Christina Rossetti Poem: Changing Seasons

“January cold and desolate;
February dripping wet;
March wind ranges;
April changes;
Birds sing in tune
To flowers of May,
And sunny June
Brings longest day;
In scorched July
The storm-clouds fly,
August bears corn,
September fruit;
In rough October
Earth must disrobe her;
Stars fall and shoot
In keen November;
And night is long
And cold is strong
In bleak December.”
~ Christina Rossetti

John W. Fellows ~ Poem

I want to hear the simmer
Of the old coffee pot;
I want to hear it hummin’
When it’d gettin’ good and hot;
I want to see the vapor rise,
Like incense in the room,
And float about a-fillin’
Every corner with perfume.
~John W. Fellows, “The Old Coffee Pot,”
in The People’s Home Journal, July 1903

Poem: Walt Whitman, Miracles

“As for me, I know nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under the trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love,
Or sleep in bed at night with any one I love,
Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon…
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown,
Or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring…
What stranger miracles are there?”
– Walt Whitman

Am I A Poet

I have been told be a few
followers of my blog, and
mention they like my poems.

When I was a boy of school
age, I detested poetry,
hated reading and listening
to it.

Back in the 1990s, I bought
an Edgar Allan Poe book with
all of his poems, and short
stories. A friend tried to
nudge me into writing poems,
but found it a struggle, so
I threw in the towel.

Now, its the 21st century
and recently started what
I am tagging them as “Thoughts”
and never consider some of
the posts as being poetry.

What I write is short
snippets of whatever comes
to mind, and if it sounds
like “poetry,” I shall
accept it as poetry.

If anyone says that
I should consider to
put them in book form,
well … that is not
going to happen.