Summer Fall
'As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away'
No matter how tightly i hung on
The Summer would not stay! ;
The Autumn came in heavily
Weighted by its dying leaves
Their burnished-russet just blew away
Taken by more than an Autumn breeze;
For it 'twas an icy-icy wind
That took my mother that day
'Twas but a thief in the November night
Blanketed in: Grief Stricken Clouds Of grey;
For my mother
Who shares a birthday with Emily Dickinson
Using: 'As imperceptibly as Grief the Summer lapsed away'
As my inspiration
This was an Emily Dickinson quote
Missing you still this day, mama
By: Theodora Onken
April 7,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
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As imperceptibly as Grief
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As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away—
Too imperceptible at last
To seem like Perfidy—
A Quietness distilled
As Twilight long begun,
Or Nature spending with herself
Sequestered Afternoon—
The Dusk drew earlier in—
The Morning foreign shone—
A courteous, yet harrowing Grace,
As Guest, that would be gone—
And thus, without a Wing
Or service of a Keel
Our Summer made her light escape
Into the Beautiful.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Sweet Lorraine
April came with its answers...
And oh, how that Spring simply flew
The bad news ordered radiation and toxins
I knew, we were beginning to loose you;
Your barefeet pale against the fresh cut grass...
Pinks and Carnations abloom with hope filled smiles
Golden red delicious apples fell to the ground
As, i walked, this our summer time mile;
So many gifts of time HE had given to us...
With each season-we continued to grow and know-
Your eyes-as blue as the summer sky
And in the summer sun-your falling auburn hair still glowed;
But dreading Autumn and all of its changes...
Having to watch your once perfect form grow thin
Skin and bone, against the burnished Fall leaves-
Loosing the battle, you had hoped to win;
The harsh November wind claimed you...
Watching you fade into the icy frost
November 17 came calling like a thief in the night-
Your beautiful life-alas 'twas lost;
Missing you so very much, this day, mama...
Yet, after all the years-i feel your spirit ever near
And in this Spring breeze, i still feel your presence-
With your voice echoing: 'Theo, you have nothing to fear;
By: Theodora Onken
March 20,2012
Dedicated to my mother
Who passed away too young
From cancer. Though
I did not have her for
Long...she was the Best
And the time we did have
I have cherished my entire life.
poem by Theodora Onken
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Homeward Bound
It was the fragrance of Junes sweetest breeze
The visible garden of two lovers abloom
In the stillness of our forever
Borne: Of Mother Natures womb;
Cascades of rose petals and their velvet
Adorned our majestic-unmade bed
'Twas a ceremony of Summer times homeward
'Twas loves sheer magic filling our heads;
By: Theodora Onken
May 4,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
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As Summer into Autumn slips
As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
"The Summer" than "the Autumn," lest
We turn the sun away,
And almost count it an Affront
The presence to concede
Of one however lovely, not
The one that we have loved —
So we evade the charge of Years
On one attempting shy
The Circumvention of the Shaft
Of Life's Declivity.
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Free
The Summer sunset washes over me
Into a Lily-White brillance i am led
With incredible dancing shadows falling
I make -the Ivy's leaves- my bed;
I lay me down in this Sovereign Nation-
True Aristocrats-they are the night
I sleep myself through- the eboned hours
Slumbering 'til morn's shimmering light;
Oh, to be as free as a bird on the wing
Dressed in the mornings glorious Dawn-
Lifting myself ever gently into the Sapphire Blue
Just a glimpse of fluttering feathers-blink -and i am gone!
By: Theodora Onken
Emily Dickinson my inspiration for this write
October 29,2011
poem by Theodora Onken
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To my small Hearth His fire came
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To my small Hearth His fire came—
And all my House aglow
Did fan and rock, with sudden light—
'Twas Sunrise—'twas the Sky—
Impanelled from no Summer brief—
With limit of Decay—
'Twas Noon—without the News of Night—
Nay, Nature, it was Day—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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So glad we are—a Stranger'd deem
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So glad we are—a Stranger'd deem
'Twas sorry, that we were—
For where the Holiday should be
There publishes a Tear—
Nor how Ourselves be justified—
Since Grief and Joy are done
So similar—An Optizan
Could not decide between—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Post Script
This starless night breaks open -once again-
Through a cumbersome chilled breeze...
My windowsill 'tis laced with ice chips
And glazed-frozen branches are left upon the trees;
Our embers once aglow...so warm...
In yesterdays fire-are now- long gone-
'Twas like the Summer in mid Winter-wasn't it?
Alas, 'twas deaf and blind to all of your wrong;
By, Theodora Onken
December 31,2011
poem by Theodora Onken
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Tis good—the looking back on Grief
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'Tis good—the looking back on Grief—
To re-endure a Day—
We thought the Mighty Funeral—
Of All Conceived Joy—
To recollect how Busy Grass
Did meddle—one by one—
Till all the Grief with Summer—waved
And none could see the stone.
And though the Woe you have Today
Be larger—As the Sea
Exceeds its Unremembered Drop—
They're Water—equally—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Autumn Comes Running
Too soon comes Autumn, as nipping the heels
Of unwary Summer, it stealthily seals
Small changes in heavily leaf-laden trees.
Summer fruits begin dropping, balanced astride
Branches festooned, in which Autumn takes hide
Before battle commences it's shivery breeze
Which scatters browned leaves, to bring to their knees
Beaten down Summer days of warm ease.
Autumn comes running, nor waits to abide
While brave Summer blooms adjust to it's ride.
It tosses, relentless, all 'Summer' it sees
Havocing treetops, nor does it allay
It's mischievous goadings for yet one more day.
Scurrying birds sense each warning of chill.
Consistently peck around my window-sill,
Fattening on seeds before temperatures freeze.
Autumn comes running
To stay.
Grief is a Mouse
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Grief is a Mouse—
And chooses Wainscot in the Breast
For His Shy House—
And baffles quest—
Grief is a Thief—quick startled—
Pricks His Ear—report to hear
Of that Vast Dark—
That swept His Being—back—
Grief is a Juggler—boldest at the Play—
Lest if He flinch—the eye that way
Pounce on His Bruises—One—say—or Three—
Grief is a Gourmand—spare His luxury—
Best Grief is Tongueless—before He'll tell—
Burn Him in the Public Square—
His Ashes—will
Possibly—if they refuse—How then know—
Since a Rack couldn't coax a syllable—now.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Life Is Lovely All the Year
When the buds are blossoming,
Smiling welcome to the spring,
Lovers choose a wedding day -
Life is love in merry May!
Spring is green - Fal lal la!
Summer's rose - Fal lal la!
It is sad when Summer goes,
Fal la!
Autumn's gold - Fal lal la!
Winter's grey - Fal lal la!
Winter still is far away -
Fal la!
Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;
Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee:
Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!
In the Spring-time seed is sown:
In the Summer grass is mown:
In the Autumn you may reap:
Winter is the time for sleep.
Spring is hope - Fal lal la!
Summer's joy - Fal lal la!
Spring and Summer never cloy,
Fal la!
Autumn, toil - Fal lal la!
Winter, rest - Fal lal la!
Winter, after all, is best -
Fal la!
Spring and summer pleasure you,
Autumn, ay, and winter, too -
Every season has its cheer;
Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Pirouetting Autumn
The tree blushed - a rude blast of air
Betrayed a shapely bough.
My saddened heart aware
That Nature's clock was chiming,
I froze upon the twelfth
Clanging tone, caught alone,
Staring at a creaking door -
Left ajar for dancing, coloured Autumn,
Pirouetting in her leaves,
While agitated summer creatures
Backed away resignedly,
Sighing in protracted breves.
I turned; gave company;
We stood together, watching
Summer slowly blow away.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
A utumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Summer Elegy
The flowers are now shattered
Their thorns bleed the rose
A Basket full of withered Daisies
Where the wild sunflower still grows;
'Tis a backfall of listless last days
Oh, the grey simply swallows you
Gone are the blistering days of Summer
As Autumns amber breaks in anew;
The shadows growing e'er longer
Gold and russet leaves fly away
Surounded by temporary graves for the Tulip
No where for the Meadow Lark to play;
The morn ' air carries its crispness
While the dew, too soon, becomes frost
Woeful cries stir from all of Nature
In mourning, for Summer Days, now lost;
November 2,2011
By: Theodora Onken
poem by Theodora Onken
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A Reason for Every Season (My ode to the seasons and Indian summer.)
There is a purpose that God and nature gave us every season.
Fall, winter, spring, and summer always happens for this reason.
In the fall all the trees turn many cool colors and paint a wonderful hue.
Winter arrives the temperature drops and can make some of us blue.
When spring is near they say April showers bring May flowers.
The weather becomes hotter when summer arrives.
