20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


3 Comments

Autumn

Autumn’s fingers poke into
blue skies, coloring trees
crimson, orange, yellow and gold,
dusting them with wealth,
expectation of change this time of year.
Frost soon,
gregarious announcer of winter
hunches with gray shoulders as
if it were a cat stretching. An odd
justice creeps over the land,
killing summer, erasing fall, and
lighting the landscape with white
moments.
No
October treasure remains.
Pilfered, we trudge on toward December
quietly, steadily, with
ragged
slicing
teeth cutting into growth
under the snows.
Violence erupts, blizzard
winds whip with
extraordrinary power,
yammering temperatures to
zero.


1 Comment

December?

A Silly December Poem

It’s 60 today and the sun’s shining bright.
I guess that the seasons just can’t get it right.
A couple of flakes fell on Thanksgiving Day,
but autumn is lingering. Skies are not gray.

I wonder why Earth has its story mixed up.
The weather’s been weird, like cake in a cup.
So what of December? Where’s snow and the cold?
It might come like a lamb, not blatant or bold.


Cycles

Circles of cycles
move me farther from birth,
closer to death.
I do not acknowledge the latter.
Seasons teach me:
Infant blossoms in spring,
full bloom of youth, the summer,
a winding-down in fall, raking up excesses, lowered skies,
then frozen winter.
I know my season,
just as the clock ticks inexorably.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,648 other followers

%d bloggers like this: