The Turn Of Season (Nature Poem)

The quack of the ducks

A faint rhythm, like a swooning melody

The sight of the blossoms

Up, down, left, right, above, beyond

To the playground with kids

All of them mirroring a younger me

A whiff of the air

A swirling storm

Of goose and fresh air

The feel of the day

Had us feeling okay,

Spring was blooming out of control

Anyway

The turn of the grass color

Dirty brown to emerald green

Fresh starts and new beginnings

The lake, like a sheet of shimmering glass

It may stop

But I spy a line where the sky meets the edge of the town

And it calls me.

Variety (Abandoned Farmhouse Poem)

Being neat isn’t her best quality, says the endless pile of laundry,

Lying on the ground, helplessly waiting for someone to pick it up.

The disorganized desk, papers flying out, pencils rolling off, and out of order index cards

Anxiously hoping for someone to put them in their correct place

Reveal she doesn’t love to clean.

She is an aspiring athlete, say the few uniforms hung up in the closet,

Along with a lacrosse stick hiding in the corner.

She must love to dance, say the dark blue Vera Bradley duffle bag,

With all kinds of shoes resting inside,

And pink tights peeking out, parched from a petrifying practice.

She is interested in trying new things, say the variety of books, lights, clothes and crafts,

Stationed across the room, stacked along the shelves,

Strung up on the walls, all four sides.

She does not enjoy giving up, mention the crumpled up papers,

Sitting in the garbage, expecting to be opened up and looked upon again.

Vetra (Invictus Poem)

Like a struggling ship at stormy sea,

Someone you will not ever see me be,

Is a person without a will

To keep on going

The sea may be choppy

But all of my desire to stop

Will not get the best of me,

No bigger than a poppy seed.

The storm clouds may clear up,

No, I will not disappear, even if that’s what you want for me,

My mind filters all horrors, that’s not the person I choose to be

I won’t let myself own up, but I may have to back up

In a war with the ocean, the ship will rock violently,

You will see me stand back up, I might feel differently inside,

You will not see me bend down to kiss your feet,

My head is lifted with pride.  

Saule (My Papa’s Waltz)

I must confess, my quest was unsuccessful,

I did try my best, but every spot was full,

Behind all the umbrellas, far away from all of the fellas,

We finally could finally sit in a patch of sun baked sand

Back then I could spend away the days,

It didn’t matter if we kept track of them anyways,

Right then my being content was the focus,

I’d go right back to hear the happy cries of children swimming into the crashing waves,

It’s ok if it is on short notice.

Happy as can be, the whole world was a beautiful frenzy,

I could get up and run, for the fun has just begun.

Washed by the waves, wanting to pull out my book

With this season, I was no rook.

The shade of the umbrella comforted me, like a warm hug,

Who cared if I spilled my lemonade, or dropped my fries,

It was a good snack for the hungry seagulls, I guess in their eyes.

The summer carried away, faster than a hungry bird could.

The thing that would stay was the sun, at least that was good.