four season poetry
in the unpredictable spring
the poet writes of rain and birth
welcoming freshness
unfolding everywhere
in the hot summer sun the poet
writes of sweat and stifling heat
lemonade and iced tea
and the faraway sounds
of the ice cream van
when autumn approaches and
death is sure to follow
the poet writes of impending doom
and desperate days to come
but when winter arrives
and sub-zero temperatures set in
the poet remains silent
except when northern winds
or black bird wings
bring back to life
backyard metal chimes
january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
Cruel Winter leaving frozen poets wordless.
Ha ha indeed, Archie. Fact is, it’s been super mild here in Iowa so far – can’t even ice skate outside yet!
Phenomenal, as if I would expect anything less from your writing.
Thank you, D.J. – I love your encouragement, my friend!
Love, love, love this – the winter stanza so superb – lovely work, John
Thank you so much, Kathleen.
Yes, but in that silence the best of poetry will come… winter poetry is perfect calligraphy on pristine paper.
Yes, that’s very true….
I really enjoyed how you wrote this. Familiar tones of seasons gone by.
Thank you so much for visiting my blog, Olga – also for commenting on this piece.
You are very talented. Glad to have found your writing.
I’m thankful you think so – makes my day 🙂
I’m just a stranger, but never forget it.
I love this! It definitely shows what a year is like for most poets.
As a November child Autumn is my favorite. Thanks for your comments.
Oh I’m a summer baby but I love Spring the most.
Extremely evocative!!!
Thank you so much, Sofia!