Seasons Change—A poem from my adolescence

[The melting of the snow reminded me of a poem I wrote in middle school.  I decided to dig it up.]

Seasons Change

Mother Nature’s grand gift
I see is truly alive
New trees do bud
Flowers born
In tears
In fog

The earth flourishes in sun
It has only just begun
Trees are deep green
Bring fruit
And nuts
In sun

It is now a time to slow down
Time to show beauty in age
As once we were green
Now must die red
And yellow
Orange

Now comes the cold soft white rain
Trees only hibernate in ice
They are not truly dead
They are just waiting
And now comes
New life…

Mother Nature’s grand gift
Is alive once again

Down in the Hemlocks—A Summer Poem

[This week we’ll be saying goodbye to summer with three summer-themed poems I wrote during the summer.  This untitled poem I wrote last summer, shortly after the birth of my son.]

Down in the hemlocks
I brought my young baby
My boy in a blanket
And swaddled him there
Under the hemlocks
Down by the river
The cold stony river
Under the shade

.
[For Noah]

The Rime of the Anglyng Touryst—A Summer Poem

[This week we’ll be saying goodbye to summer with three summer-themed poems I wrote during the summer.  This first number, based on my fishing trip, is a parody of “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.]

The Rime of the Anglyng Touryst
by Caleb Coy

It is an angling Tourist,
And he renteth a cheap rod.
“I’ve cut my shrimp in quarters.
Will I catch me a cod?”

Optimistic as the rising sun,
He casts out with a wink
(Because it’s all in the wrist,
Or so he’s been told to think).

He feels a little wiggle
He feels a little pull
“I think I’ve got a live one!
I’ve yanked him from the shoal!”

Alas, on pillars snagged—
It appears that when he cast
A wave brought his line inward
To the pier the hook held fast!

He gives a friendly wave
To a stranger down the pier,
Who knows what he is doing—
(That’s why he fishes here).

Then comes another tug—
“This time it is for real!”
A big knot he untangles,
But soon he’ll have his meal.

Perched above, a pelican—
Patiently it stares,
Chin tucked with the posture
Of a fasting saint in prayer.
[Dedicated to Charley Gwaltney]