Saturday, 15 April 2023

Six Poems by Paul Engel

 




Winter


The cold winds blew --
Winter was more beautiful
Than she knew,

A Beauty gowned
In saintly white,
Set shimmering
With diamond moonlight,

The trees bowed low
With heavy snow,
She was more beautiful
Than she knew,

The Earth sang mournful adorations
With his grieving nations.


 

Spring


With trees still bare,
And dishevelled hair,
Spring awoke,
From a near-death sleep,
Limbs pale and weak,

She stood and wobbled,
Slumber-hobbled,
Through the fecund forest;
While the feathered throng,
Sang expectant songs,

Earth broken-hearted,
His Winter Dream departed,
(Eve ripped from Adam’s reverie)
Turned his face to the sky,
And made it cry,

She will return!
She will return!
The nodding Oaks assured,
The blinking Stars concurred,
(The Moon unsure wisely deferred).


 

Summer



Summer awoke slowly,
On a bed of clover,

A dream-laden night,
The Moon, her lover;

Summer, barefoot beauty,
Wiggled her toes,

Watched the airy bestiary –
Distracted, reposed.

 

 

Autumn

 

Autumn was a goddess,

Exhaling morning mist,

Tracing patterns in the fog

With her fingertips;

 

Autumn was a beauty,

With wild vibrant hair

That mimicked the wind,

Curls of air;

 

Autumn was abundance,

Her breasts overflowed,

Like baskets spilling fruit,

Her skin, a sunset glow.

 

 

 

Night


Night entered gracefully
In her black silk gown,
Beaded with stars
All around,

The luminescent Snow
Lessened his glow,
Lest he rudely upstage
Her celestial show,

Of constellations
twinkling,
From her head
To her toes.


 

Dawn


Dawn awoke,
Wiggled her toes,
In a sheer gown
Of muted rose,

Stretched, yawned,
Sat awhile,
Bathed the earth
With her radiant smile,

Stood and meandered
Up the hill,
Dispersed the shadows
And the lingering chill--

Near a cottage
Far below,
Where honey was gathered
And jasmine grew,

The cock’s crow
shattered bliss,
The lovers stirred
One last kiss.

 



Paul Engel is a poet who writes, lives, works, and will probably die in, Woodridge, IL. He matriculated at Northern Illinois University in the cornfields of Illinois where he earned his BA in English Literature. He passes as White but is proudly half-Ecuadorian on his mother’s side.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Five Poems by Ken Holland

    An Old Wives’ Tale     I’ve heard it said that hearsay   i sn’t admissible in trying to justify one’s life.     But my mother always sai...