a poem a day in the month of may
Spring is here at last at last
The wind is gone and the cold has passed
After Spring
Then comes Summer
Then comes Winter
What a Bunmer
(Penned this when I was 10 years old and am grateful to have a forum and a prompt to bust it out 50 years later)
Sometimes I feel like I have only ever
been waiting for the next season,
constantly looking forward,
impatient and unsatisfied,
holding my breath,
feeling stuck.
Now, I inhale,
breathing in this
moment, learning to
appreciate the ebb and flow,
letting everything be what it is,
no longer stuck or unsatisfied -
though still occasionally impatient.
Seasonal
How discouraging
to find I am
right back to
this same space
-again.
But I remember.
As I watch the
seasonal change
in the woods around me,
the trees also come back
to a time when
all seems lost
But just as the trees discover,
this place isn’t really
the same for me
this time, either.
I have grown.
I am stronger.
I may even branch out
in new directions.
And I have learned.
It’s just a season.
And I ask myself
what will be
budding out soon?
We grasp to name the movement
of time by tasting seconds given
from the ground- how many months
since we dipped dripping strawberries
in sugar, dried out pumpkin seeds
in a darkened oven?
as our Mother turns
i wonder about shelf life
seasonal affects
Holy Joe fiercely spouts out the seasons
to the silently nodding loyal gaggle.
plant/pluck. kill/heal. weep/laugh.
mourn/dance. love/hate. war/peace.
a time to be born & a time to be dead.
I feel the air suck in as I raise my hand.
turn, turn, turn.
Seasonal work
Seasonal change
Seasonal weather
But what does that mean
in this place of only two seasons?
I miss the gentle rhythm
of the year as the
cold winter gives way
to the hope of spring which grows
into the warmth of summer then
the cool autumn days
as colours fade back into winter.
How does this work
in a world of wet and dry
where time moves differently?
Or so it seems to this child
of four seasons now limited
to two
As I learn to live
Fully in my body
I also learn to embrace and notice
Instead of fight
The cycles of the seasons
I can see the first flickers of fall
Before the leaves even hint it
Or find space in winter’s breathe
By seeking out comfort and light
Or reawaken with the coming of spring
And feel the build of energy in my bones
Or bathe in the fullness of summer
As I explore and nurture the soil’s inhabitants
I learn to embrace and notice
The cycles of my own life
the morning you died a thousand blackbirds sang the sun awake.
dressed for battle, they bellow ballads –
no, an elegy, of past springs and summers,
trips to ancient forests and primal seascapes,
climbing roofs and repairing chimneys,
patient waiting after losing your son before he ever breathed,
gathering your daughter from the pacific,
stories of loss and betrayal, repentance and forgiveness,
a quiet life filled with arias of support and comfort,
a faithful duet for 46 years – a song.
now, the return of red-wing blackbirds
every march prophecies spring's imminence --
and your absence.
seasonal
winter, spring, summer, fall
cyclically
rhythmically
a pattern of living
and dying
birth, death, re-birth
as if a universal
narrative
of the things of
creation
beyond
what humanity
has in it's power to control
and yet
it isn't synchronized
so all joy comes in summer
and pain in the winter
with spring and fall
bearing witness
honoring the change
from pain to joy
and back again
as a victim of trauma
may know years
of climate seasons
but long years of winter
the absence of anything joyful
or maybe small joys in a great
season of pain
others may have long seasons
of summer joy
with little going wrong
many will endure the flow
of these seasons lightly
while some us have
trod through the winter
bearing pain that is ours
as well as the pains of others
those seasons of transition
spring and fall
give us chance for
new life
and harvest
the discovery
of a blossom not seen before
or a chance to notice
something new after shedding
leaves that have outlived
their usefulness
no season lasts a lifetime
and even the roughest winter ends
for those in despair
for seasons of wilderness wandering
or exile oppression
will once again bear the new life
of promised land and return
at least I tell myself that
as I endure one winter after another
some days the spring and new life
speak loudly within me
calling me toward more healing
and blossoming
yet days like today
when living out existence
in a cave brings news
of sad things
happening to cherished a
place from my childhood
the spring of my life
and part of my faith formation
my home church
entering self-imposed exile
and realistically
the winter of its existence
and there is nothing
I can do from this place
except watch and mourn
praying for them to have
another season
but even from this place
I know new life
will spring forth somehow
as this dynamic
methodical
dance of the spirit
continues to
change season after season
thanks be to God.
I love the shifts from season to season, each one with it's particular joys.
Born in late summer, Autumn is dearest to me.
Sweet chilly air and the trees dropping their mantles.
I love Winter snow boots squeaking on the hard pack and snow flakes decorating gray branches and muddy lawns.
