Seasons' Dance

This is my first poem in a long, long while. Okay, Robert Frost I'm not. But I like words, so I figured I'd set some in motion. You can direct your hate mail or concerns about poetic hackery to sit-on-it.com.

* * *

by Mike Duran

Seasons wash the daily chore
and dance outside the shuttered door,
entwine themselves around the mood—
when pressed to stay, they then elude.

Winter coldness death bespeaks,
parts the veil of spring, to greet
ageless warmth of summers’ peak,
autumns yawn in search of sleep.

Rooted in decomposition,
gorged upon the earth’s attrition;
reconstruct and bend the balance,
twilight’s blossom incandescence.

Souls of clay dissent in vain,
tilted skyward in refrain;
earthen orbit rents the trance
and sweeps them up within the dance.


Gina Holmes said...

Wow, Mike, I LOVE it. Beautiful.

Heather Smith said...

You are GREAT with words, Mike. Who knows, maybe the next Frost is among us!!!

Mike Duran said...

You girls are too kind. I'm either in mid-life crisis or calibrating my feminine side.

CD said...

Those ladies are WAY too kind. I'm gonna have to go to sit-on-it.com to post my response.

Mike Duran said...

Ya know what, Mr. Anonymous cd (yuck, yuck!), I have a poem for you:

Roses are red, violets are blue,
Tofu has no taste and neither do you.

Anonymous said...

I loved it. And I'm not a poet, so if it's bad- I don't knowit:)

Umm, is poetry feminine?

Janet Rubin

siouxsiepoet said...

they are not too kind, the praise is well deserved, your words are elegant and flow. there is nothing forced about your rhyme and that is accomplishment enough. God be praised.

Kelly Klepfer said...

I pick Janet's comment.

Ditto that.

Jeanne Damoff said...

Very nice, Mike. You should write poetry more often.

I just stopped by to scope out your blog. Love the artsy lay-out. I'll be back.