Winter and Summer
Two poems from the English countryside
A winter day
No burning log, sparking bright,
no mulled wine for the night.
Instead we have a satellite,
Showing pictures of others wealth,
all brimming with fake good health.
All round the world, seen by stealth?
This all false and insincere,
might as well be seated here.
Watching over winters mere
At least the cold and damp
are real, not acted camp.
So light the smoking lamp.
Let us live as real as can,
go without the spray on tan
and march about like a man.
The dogs come alive
At least they do thrive,
awaiting dusk to arrive.
Muzzles pointed at the bird
if we could gain but a third
we would eat more than curd.
The bread oven fires are low,
The water swirls with undertow
I wait to kill such a pretty foe.
One bird must die that we can eat,
The family needs, this my feat
Thin gruel does not starvation meet.
We who live out side the promised land,
we the followers of the band.
We who are thought of, as the sand.
So plentiful we do not stand.
Ignored by those who are so grand,
Yet who need us for their egos fanned.
They who falsify the soap show brand
and use an audience so canned,
They know how false the stuff they peddle
Yet the mass of which we are part, not meddle
We allow the mediocre
To rule our lives.
The winter of our discontent!
Bards brave words, of conflict meant
seem like manna from heaven sent.
We who starve of poets best
stay in winters coldest rest
While what we get, is such a test.
Good people in dis-pare
When leaders are so rare
And virtue is sold at fair
The sun makes no show.
Greyness flows over all,
damp and cold a bitter foe
this time when leaves do fall.
With warmth so short.
This is a season of mist
and mellow fruitfulness?
Now we need stout gloves on fist
May be in times long gone,
When pale sun still shone,
Now all is grey and bereft.
Summers shadow all that's left,
but shadows are cold and thin
waiting light to let life begin.
Seasons flow along with time
just as poet seeks a rhyme
some work and some do mime
Spring will follow winters dark
morning rise before dogs can bark
greet the returning lark
Harvest will again come round
with corn again to pound
And living will be sound.
In a Suffolk Garden
Now that summer brings long awaited holiday
We sit in Suffolk’s green and pleasant land,
Under cathedral sky and distant slopes
Birds and butterflies soak the sun’s warm ray.
Some make for the sea with miles of golden sand
While the wise just sit, sip wine and cope.
Times past when children controlled our day
It was necessity for peace, to find sunlit sand.
Now these same children hold the ropes
And its grandchildren that hold the sway
Some rest and ponder if to make a stand
While the wise just sit, sip wine and cope.
Suffolk’s gentle breeze cools fierce sun’s ray
Letting nature’s warmth be fanned.
On nature we have learned, rest all good hopes
Political promise does never stay.
All such falsehood should be banned
While the wise just sit, sip wine and cope.
It is gentle Suffolk that finds the truth to say,
Never heed laughter that is canned.
Treating life as the never ending soaps
We watch and chide not, though we may
So much we are fed is spun to bland
While the wise just sit, sip wine and cope
Summer heat and soil is dry as dust,
Light is bright and love springs in the chest.
We while away the time, in hope
That we still have life to live without rust.
We look back on sins remembered, pale at best
While the wise just sit, sip wine and cope.
The western edge takes the heat,
Sun lowers its rays to slope,
Dusk settles, so slowly over garden rope.
Black of night creeps as a childhood cheat.
Some move chairs the more to mope
While the wise just sit, sip wine and cope
About the Creator
Peter Rose
Collections of "my" vocal essays with additions, are available as printed books ASIN 197680615 and 1980878536 also some fictional works and some e books available at Amazon;-
amazon.com/author/healthandfunpeterrose
.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.