The Seasons: A Poem

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Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in  The Last Dragon and Other Poems  available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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A Poem for My Love

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The words will not come
my heart blocks my brain
they fight and complain
over what's to be done.

A poem, a letter, a card
nothing will do
for these fickle two
making things very hard.

My heart full of zeal
my brain saying no
that will not go
time starts to steal.

This poem a ruse
exercise in waste
time in haste
true motives refuse

Help me I cry
with what I mean to say
before out slips the day
and the will to try

The words refuse
to flow and join
a poem to coin
or a song to amuse

All falls short
of what I need to say
on this special day
is my mind's retort

So, I am left with what
you will read below
all that would flow
and strange at that.

Hopkins would be ashamed
Chaucer amused
Herbert interested
and Seuss confused

by

A simple rhyme
that keeps time
from this heart of mine
to thine

Something to say
in the cleverest way
I love you Nicole
and, Happy Birthday!

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