seasons – Page 2 – One Woman's Quest

Dance in Denial

Autumn dons a mask,
regales the changing season,
ignores Winter’s threat –
and I too, dance, brightly clad,
deny the nearness of death.

Autumn winds fevered –
constraint not an option when
fierce Winter follows.

(For RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: fever/ fierce)

Late August nights cool
burnt dry hues
will soon transform –
symphony of colour

There is sorrow
in Summer’s end;
Autumn’s icy breath
Winter’s warning.

A lonely bench waits
for emergence of leaves,
rain turning to warmth,
the summer sun casting long
shadows – evening lingerings.

(A tanka for Ragtag community’s prompt: wait. Image from personal collection.)

One rose
dripping red, like blood from thorns –
a warning? a promise?
even roses die –
love, too?

(Written for Dark Side of the Moon’s Reverse Cinquain.)

(Image: A Rose to Ignite Passion is available on our shop at Society6.)

What if days were berries
growing bright, whose sumptuous
juices blossomed only in Summer?

How sad it would be –
such limitations, disrespectful
of the creator to surmise
an inevitability of dormancy –

I will not believe it!
Our days are like seasons –
motivations and movement
fluctuating, weaving into
a tapestry of greater glory

There is no single season
of bloom – even berries resurrect.

Winter –
the colour of my hair,
a sedentary state of being,
the numbing over of ambitions…

These are but illusions…

I am fluid,
essence flowing,
passion undaunted,
creating.

Winter came early –
seeped into intimate
corners, froze hearts.

Walls papered white,
intending cheer, only
accented bitter cold.

Layers of submission,
hope, denial, ineffectual
in refueling the warmth.

She followed him down
the unavoidable slope
deep into the abyss.

Chilled, shaken she
braced for the arduous
trek ahead, injected

lightness into an
impossible situation,
committed, unaware

that he’d moved on,
abandoned her with his
customary indifference.

Years later, thawed
by the warmth of solitude
she reflected, wondered

how the blatancy of his
oddities has escaped her –
his fixation on antiquated

ideals, how he furnished
her mind with incoherencies,
collected things, not values.

She had merely been
an observer in his life,
yet it had escaped her

that it was the fiery
summer of her soul,
that had melted his ice

her scorching, all –
embracing passion
that had united them

and, as in all things
seasonally inevitable,
their love would die.

(Seasons Of Love originally appeared in February 2016.)