Early winter aconite signals the shift to Spring and little by little the greening begins.
I am never ready for Summer.
Suddenly it is here and I scramble in my closet for a cool garment.
We walk in the sun and relish the ease of the season, even summer rains are luscious.
Yes I love the shifts in the seasons and long may they continue.
This is so lovely! One of my goals is to learn how to nurture my creativity in harmony with the seasons. I’m just getting started but nature has so much to teach!
In Kansas,
Seasons are sometimes…
Confused.
Snow in April,
Hot in November,
Befuddling.
Lack of rain,
Lots of farmland,
Nail-biting.
Tornadoes,
Wind and Hail,
Heartache.
Oops, quite late this time, but here it is:
.
Apples pummel the ground,
My basket filling,
I want something new,
It’s time for something
Fresh
I’m afraid I’ll never get there,
Put the past behind me
The morning bird chirps,
I sit out sipping coffee,
Yes, spring has risen
Some days I want to dance and sing,
But some days I don’t
And when the storm arrives
And I’m caught out in the rain
I absolve myself of the inherent past
Stay out of the heat,
They said, swim in the river,
My ice cream melted
You’re on to the great one,
On to the great one now,
They look at me with excitement,
So much hope in their eyes,
“I’ll try to carry it all, for you,”
But still, time marches on
And even they couldn’t stop
The gray hairs from coming
Pictures pass me by,
Old seasons come and go again,
I wait for the next
When is the right time to be gentle,
With myself
With all the things I haven’t done
With all the things that come ahead?
Now?
Is now the right time
To lay it all down,
Out on the line,
Bare it all and let it be?
You’re cold as ice
Birds outside have stopped chirping
The world has ended
But change is always coming
On that we can rely
And despite the anger
Or the shame
Or the heaviness
Or the sadness
We can thank God for the seasons
Remember there are
Seasons to sow
And to grow
Seasons for rest
And for harvest
The good news
The bad news
This too shall pass
Nothing lasts
Except cycles of rebirth
I am so far behind but trying to go back and catch up....tweaked this one to simply seasons.
Seasons
Birthdays, holidays, and every days
Each season has its joys and its sorrows.
Each year passing more quickly than you can imagine
Until yesterdays are what were once our tomorrows.
Karri Temple Brackett
May 20, 2023
https://themarvelousandthemundane.com/2023/05/20/seasons/
Spring is here at last at last
The wind is gone and the cold has passed
After Spring
Then comes Summer
Then comes Winter
What a Bunmer
(Penned this when I was 10 years old and am grateful to have a forum and a prompt to bust it out 50 years later)
Sometimes I feel like I have only ever
been waiting for the next season,
constantly looking forward,
impatient and unsatisfied,
holding my breath,
feeling stuck.
Now, I inhale,
breathing in this
moment, learning to
appreciate the ebb and flow,
letting everything be what it is,
no longer stuck or unsatisfied -
though still occasionally impatient.
Seasonal
How discouraging
to find I am
right back to
this same space
-again.
But I remember.
As I watch the
seasonal change
in the woods around me,
the trees also come back
to a time when
all seems lost
-again.
But just as the trees discover,
this place isn’t really
the same for me
this time, either.
I have grown.
I am stronger.
I may even branch out
in new directions.
And I have learned.
It’s just a season.
And I ask myself
what will be
budding out soon?
We grasp to name the movement
of time by tasting seconds given
from the ground- how many months
since we dipped dripping strawberries
in sugar, dried out pumpkin seeds
in a darkened oven?
as our Mother turns
i wonder about shelf life
seasonal affects
Holy Joe fiercely spouts out the seasons
to the silently nodding loyal gaggle.
plant/pluck. kill/heal. weep/laugh.
mourn/dance. love/hate. war/peace.
a time to be born & a time to be dead.
I feel the air suck in as I raise my hand.
turn, turn, turn.
Seasonal work
Seasonal change
Seasonal weather
But what does that mean
in this place of only two seasons?
I miss the gentle rhythm
of the year as the
cold winter gives way
to the hope of spring which grows
into the warmth of summer then
the cool autumn days
as colours fade back into winter.
How does this work
in a world of wet and dry
where time moves differently?
