Seasonal Poetry Challenge

[Angeline]

Do you have a poem that fits the season or holiday going on wherever you are? Yes? Post it here. All forms or free verse accepted and all celebrations, lamentations, whatever you're feeling can be inspiration for a poem! Is it an old poem of yours? That's ok, too. I'm easy (well in some ways), so if you've got them, post them! Oh and if you're writing for another challenge here (30/30, Poem-a-Week, Five Senses, etc.) and your poem fits here as well, you can post them in both places if you want.

Here's one from me, a Double Dactyl, to start us off:



Higgledy Piggledy
Edgar of Baltimore
frightened more people
than Bela as Drac.

Think of him lying there
stoned in a fever dream,
overindulgently
painting it black.

 

[Tzara]

Season of the Witch

On Halloween night, things are spooky.
Or sometimes they're just a bit kooky.
Like the kid whose appendix
Is out playing Hendrix
Way too loud on electric bouzouki.

Or then there's my neighbor Amanda,
Who's dictating nude memoranda
On wild communist plots
And AI cosmonauts
While pole dancing out on her veranda.

Perhaps I should turn off my porch light,
Hunker down in the house and just sit tight.
I've got plenty of candy,
A fine bottle of brandy.
I don't need to go out for a fortnight.

But ol' Mandy there looks pretty groovy,
And I'm digging her body, so sue me.
As a lady, quite foxy
As one's lover or doxy—
Her gyrations a triple XXX movie.

So I guess I'll give in to the season,
See if Mandy will let me just squeeze in
For a trick or a treat.
Either one would be sweet
And that seems a pretty good reason.

 

[Wonderer67]

Onomatopoeia’s Birthday

November 1st
Day of the Dead
dia de los Muertos
Samhain
Halfway to the winter solstice
The Solemnity of Saints
Autumn dziady
Her day of celebration

Her name is Pia
Taken to Pia Leah Maria
But we settled
On Onomatopoeia

This is a tough one for her
Fifty
I hope she will ramble
The roads of backwoods Oregon
Finding the beauty of the trees
Taking in the colors
Collecting leaves
Giving those beautiful punkins
A happy look
The pride of a farmer
Especially the super worty one
It was my seed
My gift to her

Thru this poem
I remind her that she is
Still technically
In her fourth decade

I know she’ll crack a beautiful smile
For me
On All Hallows Eve
Onomatopoeia’s birthday

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[butters]

cold fronts and chasing clouds

i am quiet
the lowest leaf layer beneath the colourful drift
still
damp
cool
unmoved

until the wind kicks up its heels
agitates the greenhouse skin
setting it aflap with cross curses
sends a russet rainbow flying
feeders swinging on their hangers
& petulantly snaps dead wood

a part of me still plastered
in the dark and the silence
the rest caught up in a turbulent breeze
creating ruckus
disturbing snoozing cats in the sun
ruffling feathers
blowing lids off reservoirs
of laval discontent
ready to blow
even as i crave stillness

 

[Angeline]

Fall Fetish

What is it
about the perfect boot
that quickens my pulse,
makes me want to rush out
and buy those long, knee-high
leather charmers, brown, with chunky
wood heels and those cunning little
straps at the top to help them on
and, of course, off revealing calves
in warm heather-colored socks,
forest green or cornflower blue,
anything nature inspired to complement
the last brilliant colors of autumn
before they leach away to winter.

I could wear them with a skirt,
but best is over faded jeans,
hair in a long dark plait,
and a fisherman sweater
with a silk camisole underneath
to surprise you, girlish pastel
under all that tomboy.

Those boots make me walk
a little different, a bolder
hip-slinging kind of gait
especially if I know
you're watching me
crunch by, kicking up
a few mottled leaves.

 

[butters]

drought in a green state

when the land is carpeted in dense drifts
of curled sere sepia death
fire has no sense of humour
and houses and trees
cannot run from the flames
as wild beasts can
to huddle in streams or ponds
bodies of water alight with reflections
savage
bright
even as the air fills with resin
as firs and cedars
become pillars of immolation
to hubris

 

[Piscator]

Written in Dec 2020

As days grow short

As days grow short and sunlight fades
Nature’s hues shift from bright to grey
in midst of plague, darkness pervades
the birds fly south but we must stay.

Together we will make it through
though days grow short and sunlight fades
our faith stands strong, our hearts are true
and so shall break midwinter’s shade.

In blackest hour when doubt invades
despair creeps in and all seems dire
as nights grow long and sunlight fades
strike flint to light the solstice fire.

All gather round our newfound light
quaff winter ale, sing old ballades
till dawn banishes longest night
as sun grows strong and darkness fades.

 

[Jorunn]

Nature's Breath

Nature's Breath

Beneath turgid skies,
dismal and bleak,
a cold wind blows.

I watch,
from my safe place,
where only I can see.

A raindrop,
then others,
stirring the dust.

Powdery plumes,
rise like dancers,
then spatter.

Flecks of white,
as wee snowflakes
dart through the rain.

A squall engulfs all,
in rain, and snow,
and blowing leaves.

The tempest beckons me,
to leave sanctuary,
and behold Nature's Breath.

Donning jacket,
forsaking hat,
I dash into the midst.

A vortex swirls,
I clasp at leaves,
flying much too fast.