The summer also brings us June weddings and brides..
Without the seasons then life for all mankind would be just a bummer.
We all wish for our weather outside to be like a warm Indian summer.
*I got inspired this write my poem after I read the poems; ‘INDIAN SUMMER’ by Emily Dickinson and the other poem is called ‘LOVE IS LIKE AN INDIAN SUMMER’ by Sue Raymer Woods.
Definition Indian summer - noun is a name given to a period of sunny, warm weather in autumn, not long before winter.
poem by Nichole Kaci McKnight
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Last Days of Summer
Whatever the way the summer days end,
In the type of summer is how it has been,
Whether a good one or bad one,
The last days of summer,
Can be sad or happy endings,
As each season ends,
With another one beginning,
The summer could have been,
Miserable yet,
Sun scorching us everyday,
And sunlight shining on all our faces,
It is how it is,
Out there where all is seen,
In,
Summer days of fun,
Summer days of love,
Summer days of seeing,
Summer days of been,
Out and about where summer is,
And when summer came and went?
With a mundane feeling that it left?
Was the last days of summer,
And the begining of another,
Autumn as we know it,
Fall in other places,
Where the ending of one season shows,
By the decaying of it,
When Autumn Fall shows,
Where we will wrap up and snuggle,
With warm cuppas drinks,
With a book,
Or,
Catch up on watching films,
Yet,
Still,
Musing over the summer days,
Of sunshine memories,
Now,
Warm hats and gloves,
With rustle leaves,
That rustle beneath,
Our feet as we walk,
Through the park,
And see,
The summer leaves turn,
To autumn shades,
Taking in,
The last days of summer,
Reflecting,
And remember,
The falls of Autumn's,
Is the signs of summer,
That has ended,
And minglings with,
All that falls,
From the summer ending,
To autumn beginnings,
Is the,
Decaying,
Of summer,
To regrow itself,
For next season's of summer,
When it begins again,
Yet,
In between,
There's,
Autumn,
Winter,
Spring,
Till,
Again,
Last days of summer,
And all in bloom again.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Too soon so fair, fair lilies
TOO soon so fair, fair lilies;
To bloom is then to wane;
The folded bud has still
To-morrow at its will;
Blown flowers can never blow again.
Too soon so bright, bright noontide;
The sun that now is high
Will henceforth only sink
Towards the western brink;
Day that's at prime begins to die.
Too soon so rich, ripe summer,
For autumn tracks thee fast;
Lo, death-marks on the leaf!
Sweet summer, and my grief;
For summer come is summer past.
Too soon, too soon, lost summer;
Some hours and thou art o'er.
Ah! death is part of birth:
Summer leaves not the earth,
But last year's summer lives no more.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Wind Chill On A Summer Day
It should be a summer's day
It was hot and shiny yesterday
It might be that
Autumn comes to the site
And with Summer it had a big fight
Summer was defeated and took flight
While on the victory side
Autumn laughs with wholehearted delight
The Autumn wind is strong
The Autumn wind is chill
It is chill
But humans bear it with a song
For they don't like the summer heat
And the air conditioning bills they paid made their feelings strong
The wind acts like an old mad witch
Soon pounds of green leaves fall to the ground
On which
A dead body of a beautiful butterfly princess is found
poem by Cathy Shao
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Golden Rain
Summer gleams in heated rays,
across the shimmering plain.
Awaiting autumn's cooling breeze,
when leaves fall ~ like golden rain.
Rows and rows of harvest lay,
a bounty's sweet repose.
Fate sealed by the reaper's hand,
when the wind of autumn blows.
Shaded with a timeless hue,
day sings sweet summer's refrain.
Awaiting autumn's cooling breeze,
when leaves fall ~ like golden rain.
Fiery flame of sun ~ now set
upon fields of summery bliss,
below horizons pinkly lit ~
by summer's parting kiss.
How fair those days of summer now.
Its warmth will not remain.
How soon the autumn ~ will take its place,
when leaves fall ~ like golden rain.
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
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It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
I could not feel the Anguish go—
But only knew by looking back—
That something—had benumbed the Track—
Nor when it altered, I could say,
For I had worn it, every day,
As constant as the Childish frock—
I hung upon the Peg, at night.
But not the Grief—that nestled close
As needles—ladies softly press
To Cushions Cheeks—
To keep their place—
Nor what consoled it, I could trace—
Except, whereas 'twas Wilderness—
It's better—almost Peace—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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