Or so it seems to this child
of four seasons now limited
to two
As I learn to live
Fully in my body
I also learn to embrace and notice
Instead of fight
The cycles of the seasons
I can see the first flickers of fall
Before the leaves even hint it
Or find space in winter’s breathe
By seeking out comfort and light
Or reawaken with the coming of spring
And feel the build of energy in my bones
Or bathe in the fullness of summer
As I explore and nurture the soil’s inhabitants
As I learn to live
Fully in my body
I learn to embrace and notice
Instead of fight
The cycles of my own life
the morning you died a thousand blackbirds sang the sun awake.
dressed for battle, they bellow ballads –
no, an elegy, of past springs and summers,
trips to ancient forests and primal seascapes,
climbing roofs and repairing chimneys,
patient waiting after losing your son before he ever breathed,
gathering your daughter from the pacific,
stories of loss and betrayal, repentance and forgiveness,
a quiet life filled with arias of support and comfort,
a faithful duet for 46 years – a song.
now, the return of red-wing blackbirds
every march prophecies spring's imminence --
and your absence.
seasonal
winter, spring, summer, fall
cyclically
rhythmically
a pattern of living
and dying
birth, death, re-birth
as if a universal
narrative
of the things of
creation
beyond
what humanity
has in it's power to control
and yet
it isn't synchronized
so all joy comes in summer
and pain in the winter
with spring and fall
bearing witness
honoring the change
from pain to joy
and back again
as a victim of trauma
may know years
of climate seasons
but long years of winter
the absence of anything joyful
or maybe small joys in a great
season of pain
others may have long seasons
of summer joy
with little going wrong
many will endure the flow
of these seasons lightly
while some us have
trod through the winter
bearing pain that is ours
as well as the pains of others
those seasons of transition
spring and fall
give us chance for
new life
and harvest
the discovery
of a blossom not seen before
or a chance to notice
something new after shedding
leaves that have outlived
their usefulness
no season lasts a lifetime
and even the roughest winter ends
for those in despair
for seasons of wilderness wandering
or exile oppression
will once again bear the new life
of promised land and return
at least I tell myself that
as I endure one winter after another
some days the spring and new life
speak loudly within me
calling me toward more healing
and blossoming
yet days like today
when living out existence
in a cave brings news
of sad things
happening to cherished a
place from my childhood
the spring of my life
and part of my faith formation
my home church
entering self-imposed exile
and realistically
the winter of its existence
and there is nothing
I can do from this place
except watch and mourn
praying for them to have
another season
but even from this place
I know new life
will spring forth somehow
as this dynamic
methodical
dance of the spirit
continues to
change season after season
thanks be to God.
I love the shifts from season to season, each one with it's particular joys.
Born in late summer, Autumn is dearest to me.
Sweet chilly air and the trees dropping their mantles.
I love Winter snow boots squeaking on the hard pack and snow flakes decorating gray branches and muddy lawns.
Early winter aconite signals the shift to Spring and little by little the greening begins.
I am never ready for Summer.
Suddenly it is here and I scramble in my closet for a cool garment.
We walk in the sun and relish the ease of the season, even summer rains are luscious.
Yes I love the shifts in the seasons and long may they continue.
This is so lovely! One of my goals is to learn how to nurture my creativity in harmony with the seasons. I’m just getting started but nature has so much to teach!
In Kansas,
Seasons are sometimes…
Confused.
Snow in April,
Hot in November,
Befuddling.
Lack of rain,
Lots of farmland,
Nail-biting.
Tornadoes,
Wind and Hail,
Heartache.
Oops, quite late this time, but here it is:
Seasonal
.
Apples pummel the ground,
My basket filling,
I want something new,
It’s time for something
Fresh
I’m afraid I’ll never get there,
Put the past behind me
.
The morning bird chirps,
I sit out sipping coffee,
Yes, spring has risen
.
Some days I want to dance and sing,
But some days I don’t
And when the storm arrives
And I’m caught out in the rain
I absolve myself of the inherent past
.
Stay out of the heat,
They said, swim in the river,
My ice cream melted
.
You’re on to the great one,
On to the great one now,
They look at me with excitement,
So much hope in their eyes,
“I’ll try to carry it all, for you,”
But still, time marches on
And even they couldn’t stop
The gray hairs from coming
.
Pictures pass me by,
Old seasons come and go again,
I wait for the next
.
When is the right time to be gentle,
With myself
With all the things I haven’t done
With all the things that come ahead?
Now?
Is now the right time
To lay it all down,
Out on the line,
Bare it all and let it be?
.
You’re cold as ice
Birds outside have stopped chirping
The world has ended
.
But change is always coming
On that we can rely
And despite the anger
Or the shame
Or the heaviness
Or the sadness
We can thank God for the seasons
Remember there are
Seasons to sow
And to grow
Seasons for rest
And for harvest
The good news
The bad news
This too shall pass
Nothing lasts
Except cycles of rebirth
I am so far behind but trying to go back and catch up....tweaked this one to simply seasons.
Seasons
Birthdays, holidays, and every days
Each season has its joys and its sorrows.
Each year passing more quickly than you can imagine
Until yesterdays are what were once our tomorrows.
Karri Temple Brackett
May 20, 2023
https://themarvelousandthemundane.com/2023/05/20/seasons/