Poetry of Hope - Seasons
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"Seasons"


Listen to Poems of  "Seasons"
Click Here to Listen as Sharon Reads:
Forks of Splendor, But for Today, Daylily, and Blueberries

Also Listen to: A Whisper of Fall #1 and #2

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But For Today

Sometimes, I wonder at the times to come,
The springtime waiting in the bud on the branch
    now covered with snow,
    the growing fawn in the womb of the doe.

I wonder at the times to come,
Children playing in the yard
    on the swing that granddad built
    eating cookies that grandma baked--
    turning brown-skinned in summer's sun.

I wonder at the times to come,
The new year turning to old
    and back to new again,
    time and again, until my hair is grey,
    my skin wrinkled by the passing of days.

But for today, I wonder at my grandson,
Laughing and childlike in this moment
    with wonder of his own
    at his world and all its newness
    to explore and discover.

May I be so blessed!

©1999 Sharon Terry

_________________________________________

Winter Writings

Summer comes and goes
    so quickly now
    that I cannot grasp it,
    cannot hold it in my fingers.
I run to tackle it,
    jump, all fours outspread,
    as a cat leaping to catch its prey,
    but it eludes me.

The winter reaches out to me
    and holds me,
    its grip strong.
I do not pounce
    as if it were my prey.
It does not elude me,
    but forces itself upon me,
    relentlessly.
Wearing it as if
    a coat about me,
I do not fight it;
    nor do I struggle against it.
I simply wait it out,
    as if to prove who is the stronger,
    always outliving its grasp,
    never fully shedding its coat,
    for it is ever present
    on my mind.

Oh, elusive summer,
    my heart doth ache for thee.
Yet in your coming,
I see you leaving.
Coming and going as a lover
    repeatedly breaking my heart,
I embrace you no longer.
Knowing the hurt to follow,
I release you.

To you.

I simply wait.

©
1993 Sharon Terry

__________________________________

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Punctured


Stillness punctures the night
Releasing the pressures of the day,
And sinking into the stillness
My body finds rest.

Expression punctures the soul
Relieving pent up emotion,
And leaning into the expression
My heart finds peace.

Thought punctures time
Renewing the mind,
And in permitting thought
My hands find work.

Supple, Saturated,
Sandwiched between eternities
By the ticking of the timepiece
I wait-punctured.

Sharon Terry

©December 18, 2006
_____________________________________

 

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December

Depths of winter's darkness
Claimed only once a year
    by sun's absence
Yet seemingly eternal.

Winds of change blow slowly
Creeping, creeping, creeping along
    on frozen legs
Buried and cold.

Sunshine's morning plays tricks
The mind overwhelmed by possibilities
If only one could move
    at light speed.
Before its fading.

Sharon Terry
December 5, 2005

____________________________________

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A Whisper

The corn turns brown overnight,
knowing the calendar
has turned its leaf to September.

An overgrowth of greens and browns
burdens the land.
Milkweed, goldenrod, sunflowers
no longer looking at the sun,
tall grasses gone to seed.

A paintbrush spattering
of red chooses a tree here,
a tree there for display.

All things whisper,
    "Fall is coming.
        Fall is coming.
            Fall is coming."

©1999 Sharon Terry



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Snow

Snow—
    acoustics of silence-
    muffling sound
    so quiet
    as to be indistinguishable
    from a padded room.
Quiet isolation
    rumbles through the silence,
The end of space,
    the end of time,
    the work of an artist
    so vast as not
    to be seen with the eye alone
    or even to be aware
    of the presence.

Snow—
    harbinger of light
Full moon shining bright
    piercing the night
    with rays of hope
    for the day to come.
Shadows, cast upon the snow
    by silvery moon light.
Moon dust, sprinkled in the snow.

©1996 Sharon Terry

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Dandelions

Do not malign the dandelions
for not being tulips or daffodils.
They cannot be but what they are
a herald of spring across the grass.

Their petals strewn across the lawn
like yellow pearl drops here and there.
No planted pattern do they take
But randomly select their place.

