And the word is...

[Bii]

Well, I'll start off but it's a slight cheat as I wrote this a couple of months ago for a competition where the theme was 'Spring'. Didn't win (surprise surprise!) but was shortlisted. This is from the days when I was unable to avoid the cling of rhyming, so you'll have to forgive me for that.

Am writing a poem about Winter at the moment which promises to be extremely dark. Watch this space... (or not - I may never finish it!)

AS SPRING DAWNS

A rainbow stretches over
misty watercolour skies.
Bold bursts of rain
end winter’s reign,
melting beneath warm sunrise.

Daffodils are trumpeting;
diaphanous bluebells ring.
Their cheery song
sings out – ding dong!
Rejoicing the birth of Spring.

And now the sun is rising
hibernating creatures wake.
They slowly creep
from winter’s sleep;
tired muscles they stretch and shake.

A cleansing breeze sweeps over
brushing winter’s grime from view.
The world will gleam
all fresh and clean.
Ready; so life can renew.

[firefangled]

The guzzle is a Persian form
designed, perhaps, to make me feel a clumsy worm.

I will not, shall not, must not perform
or fill the ranks to make a quorum.

No, I’d rather run naked in a savage storm
than join in this too orderly swarm.

Firefangled, America has voted and you will be going home this week.

Well, Ryan apparently the Guzzle was taking too much of a chance. Anyway, someone has to be sent home.

How do you feel, though, that you made it this far?

Right now I just want to crawl back in my apple and write some greeting cards, Ryan. I should have stuck to writing Rionnaird Tri N-Ards and Cywydd Llosgyrnogs.

[CdnReader]

.
The seasons of my childhood
are remembered as distinct points in time.

Fall began early,
with new school clothes
(the only time of the year that we were allowed such a luxury),
and the bags of school supplies.
I was a school nerd.
I loved the smell of books and paper and pencils.
(Nothing has changed.)
Morning walks punctuated
with the crisp snap of thin ice
as we made our way gingerly over partially frozen puddles.
Water below, a skin of ice above.
What child could resist?

Winter was about snow....
that Northern Ontario snow
that packs perfectly for snowmen and snowcaves....
Caverns of ice between towering snowbanks,
a huddled refuge....
Blizzards that covered the naked world
in white lace petticoats...
playing indoor games --
Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble --
as icy gales whistled around the eaves.

Spring came with a scent.
Can you smell spring coming?
Crisp, clear, clean, new....
the snow retreats, melts, vanishes,
and the world comes to life.
Dust off the bikes and the roller skates,
put away the parkas till next year,
drag Dad to the park with a kite,
feel the wind on your face.

Summer brought camping and swimming,
picnics and berry-picking,
a hotness that dripped from your skin,
afternoons in the country.
Days of building tree forts,
chasing away intruders (boys!),
lying on our bellies in the field,
giggling when the grass tickled our arms,
reading Archie comics and slurping popsicles.

The rhythm of the seasons....
Somehow it was so much more clearly defined
as a child.
.

[PrinceMyshkin]

.
The seasons of my childhood
are remembered as distinct points in time.

Fall began early,
with new school clothes
(the only time of the year that we were allowed such a luxury),
and the bags of school supplies.
I was a school nerd.
I loved the smell of books and paper and pencils.
(Nothing has changed.)
Morning walks punctuated
with the crisp snap of thin ice
as we made our way gingerly over partially frozen puddles.
Water below, a skin of ice above.
What child could resist?

Winter was about snow....
that Northern Ontario snow
that packs perfectly for snowmen and snowcaves....
Caverns of ice between towering snowbanks,
a huddled refuge....
Blizzards that covered the naked world
in white lace petticoats...
playing indoor games --
Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble --
as icy gales whistled around the eaves.

Spring came with a scent.
Can you smell spring coming?
Crisp, clear, clean, new....
the snow retreats, melts, vanishes,
and the world comes to life.
Dust off the bikes and the roller skates,
put away the parkas till next year,
drag Dad to the park with a kite,
feel the wind on your face.

Summer brought camping and swimming,
picnics and berry-picking,
a hotness that dripped from your skin,
afternoons in the country.
Days of building tree forts,
chasing away intruders (boys!),
lying on our bellies in the field,
giggling when the grass tickled our arms,
reading Archie comics and slurping popsicles.

The rhythm of the seasons....
Somehow it was so much more clearly defined
as a child.
.

Wonderful profusion of specific detail!
Mine is (I'm afraid) one I already posted elsewhere:

After the thump of winter
we pick ourselves up,
shake the frog blossoms
off of our hearts and look
at the waste of our country.


The immediate neighbourhood
is buckled beyond repair and bodies
are heaped up here and there
of those, pickled in despair,
who thought they were immune
to nature's ravages and the heart's.


If only the core of us were made
of wood, all we would need to fear
was the snap of predictable winter,
the crack of thaw.


But the seasons in us
are more random than that. Midnight
and fall are as likely to strike
in the middle of summer, or when
the sun is at its height.

J. Newman Sudden Proclamations © 1992

*

[ampoule]

Seasons

Would you like to fool around, he asked her.
Well, there's no stopping me, she said.
You've changed since last I saw you, he noted.
I can't stop that either, she replied.
But you're always beautiful, he remarked.
It's all in what you like I suppose, she shrugged.
Oh, I like it all, he smiled.
Then touch me, she teased.
He spread his fingers out and caressed her.
She was hot beneath his touch and he held her waist.
She twisted and turned, pulling away, leaving him,
Her blazing colors falling before his eyes.
What have I done to deserve your icy stare, he cried.
It's not you, it's me, I just can't get too close, she answered.
But when will I see you again, he begged.
I'll be around again, fresh and new, she promised.

