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Lane O Aug 2020
Love's vine stems from the heart;
it is ivy creeping through iron gates.
Wanders free through stony soil,
rushing stream, and bank.
It can loiter in the garden,
and fall victim to the spring rain.
But do not despair, my dear,
for its passion is like a flame:
Forever burning in its tendrils,
its coiled roots and leaves;
survives environs menace,
summer's blaze, and winter's freeze.
avery Sep 2019
When I describe the air in the current season I never have the words to Articulate This feeling
All hallows
A Season To Be Thankful
The corn
ready to be cut
Or perhaps molded into a maze for the little ones
Full of spice and flavor for you to smell
Or maybe just to be severed for your porch
The air
Is crisp, refreshing
When you say “it’s nice outside,” this is to what you refer
Is nippy, full
On the edge of Sweaters
     On days I have time I like to lay in the center of the field after practice and breathe
      The air restores my soul, my hope
If nothing else, I love
The air
avery Oct 2019
and maybe you:)
Extension of my last poem
Jurtin Albine Nov 2018
(And I've been picking dandelions)

The rush of wind chases a wayward cloud
Over the foliage's luscious green mounds
It billows on its good fortune allowed
Feeding flowers leave stock's
roots underground

Petals bloom; centered bud's pollinations
The sun burdens and caresses at once
The bumble lost its edge to pollutants
Overcome in the tepid meadows grace

The seasons start to grow long and narrow
Encompassing the changing of our times
within their altering breadths; to and fro
It's shown upon the rocks face's in tides

She's beauty, ruffling with sents of sweet dew
And in her pluck, spring has become renewed
cypress Nov 2018
some classify
while others

the decision to root
this thorn of chance
may sadly,
worm the systems

grotesque foliage
will enter through

if one begins to fail badly
and discard
Maxim Keyfman Jul 2018
white foliage
white trees
white day
and the clock goes on
and the clock goes on
and death on the way

white sun
white rain
white night
and the clock goes on
and the clock goes on
and the darkness is on the way

it's not too far
it's not too far
to live a poet
it's not too far
it's not too far
he can see it all

and the clock goes on
and the clock goes on
and the darkness is on the way
and the clock goes on
and the clock goes on
and death on the threshold

Wellspring Sep 2017
I looked out upon the green meadows,
Glistening with fresh morning dew.

I took a deep breath,
The cold air filling my stale lungs.

I felt the grass under my feet,
Soft and swaying as I walked through it.

I moved towards the mysterious woods,
Dark and foreboding in all its' majesty.

I drifted between the trees,
Ancient history surrounding me completely.

I moved to the spring in the center,
A glimmering pool of hope, sunlight carefully caressing the surface.

I looked up into the dense foliage,
The leaves blotting out almost every bit of sun...

I looked up from the book I was reading, thinking;
'That was beautifully written, and beautifully thought.'
Eh... Bored and my nose is stuffing up...
Ma Cherie Sep 2016
I am painting word pictures today
tasting hot incoming Autumn  breezes
transforming splendor
dreary rain filled moments pass
bidding adieu
and welcome my rustic bamboo
fare thee well to Summer's sun
now in this Burning September

as the
dancing trees
in changing multicolored hues...
skies of crystal clear blue
cut outs of rolling hillsides
and lush Green mountains
in that endless and seamless quilt
sheltering the storms

My eyes are drawn
past the still lively green leaves
as the burning umber
and cardinal tipped ones
hat tipped
as chlorophyll ...
choking the beauty outward
from the petiole
like greedy verdant fingers...
the palm of my hand
I linger ...a moment
they wave in soft winds
...and I wave back

I remember
old-time Vermonters
like my Father
didn't care for the Sumac trees
thought perhaps a ****
only beautiful to look at
& they are so very lovely

These happy helpers
say hello to Fall
stick around
when everything else
already brown
holding down
needy dry hillsides
from erosion
growing fast and tall
turning into thickets...
for woodland critters
providing borders
unsung heroes beckon
along railroads,
highways ,
pastured Meadows
and Orchard edges
these beauties...
never really go away.

A harvesting moon
giving seasons
  five months
from the time
the leaves fall off
until they grow back
in the spring time
  serrated leafy knives
cut into the sky
a bittersweet
and bashful goodbye
to drunken apples
and their dropping dried leafy friends

Surprisingly scrumptious
we are foraging and gleaning
I make a lovely citrusy
sour and fruity tea
like wild cranberry juice...
imaging the Joy
inviting clusters of crimson know

Providing more than food
for winged ones
a sugar depository
loaded with antioxidants &
spreading sunshine
in darker months

Attracting  lovely colorful winter birds
my winsome friends
seed eaters
small singing kindred spirts...
tempted by seeds pods
of the Staghorn Sumac
and remaining wildflowers
bursting like burgundy globes
scarlet and brick reds
mellow yellows
  turning burning
blazing bright oranges
as the seasonal butterfly dreams
unfolding it's summertime schemes
right before my wondering eyes

  European and English
Gardens know
I can only close my eyes to see
accentuating loose,
textured landscapes
stunning gardens
& fern-like cousins
across the world
A Middle Eastern grind
of this crimson spice
from those crushed dried drupes
while they prepare rice for dinner

I so appreciate
what a gift we have to share
time is running short before
as told to me in times of yore
we brace as one for Winter's Bone
though I am not alone
Vermont it is my earthly home
all I really want to say
thanks for sharing with me  ...
on this perfect picturesque
Vermont September day.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Changed Title- my apologies.
I miss my father every single day but I was certainly glad to see him in the Sumac trees... I am certain he is watching now consoling my heart as I bid adieu to the days of summer.
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