the shifting year.
Winter whispers, "Rest your eyes,
Dream beneath my snow-lit skies.
Snowflakes dance, each one unique,
Upon the ground, they softly speak.
In Winter’s arms, I find my place,
A quiet pause in life's fast pace.
A frozen world, still yet alive,
Proves Earth’s strong will to survive.
Snow-lit nights and frosty morns,
Winter’s tale is never forlorn.
During my winter walks, I'm always fascinated by icicles. They're temporary sculptures shaped by nature, containing both beauty and a reminder of winter's harshness. This poem tries to capture that duality.
The Chronicles of Ice
Icicles hang like frozen tears,
Capturing Winter's hopes and fears.
Each a prism, cold and bright,
Telling tales in Winter's light.
They speak of cycles, life and death,
Of Earth's still pause, her frozen breath.
For even in Winter's sternest frown,
Seeds of Spring are sleeping sound.
They drip and shrink as days go by,
A ticking clock beneath the sky.
Though Winter seems to halt all things,
Time keeps flying on silent wings.
A fleeting beauty they possess,
Like all things here, a transient guess.
In Winter’s chill, I find the cues,
To pen these ice-forged, heartfelt blues.
