#seasonal poetry

[carfuckerlynch]

[transcript: July by Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz

The figs we ate wrapped in bacon.

The gelato we consumed greedily:

coconut milk, clove, fresh pear.

How we’d dump hot espresso on it

just to watch it melt, licking out spoons

clean. The potatoes fried in duck fat,

the salt we’d suck off our fingers,

the eggs we’d watch get beaten

‘til they were a dizzying bright yellow,

how their edges crisped in the pan.

The pink salt bloom of prosciutto

we pulled apart with our hands, melted

on our eager tongues. The green herbs

with goat cheese, the aged brie paired

with a small pot of raspberry jam,

the final sour cherry we kept politely

pushing onto each other’s plate, saying

No, you. But it’s so good. No, it’s yours.

How I finally put an end to it, plucked it

from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth.

How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart.

How good it felt: to want something and

pretend you don’t, and to get it anyway. /end transcript]

my favorite food poem and one of my favorite summer poems <3

#odhran.txt #poetry #cristin o’keefe aptowicz #july #seasons songs #seasonal poetry

[edwardian-girl-next-door]

December, from The Procession of Months (c.1889). All the poems were written by fifteen-year-old Beatrice Crane and illustrated by her acclaimed artist father, Walter Crane.

via contentinacottage.blogspot on pinterest

text id after cut off

[TEXT ID: "December" by Beatrice Crane.

Now wildly sweeps the wind

And wildly drives the sleet

DECEMBER fast draws nigh

Wrapped close from head to feet.

Her eyes glance restlessly

From shaken tree to plain,

The dark hair 'neath her hood

Is wet with frozen rain.

Her furry cloak she holds

With one hand round her form,

The other one lifts high

A torch to light the storm

Scance tree or shrub doth cheer

The dreary scene around,

Save for the moaning wind,

There is no other sound.

December's eyes grow sad

And fainter still her tread;

One hears a long, low sight

Which tells the year is dead. /end ID]

#beatrice crane #walter crane #illustration #illustration art #english artist #british artist #seasonal poetry #seasonal quotes #literature quotes #lit quotes #literary quotes #literary quotations #arts and crafts style #arts and crafts movement #19th century art #19th century illustration #victorian art #victorian illustration #english poetry #december #december quotes #winter aesthetic #1880s #1880s art

[lunarofthevalley]

As a child I was always perplexed by adults general distain for winter.

I wondered how they could hate waking up to a fresh coat of snow when it looked like a dusting of glitter,

And I would rise to defend winters beauty to them, but I was often met with a well known line, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”.

As I experience my 22nd winter my love and appreciation for it has not dwindled.

Winter has always been the season maintaining the ecosystem in my mind,

My thoughts are carried on cold breezes,

My memories are stored in icicles strewn about, some catching the light in the most breathtaking way, some threatening to impale an unsuspecting victim.

My dreams linger in an elusive fog that always seems to roll in at the strangest times.

My emotions are swept away in a river far too rough to freeze.

Even my visualization of death is intertwined with an aggrandized view of winter.

The image of just one day walking into snowy forest and not leaving,

A comfortable silence that would only be disturbed by the snow crunching under my feet,

The snow would fall in large flakes and stick on my sleeves where I could observe their short lived beauty.

Amidst the trees that have traded their leaves for drifts of snow, there would be the tallest evergreen trees I had ever seen.

I would be able to lay down on a fresh glittery coat of snow, close my eyes and slip into a permanent slumber.

It’s an image I cherish in my mind.

#thoughts #feelings #poems on tumblr #poems and quotes #poems and poetry #my poem #original poem #short poem #sad poem #poem #poems #winter #winter aesthetic #winter poetry #seasonal poetry #sad poetry #mental health #mentally exhausted #in my feels #vent account #vent

[halleehalfgallon]

home is that familiar dying green. the ferns push mightily through the fence and the roses keep coming back for more to drink. the woods are a mess of moss and mushrooms galore. everyone’s happy to be here, however long we get to.

#home #garden #nature writing #seasonal poetry #seasons #end of summer #mushroom #mushrooms #flora and fauna #plants #woods #forest #forestcore #homestead #homesteading #rural lifestyle #rural #nature #fern #ferns #wattle fence #fairycore #living off the land #maine #new england #simple living #simple life #country living #slow living #cottagecore

[deathbyvalentine]

The land doesn't sleep in Winter. It is wide awake. It does not encourage dreaming. It is as it is, and will be no different.

Today the air is white The sky soars upwards in a cathedral of grey The ground lies hard, waiting for feet, Threatening to bite.

The god sits cross legged on the hills Looking into the valleys, Hand poised to pluck a car from the winding snake road.

The empty trees shiver and say nothing.

#poetry #poems #poem #winter #seasonal poetry #pastoral

[unpolished-ink]

On her way I reckon

#seasons #female poets #poems and poetry #micropoetry #poetsandwriters #poets on tumblr #poemsociety #poetry #poets of the world #poetscafe #micropoets #friendship #seasonal poetry #trains #metaphor #creative writing #creative inspiration #creativity

[sapphireshorelines]

#september #september poem #and now it's september #barbara crooker #september poetry #seasonal poetry

[peppers-ghost-posts]

Ibn Gabriol (Peter Cole translation)

Winter with its ink of showers and rain, with its pen of lightning and palm of clouds,      wrote a letter of purple and blue          over the beds of the garden.

No artist in his cunning could measure         his work beside it—and so,                when earth longed for the sky it embroidered the spread of its furrows like stars.