Planted by the hand of God
to bring about their parachutes to fly
whist here whist there it seems
by wind or passing trodding foot.

They are the first experience
for little hands and little breaths
with flowers that may be picked at will
with never a parent's saying, "No!"

Nipped at the stem they do not care,
for their purpose they will fulfill
as they go to seed on the window sill
forgotten there in the little vase.

So do not malign the dandelions
for not being tulips or daffodils.
They cannot be but what they are
a herald of spring across the grass.

©2000 Sharon Terry
_________________________________________

 


Daylily


The last blossom stands alone
    among the bracken.
A daylily, cold and damp
    in the dew of morning
        greets one more day
            by its presence,
                and then, it is gone.
©1996 Sharon Terry


Forks of Splendor


Thundering,
               Rumbling,
                             Grumbling,
Catapulting into the hot winter night.

Vestiges of spring harboring overhead,
    descending in a moment to grace our lives
        and harvest our souls
            made captive by the voice within.

Forks of splendor,
    frightening the night.

©1996 Sharon Terry




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A Whisper of Fall #1

A whisper of fall
gently touches my skin,
like a soft cotton jacket,
awakening my senses to the
sun's sideward glancing
of the earth's crust, so
filled with life, receiving its warmth
through the still, crystal air.

©2000 Sharon Terry


A Whisper of Fall #2

A whisper of fall
dances upon my skin

as the sunlight dances through
the leaves, still holding onto
life, and my soul
dances in union with all the earth,
holding onto hope.
And Fall whispers,
    "Rejoice,
        Rejoice."

©2000 Sharon Terry


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      "Autumn"  by Sharon Terry (animated autumn leaves)

I drive down the roads near our home.
They have changed
    over the year.

It was a storm that changed
    them most,
A violent, summer, wind storm.
It passed so quickly,
    leaving the difference to last forever.

The big sprawling barn fell in
    and now is burned,
        opening the sky to my eyes
            where there was no sky before.

The white house,
    the one with the beautiful maples
        spreading their carpet of leaves
            this time of year,
                all golden and yellow and red.
The house is still there.
The trees,
    gone.

My beloved cherry tree,
    the one they said wouldn't last,
       which now brings the birds to our yard,
          bends slightly toward the south.
Will it last the winter?
I wonder.

Change.
Measured by the seasons.
It is the way of nature,
    they say,
        but is it the way of woman?
            of man?

Change.
It comes
   and goes
     and we grow accustomed to it,
        and it becomes our reality,
           and when change comes again,
              we miss the change that was before.

The world around us
    cannot stay the same
        nor can the world
            within.

What was there
    becomes a memory.
What is there becomes
    the new playground for the mind,
        a new imprint,
            a new vision,
                a new memory for the future.

©1992 Sharon Terry

 

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Reaching Toward Heaven, Falling Toward Earth

I don't get all agog about spring like I do about fall's ahhs and oohs.
Spring is more a subtle drinking in of the cool green liquid
that it pours into my soul.
In the fall, the heat of the moment is too hot to drink.
Instead, it warms me in a way no blanket can.
I have already spoken elsewhere of the contrast between
warm colors and cool breezes of autumn,
and so will not do so again here.
I wish to see the contrast between the opposing seasons,
Spring and Fall,
one ebbing toward the warmth, the other ebbing away from it,
one reaching toward heaven, the other falling to earth.
If the trees of spring were oranges and golds
we would melt in summer's sun.
Cool green, instead, holds death at bay when temperatures climb.
I wish fall's season of life come for me in the spring of my days,
for 'twill make the chill and the warmth as one
and bring balance as old fades into new.

©2000 Sharon Terry

________________________________________________________________



Resurrection

The bulb lies heavy in the earth,
Sodden with the cold and damp of winter months,
Yet clinging to its beautiful life of brief loveliness.

I stand heavy upon the earth,
Weighed down with winter's cold and damp,
Yet clinging to a beautiful life waiting to pen loveliness.

Let spring resurrect within me
The excitement of my youth,
And may rejoicing follow.

©2000 Sharon Terry


 

 

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