Helios’ sun no longer reigns supreme
as Autumn’s sky begins to cool and gray
Hephaestus loads his brush in nature’s forge
painting each of the bird’s feathers with fire
wings stretched, the sumac looks skyward
milkweed burst in puffs of white smoke
and the phoenix is consumed by winter
until Boreas’ takes his last frosty breath
with Spring’s gentle touch, comes resurrection.
I see Autumn’s brilliant colors are all but gone,
Summer’s sweet song has long been sung.
Short days followed by endless cold nights,
brown forest and fields are now Winter’s delight.
I see a bear walking about curious and free,
no more long Summer’s naps, in the shade of a tree.
She now searches for a safe and suitable den,
so her and her cubs, can sleep until Winter’s end.
I see squirrels abandon their tree-top penthouse suites,
storing nuts underground, or in the hollow of a tree.
Needing food aplenty, they will not sleep Winter away,
even on the snowiest days, the squirrels frolic and play.
The long warm Summer’s day now begins to cool and fade nighttime creeps into the day’s light Winter’s reign of darkness now in sight.
Trees are the first as if prearranged recognizing Mother Nature’s subtle change denying life giving essence to branches and limbs storing all its nourishment deep down within soon they will enjoy a long winter’s sleep a lasting silence but for an occasional crack or creek.
“The Feathery First Mate”
(QUATRAIN) In first person
by Hugh A Tague
Gliding high on a warm ocean breeze.
Over white sands beaches and bright blue seas.
Or perched way up high in a coconut tree.
That’s just a few places that I like to be.
From my crown to my tail and on both my wings
Color abounds, red, blue, yellow, and green.
when pirates came to visit me in my tree,
The captain of the ship took a fancy to me.
The pure polar blanket of alabaster that once lay at the feet of sleeping trees no longer reflects the faint day’s light from barren skies of grey. Vanquished from the surface, transformed into liquid tinder, fueling the inferno of rebirth overhead.
The lake’s opaque tempered shell falls victim to longer days of Spring. Solar rays peel back Winter’s mask from the great mirror’s face, once again allowing Mother Nature’s image to rebound into the heavens.
I am but a single bard, standing in awe as the muse of the cosmos whispers gently in my ear; inspiring my voice, empowering my pen, painting my soul with respect; a respect of this place here and now, this beautiful place, adrift among the stars.
Late Winter’s dusk set in shades of magenta and tangerine.
The Sun’s promise to the frozen soil, and sleeping trees
That Spring’s thaw will soon arrive, warming the land and seas.
Mighty trees’ boughs and limbs caressed by a warm breeze
As sunshine feeds their new and supple leaves of green.
Who boldly trespass in the dark of night, leaving only etchings for me to see? Eluding detection, hidden from sight, truly clever intruders they must be. Gravity to them simply does not apply, frolicking about on my sideways pane. Is it magic? Or perhaps they can fly? Ah yes! Flight is the secret of their reign. Visions of whimsy, my mind’s eye beholds. Dancing and skating upon my window’s ice. Seemingly boundless, thriving in the cold; who’s impressions vanish with the new day’s light. As I sleep, they flutter about my home. I take solace, in that I’m not all alone. ~Hugh A Tague