No illusions, no illusions, no lies, no softened truths,
no tears, no bargains, though sun shines and birds sing,
Winter is here, I know.
Spring danced like wild flowers in the wind,
held dew and promise and wore the colors of her heart like jewels.
She hadn’t heard the word defeat and didn’t feel hate or anger.
Spring liked to play and romp and sing and
hung her question on a tree to ripen – Why?
Summer took herself seriously,
was wide-eyed with longing, sizzling in the sun.
She wore a red dress and the champagne happiness of husband and child.
She had reckless courage because Summer is young and youth is bold,
a silver bell that rings and rings and never stops.
Too much is not enough and still that tremulous – Why?
Autumn gently smiled, like Da Vinci’s lady, and danced old dances,
reminisced Begin the Beguine, stepping lightly on dry leaves.
Autumn was lined with gold and muted silks, remembered her manners,
nodded wisely, spoke sagaciously, and was a might too profound.
Haughty and just so very sure that she knew – Why?
Winter is a season content to see herself in time displaced,
knows though fleshy bonds and boundaries dissolve, Life –
like heart has its reasons that reason doesn’t know . . .
Sanguine and serene, it’s just a habit now, that old question – Why?
© 2017, Jamie Dedes (The Poet by Day and Coffee, Tea and Poetry)
To everything there is a season,
a time for every purpose under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to pluck that which is planted . . .
Wednesday Writing Prompt
Tell us in prose or poem and in terms of the seasons where you used to be in life and where you are now. If you are comfortable to do so, leave your work in the comments section below. If the work is too long, leave a link to it. All work shared will be published here next Tuesday.
© 2017, poem and photograph, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
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I often have thought of the Seasons and now more so than ever with regard to my life. I love the way you have given such personal touches to each Season in your post. You can find my response at https://reneejustturtleflight.com/2017/06/05/the-season-of-becoming.
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Thanks, Renee. I was just going to email you to see if you were in for this round. Thanks for your note and new address. No worries about anything. I never thought there was something work. Hope this finds you well. Blessings!
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Quite welcome Jamie. I have been tending to wait until the weekend to write so I can give it my full attentions. Metta!
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Four Haiku
Spring
anguish of sunlight
when the people you wait for
don’t turn up on time
Summer
the train stops nowhere
under clear blue morning skies
in total silence
Autumn
yesterdays’ bonfire
drifts into my dreams
– woodpigeon dawn
Winter
plane leaf & puddle
at the grey end of the year
puddle & plane leaf
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Captures the seasons well, my friend. See it here next Tuesday …
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Ciao Jamie,
Here is my response:
Static Cycles
Summer is my favorite
I can’t wait for Fall
Something ’bout Winter magic
Spring is best of all
Summer is my favorite
I can’t wait for Fall
Something ’bout Winter magic
Spring is best of all
Summer is my favorite
I can’t wait for Fall
Something ’bout Winter magic
Spring is best of all
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Wonderful, Christopher! Pleased to have you join in. See it published here next Tuesday.
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It was enjoyable to write. Thank you for the prompt, Jamie.
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Since this is the firts time you’ll be featured here, Christopher, I’ll need a short bio and photograph if you are comfortable with that. Send to thepoetbyday@gmail.com. Thanks! Happy day …
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Hi Jamie,
This is my response:
Born Old
coddled in wool blanket drifts
Sun sears baby eyes through bright windows,
hospital paths cleared tall walls
of snow either side. I howled
a gust down shop aisles, on street
to the dentists. Crowds frowned.
Summer bike rides in country lanes
Spring divorced winter.
Summer was another dialect. Coarser,
to play was to laik, sweets were spice.
Wide games in a silver wood, ventured
into cold huts. Fun with sausages and custard.
Hull hunkered in Christian winter, relieved by Summer gamelan and hope for a vocation
to last manual work and taking the pillock.
It didn’t. Winter of closing pits.
Bristol summered in performance
Classes on interview technique, teach
Teenagers how to think into a job.
beyond unemployment benefit office screens
Spout words over dripped lager louts,
Back in summered day buzz of words clapped,
then winter cancered into debt
and prodigal return. No fatted calf
only steroid fatted bald mam and chores
in garden until I met my future wife
for a bet in breaks between admin.
Summered teach adults write and history.
A winter that lasted twelve years headset
yoked ears bent to abuse from wronged
Customers and peddled official lines.
Summer came with an unwanted death,
A years enjoyment of travel and delight.
Summer comes in to autumn with cash gone.
Life a priority. Bills must be paid. Work
only part time, buzz when I help customers.
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Thanks Jamie.
Here is one response.
. for seasons .
frozen, the code will not work, nor will the counting with interruptions, all things moved about. there is a discount, on top the discount, so a discussion ensued on buttons.
now there is an understanding. the season of it all fits, the picture is made the pieces are in place. left on the tray, photographed for all to see.
talked in numbers and rhythms. a train passed, gulls flew the heat haze. on return, no one spoke.
i have written of them before, now in sign and symbol, i regard, that ‘again’ brings a sense of permanence, that familiarity does not always mean contempt , yet continuity.
spring comes round, and we keep the litte things, again.
sbm,
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