Whisper winds and clapping leaves Hear the tides are changing Pressures drop, clouds thicken Soon the rains are coming Thunderstorms and lightning streaks The sky, now a painting Watercolour washout rain Sweeps the leaves away
Spring The season of flowers And lazy bumblebees Of soft rain showers And pollen causing allergies The season after cold and solitude The season of coming out and finding Who you are I feel brave And ready for anything The air around me is clean and fresh Still a bit nippy from the leftover ice from the past season Life is precious I smell Spring And I am ready Summer The season of vacations And beach trips Of laying in the green grass And hanging out on the porch With a glass of cold iced tea in my hand I feel warm And protected I’m prepared for what is next The sun shines on my face And I shield my eyes For what is to come As an expecting breeze blows past me I ready my mind for what is ahead Fall Pulling out jackets and boots from the attic Falling into piles of leaves when grandma asks me to rake them Stuffing turkeys and sipping Pumpkin Spice Lattes As I tug my hat over my ears The chilly wind greets me And whispers to me what is to come I do not know yet But as the red orange
Burning bright red is the passion in my heart
That fills it with light packing the power to patch
The hole from which cascading blue once poured
In those days spent submerged in solitude.
Now my spirit is illuminated by yellow rays of hope
Courtesy of being infected by your optimistic ways.
Green are the vines emerging from the hopeful seed
You planted on the day nature brought us together.
Orange was the warning sign that flashed in my mind
At everything from stormy skies to words of the media
To the cook's dripping nose... yet your purple passion
For embracing the uncertainties found a way inside.
Glistening white descended on the night
The wolf walks forth alone tonight
Save for the crescent moon in white
And a rare zephyr's melody
Must he forgo all company
For the whims of passing delight?
Should it be many or a few
Your soul a friendship can renew
And all too many days alone
Can make that soul as cold as stone
Does the wolf know this to be true?
Colors of bright and vivid shades
blanket beneath the disintegrating canopy,
crunching with the footsteps of man and beast,
signifying the end of summer and welcoming Fall,
and those hues touch in a miracle of time,
blessed splendor of Her silent spirit,
emerging in a sea of aromas.
Wistful kisses of Her breath
sweetly caress the soul,
wafting pleasures of her existence,
to the senses of all
as twilight peaks, smiling only in a mountainside
and a whisper of wind refreshes a heart,
crisp in an autumn wave . . . footfall by footfall.
Perfumes of logs aflame,
linger just beyond touchability,
waiting for the perfect moment
to brush up against t
The trees are lit with hellfire
like candles for a vigil.
The woodland weeps; its ashes
fall in funereal torrents.
The North wind howls
uncanny lamentations,
scattering the falling leaves.
Three moons pass by,
and its disconsolate moans
reach a crescendo,
snuffing the candles
with the cadence of its final note.
The cinders drift in silence,
fading as the light turns inside-out,
devouring itself,
and the last ember of the crematory flame
submits to the will of death,
shattered by the sudden realization
that its desolate aria was only
a prelude to winter's hiemal dirge.
What will you do when the tides seize
and come to rest, and the gulls all fly away.
Where will you be when the last ocean
opens up on the last day,
swallowing the sky, leaving only clouds,
suffocating the sun, holding life in darkness
in a season lost from one of its pages.
How will you feel when finally I forsake you
to your fate, to the untold ages— and yet—
— what if I stay.
This bitter white flower
Prone to trampling feet
The horrid winds will beat
A heart so cold, like glass will shatter
Cruel blizzard, white flower lost forever
So fragile will break like glass on concrete
Nature’s tantrum it cannot defeat
So lonely and frozen the lovely frost flower
So build a white wall, strong and tall
A fort meant to defend
A wall that will never fall
Frost flower now will not hear the call
Of the whirling wind the world will send
Protected now from all
The leaves swayed,
And the fairies were dancing,
An autumn dance,
Upon the frost,
On the threshold of winter.
The cold wind sang,
Among the stars,
Carrying crimson lullabies,
But still, the fairies were dancing.
The harvest moon,
A hunter's moon,
Bloody with toils,
Of the world's woes,
Gleamed from tattered rags of cloud.
Yet the fairies danced,
In winter's clasp,
The immortal court,
Those heartless, soulless, beings.
No earthly tie,
Could keep them bound,
Human trials,
Pass below their feet,
As they go merrily dancing.
A bitter wind chased,
Ghosts of leaves away,
Trails of rime left in its wake,
While mourned the darken'd world,
Of wint
Touched
by the sun,
every leaf opens but one
which hangs closed,
brittle and dead.
Pressing around it,
growing warmth
splits it
Apart to reveal a delicate
head.
Slowly emerge her spiderweb legs;
her damp form’s caressed
by the kind breath of Spring.
And,
featherlight,
glimmering with heavenlight,
she lifts on tremulous,
fluttering
wings.
~Riorlynë