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A Season out of Season
by Alison McKenzieIt’s a green December,
The grass still fragrant.
The birds have slept in
Way past check out.
A world waits
With hesitant anticipation
For the comfort of that
Familiar blanket –
The hush of entire neighborhoods.
The Winter Shimmer,
Neglectful of seasonal duty,
Has stood December up,
Slipped away into rising seas
And the floods of coastal getaways.
It is the year to end all years.
Today’s date is 12/12/12 –
One last repetition to mark
The beginning of a new
Millennium.
Mankind has never seemed so
Enlightened.
And all agree,
Ripe is the sweetest!
Yet, one teeny whisper away
Is decomposition –
And this is how we roll.
12/12/2012 Posted on 12/12/2012
Copyright © 2024 Alison McKenzie
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 12/12/12 at 03:50 PM And the thoughtless still avow there's nothing to all this global warming thing, huh. Well said, Alison..but should we expect anything less from you? |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/12/12 at 03:50 PM Wonderful poem Alison. That blanket has already arrived here in Ottawa. I can email you a photo if you'd like. I took some nice shots on December 8th, catching snow falling in mid air. I too noticed that special date today when I got up and looked at the calendar on my computer. And yes a long time before it's seen again in 2112. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/12/12 at 05:45 PM Yes, indeed, at last it is cold here today, but green grass - what's with that! Loved your last stanza, Ali, "one teeny whisper away is decomposition" - . Thanks for this. |
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