Array ( [sid] => 165634 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Reading Seasons [time] => 2011-04-03 00:43:05 [hometext] => For The Love Of A Good Poem [bodytext] => ..................................

"Poetry is an echo,
asking a shadow to dance. "
~Carl Sandburg

..................................


He was reading Ezra Pound
When Autumn came to town.
The Sea Farer had found her song,
And her battle seemed so very long
He had not noticed the leaves
Had started changing their colors,
He did not feel the
Crisp of Autumn in the air.
He did not hear the Autumn song
The birds were singing.
He was far too busy
Reading Ezra there.

He was reading Robert Frost
When Winter peered around.
Her wisp of wind toying
With the Autumn leaves
That fall had scattered
Through his town.
He had not noticed the touch
Of frost that clung to
The window pane.
Nor the biting chill
That haunted both the
Fog and freezing rain.

He was reading Yeats
When Spring touched her
Lonesome breath upon his door.
He hadn't noticed how she
Warmed the sky,
Nor wanted more.
He was drawn by the island dreams,
And by the enamelled sea,
Which William Butler Yeats
Discribed so cleverly.
He did not concern himself
With showers Spring had
Sent his way.
He was far too consumed
Within his mind
The thoughts of Yeats today.

When Summer rumbled in
He was reading Edgar Allan Poe,
And had not noticed gentle Spring
Had melted all the fallen snow.
Poe was with his Helen,
Who's Naiad airs had brought him home
To Greece's divine glory,
And all the grandeur of Rome.
He did not care his night would thunder,
Or that lightning spiderwebbed his sky.
He noticed not the cutting July breeze,
Nor heard the wanting cry
Of the Meadowlark, or Nightingale,
Nor the specter of evens glow.
Nothing mattered more to him
When he was reading Poe.

.................................

Copyright © 2011 R. D. Remler
All Rights Reserved [comments] => 1 [counter] => 122 [topic] => 31 [informant] => NightOwl61 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Reading Seasons


Reading Seasons
Date: Sunday, 3rd April 2011 @ 12:43:05 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: NightOwl61
..................................

"Poetry is an echo,
asking a shadow to dance. "
~Carl Sandburg

..................................


He was reading Ezra Pound
When Autumn came to town.
The Sea Farer had found her song,
And her battle seemed so very long
He had not noticed the leaves
Had started changing their colors,
He did not feel the
Crisp of Autumn in the air.
He did not hear the Autumn song
The birds were singing.
He was far too busy
Reading Ezra there.

He was reading Robert Frost
When Winter peered around.
Her wisp of wind toying
With the Autumn leaves
That fall had scattered
Through his town.
He had not noticed the touch
Of frost that clung to
The window pane.
Nor the biting chill
That haunted both the
Fog and freezing rain.

He was reading Yeats
When Spring touched her
Lonesome breath upon his door.
He hadn't noticed how she
Warmed the sky,
Nor wanted more.
He was drawn by the island dreams,
And by the enamelled sea,
Which William Butler Yeats
Discribed so cleverly.
He did not concern himself
With showers Spring had
Sent his way.
He was far too consumed
Within his mind
The thoughts of Yeats today.

When Summer rumbled in
He was reading Edgar Allan Poe,
And had not noticed gentle Spring
Had melted all the fallen snow.
Poe was with his Helen,
Who's Naiad airs had brought him home
To Greece's divine glory,
And all the grandeur of Rome.
He did not care his night would thunder,
Or that lightning spiderwebbed his sky.
He noticed not the cutting July breeze,
Nor heard the wanting cry
Of the Meadowlark, or Nightingale,
Nor the specter of evens glow.
Nothing mattered more to him
When he was reading Poe.

.................................

Copyright © 2011 R. D. Remler
All Rights Reserved

This poem is Copyright © NightOwl61


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