#poetry #seasonal poetry #winter #poems #translated poetry #poem #spanish poems #jewish poetry

[reddestofscarves]

april 20, 2024 — secret garden language

im in the hospital in a waiting room

my thighs are sweating, the air hot and stuffy

its too early in the morning to feel like noon

thoughts of you are the only thing keeping me steady

my music flows smokey, the album's nice

messy poetry, paradox hearts & minds

weeds on my back, sick of putting you first

its ok to love him more, my heart's seen worse

i hope the 6 year old garden was fun

the fruits of your seed and spring has begun

so for the first time in forever

abatinas and cyclamens bloom in my weather

and when winter comes, what will you do?

will another bloodthirsty creature welcome you too?

will you drain them of life and trick them like a fool?

goodluck on the run, my laugh's one haunting ghoul

— reddestofscarves, 11:00 pm.

#writeblr #poetic #poetry #poets on tumblr #spilled poetry #writers and poets #poems and poetry #poetic thoughts #acceptance #flower language #moving on #flower poetry #garden poetry #flower meanings #seasonal poetry

[saltfield]

October

Subdued sparks as clouded nights,

Breaths of angels, newer life.

Tucked away in red and gold,

Beneath their mother from the cold.

As water falls more slowly still,

Like gathered dust upon the sill,

Our hearth reminds of cold to come,

With pops and crackles spitting from.

.

As all the weary build their nests,

Wearing coats of furs or dressed,

Pumpkins tumble, ghosts arise,

And jovialities surmise,

That life does not decay in brown,

But sleeps until new green is found.

And with the sleep comes hallowed dreams,

The eve upon our kindling.

#saltfield #poetry #poem #october #halloween #fall #autumn #seasonal #seasonal poetry

[andthereshallbelight]

Autumn Reflection

Here's just a few thoughts I've had recently about fall.

The light tried to break through the kitchen door while I was busy making spaghetti, washing dishes full of tomato sauce, thinking of what it means for things to fall in fall. Through the window everything looked golden, the trees and sky full of the secret of being alive in a season when nature is slowly, beautifully dying. Soon I will cut my hair shorter than it’s been since November…

View On WordPress

#autumn #autumn poetry #christian poetry #christianity #fall #fall poetry #Heaven #Poetry #reflection #seasonal poetry #seasonal writing

[edwardian-girl-next-door]

March, from The Procession of Months (c.1889). All poems were written by fifteen-year-old Beatrice Crane and illustrated by her acclaimed artist father, Walter Crane.

via pinterest

text id after cut-off

[text ID: "March" by Beatrice and Walter Crane

"The wind is rising high

To drive the mist away,

And herald the approach

Of MARCH, his mistress gay.

She comes with eyes so wild,

Quick rushing o'er the plain

Her flying hair let loose

Not to be bound again.

Her garments tinted green

Flutter all loose and free,

The wind so full of play

Tosses the folds in glee.

As she comes along

With eyes so full of mirth

The crocuses spring up

Like flames from the dark earth.

But now the wind grows still,

She must depart she knows

And, smoothing back her hair,

All quietly she goes." /end ID]

#beatrice crane #walter crane #arts and crafts #arts and crafts style #arts and crafts movement #illustration #19th century illustration #victorian art #poetry #seasonal poetry #march quotes #19th century art #vintage art #vintage aesthetic #vintage cottagecore #cottagecore #cottagecore aesthetic #green academia #spring aesthetic #springtime #1880s #1880s art #1889 #e

[annasinthewalls]

spring is coming. Spring IS COMING. You will stand on soft grass again, and feel the sun kiss your cheeks and shoulders. you will eat of the same berries as the animals returned from their hibernation. you will hear the air alive with your collective breathing.

#i must be reminded #it will always come again #seasonal affective depression #seasonal affective disorder #s.a.d. #writing #spilled ink #fragments #poetry #spring #march

[angelanyawrites]

The Fall

So beautiful dying leaf orange, red Dried, ready to fall I know you

So full of life when sun kissed your veins yearning for its life giving force green and fresh warm and vibrant

like I was

belonging to something larger than yourself surrounded by those who care safe and secure knowing your place in the tree

but as the sun fades a chill drifts by time is short slowly, losing grip hardening dry and brittle your vibrant green fades to yellow orange, red tenuous as you lose hold on a sigh

beautiful, dying leaf I know you

#AngelAnyaPoetry #Poetry #Seasonal poetry #Seasonal poem #Poem #poems

[ratbits]

"Suburban Pastoral" by Dave Lucas

Evening descends on a Proustian suburb in Dave Lucas’ “Suburban Pastoral.” Beauty can be found anywhere. Ditto, inspiration. While melodrama and grandeur might seem necessary to make Great Art – the lofty, soul-stirring heights of Gothic architecture, the knee-quaking, awe-inspiring sublimity of the ocean, the mountains, the desert, the night sky – inspiration and beauty are just as often found…

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#Americana #Cleveland #Dave Lucas #Memory #nostalgia #Ohio #Poem of the Week #Poetry #poetry themes #seasonal #seasonal poetry #suburban gothic #suburban sublime #suburbia #summer #summertime poems #Sunset #The Sublime #The Suburbs

[mournfulroses]

Arthur Rimbaud, from The Complete Works of Arthur Rimbaud; "A Heart Under A Cassock,"

#lit #arthur rimbaud #poetry #writings #words #poetry in translation #fragments #quotes #a season in hell #p