************************************************** ***

[CdnReader]

Fabulous, Ampoule. Love it a lot!

[ampoule]

Thank you. Likewise. Where's the rest of our gang?

[stephofthenight]

hmm...seasons...here we go with that stupid brick wall...shall write on this one when i can think.
sorry
steph

[CdnReader]

One from the vaults....


-----


A Spring Morning


I love spring mornings

I roll over sleepily, happily
awakened early by the chatter of the birds outside my window
i smile at the sunshine streaming through the partially opened blinds
bathing the room in a gentle delicate light
a weightless breeze enters
and strokes my arms like a lover

my bare feet reach for the hardwood floor, searching
and quickly finding the pale blue flip-flops
that wait there for me to arise

I open the door wide to let in the sun
my home is permeated with brilliant jewels of light and warmth and delight
and the sounds of the garden draw me outside

I am fascinated
by the pattern of sun and shadow on the deckboards
the beads of moisture that remain from a night-time shower
the glistening droplets of dew collected in the cupped leaves of the hostas
the patiently quiet rocks that guide my path
the magically blue sky

all joyfully welcome me
to the peace and beauty of this day

.
cdn/03jun06
.

[PrinceMyshkin]

One from the vaults....


-----


A Spring Morning


I love spring mornings

I roll over sleepily, happily
awakened early by the chatter of the birds outside my window
i smile at the sunshine streaming through the partially opened blinds
bathing the room in a gentle delicate light
a weightless breeze enters
and strokes my arms like a lover

my bare feet reach for the hardwood floor, searching
and quickly finding the pale blue flip-flops
that wait there for me to arise

I open the door wide to let in the sun
my home is permeated with brilliant jewels of light and warmth and delight
and the sounds of the garden draw me outside

I am fascinated
by the pattern of sun and shadow on the deckboards
the beads of moisture that remain from a night-time shower
the glistening droplets of dew collected in the cupped leaves of the hostas
the patiently quiet rocks that guide my path
the magically blue sky

all joyfully welcome me
to the peace and beauty of this day

.
cdn/03jun06
.

Lovely! And if I might paraphrase William Carlos Williams:

so much depends
upon
a pair of
pale blue flip-flops
on a hardwood floor
beside your bed

[CdnReader]

I keep mine in a red wheelbarrow. Do you?

[ampoule]

Summertime

Did Aeolus know his holy wind would stir the hearts of brothers,
and friends, who would in turn stir my heart to begin this sultry day?
I have no field to pick, but a chest of white folded linens, starched
and ironed on a cooler day, and stacked for my touch and approval.
I lift my arms and cast the sheet that causes me to shiver with
another holy wind, as it slithers down upon my napping pillow.
Later I will use this white handkerchief to blot the beads of moisture
between my breasts, and I will rustle my skirt for a breeze.
A ripple in a pail of rainwater reminds me of a fish, jumping, and I,
swimming out to where he is, will feed him a crumb of bread,
and he will thank my rich daddy and my good lookin' ma for begetting me.
I rise up singing this aria to little babies crying, hush...hush now...shhh.
One of these days, you too will spread your wings and take to the sky,
Looking for places to go and things to do and fish to feed and love, yes love,
and babies to tend and naps for dreaming and cool breezes, or,
at the very least, sit on the edge of your white bed, singing.

***********************************************

[jon1jt]

NEW WORD:

VACANT

I’ve tried everything else. Starbucks served me a slice until a baby
stroller came barreling by, the kid's arm
pointing at me like the tube of a gun, a table of au pairs chalking up another weekend of bad dates.
“American men, puh!”
her hair spilled like coins while i sat there, a dark hat wondering if things had been different between her and me, and those assembled mouths the length of a garage. all at once how they snarled through tiny slits as I walked out as if on a leash, words still in the back of my throat, the wrinkly-paged poems rolled taut in my shirt sleeve like a pack of smokes.

[ampoule]

Yeah Jon, you found us. Okay...Vacant.

And whoa! I really like that.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Summertime

Did Aeolus know his holy wind would stir the hearts of brothers,
and friends, who would in turn stir my heart to begin this sultry day?
I have no field to pick, but a chest of white folded linens, starched
and ironed on a cooler day, and stacked for my touch and approval.
I lift my arms and cast the sheet that causes me to shiver with
another holy wind, as it slithers down upon my napping pillow.
Later I will use this white handkerchief to blot the beads of moisture
between my breasts, and I will rustle my skirt for a breeze.
A ripple in a pail of rainwater reminds me of a fish, jumping, and I,
swimming out to where he is, will feed him a crumb of bread,
and he will thank my rich daddy and my good lookin' ma for begetting me.
I rise up singing this aria to little babies crying, hush...hush now...shhh.
One of these days, you too will spread your wings and take to the sky,
Looking for places to go and things to do and fish to feed and love, yes love,
and babies to tend and naps for dreaming and cool breezes, or,
at the very least, sit on the edge of your white bed, singing.

***********************************************

God, this is lovely! I'd cut back, way back, on the allusions to the Gershwin song. I wonder indeed if you should use it at all? but once I saw the second partial quotation I got fixated on how may such allusions you might make, which took me far away from the wonderfully sensual detail that preceded it.