Then close my eyes,
to feel Nature's kiss,
upon my cheek.

My hair elopes,
and in Nature's hands,
is styled wild and free.

A final gust.
The curtain falls.
Nature's stars move on.

As wind abates,
hopes of encore fade
into the grey horizon.

Snowflakes melt,
just a tease,
not winter yet.

A last leaf
releases its grip,
drifting to earth.

Landing in a rivulet,
it twirls and spins,
amid the rippling flume.

Finally ebbing,
in a leaf-framed
puddle-wonderful.

Smooth as glass,
reflecting Nature,
reflecting me.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Winterwunderland

Meterhoch gebettet liegt der Winter am Fußwegrand
so aufgetürmt, Schicht um Schicht, von eigner Hand
bezahlt von achtlos bestattetem Einwegpfand.
Einsamkeit, die hinterm kalten Vorhang verschwand.
Ein nackter Blick, gebannt vom Schneegewand,
entführt vom kleinen Häufchen aus gestreutem Sand
zurück zu Julis Sommerkleid, gefaltet am Badestrand

 

[Piscator]

Strong Coffee and Onion Soup

Strong coffee and
onion soup are what
I need on this grey
December day with
an overcast sky
and a mix of rain
and sleet lacking
the joie de vivre
of either.

 

[butters]

my heart mourns
for perfect autumn blues
absent on this shrouded day
where grey grey grey
wraps
and wraps
this land
this mind
and souls need first
to dry their wings
before they fly
again

 

[Wonderer67]

Wispy Clouds

Followed me home from work Monday afternoon
Like they were painted on the heavens
Slightly smeared
The most delicate brush strokes of white cloud on deepening blue
I could imagine Bob Ross at work up there

As I completed my journey home
They faded to light orange
And then pink
Along with
Criss crossing contrails
A dying fall sunset

After dinner
I walked laps outside around our patio Expending pent up energy from my day And just thinking
Unwinding

It was dark out
But the clouds were still up there
The most faint white wisps against the dark canvas of night
Ghosts

My friends
Following me
Whispering to me
As I walked lap after lap In the cold December
Evening

 

[Piscator]

Wispy Clouds

Followed me home from work Monday afternoon
Like they were painted on the heavens
Slightly smeared
The most delicate brush strokes of white cloud on deepening blue
I could imagine Bob Ross at work up there

As I completed my journey home
They faded to light orange
And then pink
Along with
Criss crossing contrails
A dying fall sunset

After dinner
I walked laps outside around our patio Expending pent up energy from my day And just thinking
Unwinding

It was dark out
But the clouds were still up there
The most faint white wisps against the dark canvas of night
Ghosts

My friends
Following me
Whispering to me
As I walked lap after lap In the cold December
Evening

Now that I'm beginning to journalsky and clods are often mentioned. But Joni os still my cloud queen.

 

[Wonderer67]

Driving Along The Delaware

In Hunterdon county
Is always a treat
Just Bex and I
Enjoying a grey afternoon
Three days before Christmas

Started in Washington’s Crossing
Ready for a surprise assault on trenton
But headed north instead
Reminding me of great times in the 90s
When I lived in Lambertville
Fucking everything I could
Sowing wild oats
A smile drawn across my face
As we entered town

I used to ride my bike every day
Along the canal path
Great times

Now beyond town
Halfway to Stockton
Past the cemetery
Where G and I would make love

Thru Stockton
Past pralisville mills
The longest stretch of road to Frenchtown
14 miles always seemed like 14 years

Bex and I reminiscing abt our
Second or third date
A walk along the Delaware in Frenchtown
Loving those feet of hers
Sexy sandals etched in my brain box
The grey sky could not dampen
My spirit

In town we popped
Into the IGA for a few essentials
Perused the record store
Bought the first Bad Brains record
“Pay to cum…”

And a short walk to the Rathskeller for a beer
And a burger

A magical afternoon
Under leaden skies
Along the swollen Delaware

 

[Piscator]

Christmas Drive to Gran’s

You never know what the weather
will be like driving north to spend
Christmas with her family in Ottawa.
Makes sense as my famiy’s spread out
West - the other side of the continent
but still in 40 years we’ve only had
Christmas trice with my family.
Just saying.

This time the drive is good,
a leaden grey sky with
a mix of light rain and snow
but nothing serious and we made
good time as traffic was light.

Other times we drove through
blizzards with snow so thick you
only get glimpses of the road between
wiper blade sweeps and the light
from the headlights only reaches
twenty meters or so, not that it
mattered as we were the only ones
on the road cept for that asshole
truckdriver on his horn less than a
ten meters behind me.

So far, we've always make it through
and the celebration of family, children
and now grandchildren makes it all
worthwhile.

 

[Piscator]

December 26, 2023 Moon- Waxing Gibbous phase

The day after Christmas is always a little
anticlimactic the gifts opened – the wrappings
and ribbons all tidied although a few may arrive late
and our Boxing Day guest may add a few.

With the solstice passed, days will slowly get longer
and the moon rising over the valley’s leafless trees
was a bit over half-full – kinda like my mood.

 

[Ellies_adventures]

https://literotica.com/p/tied-up-on-valentines
My first literotica submission, I have 3 stories in draft, but managed to knock this one out the other night