Poetry is art too

Pearls   By John Mitchell

And what I sought,
you were,
a few times;
as green islands
are glimpsed
from a schooner.
Like seafaring friends
we greeted those moments--
grabbed at them--
hugging--
joy in our eyes.
Trices of worth!
made of white sand;
lapped with
warm sea waves.
But, we were
Polynesians
finding rare pearls,
many empty dives
came between.

John Mitchell jacatols1@hotmail.com

John is one of the founding members of Friends of Art Manchester and is an excellent photographer. You can see some of his work on this site.

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November again

the trail is blanketed with leaves

as I follow the dog around the pond

dull yellows and browns

no longer the brilliant reds

like the burning bush by our house

the acorns have finally finished dropping

on the wooden deck

startling me with their loud noise

the mums are withering

the garden bare

a few herbs hanging on

to grow again in spring

the first snow was early this year

and melted quickly

the nights are frosty

and we cuddle under a warm quilt

in the evening I take out

yarn and knitting needles

another pair of mittens

for a daughter far away

reminding me of mother

and her granny squares

my weekly phone calls

now with my children

as hers used to be with me

seasons change

each with its own beauty

the earth rests, then renews

November again

©Linda H. Feinberg   

I wrote this one many years ago. We no longer have a dog, but I still walk around the pond and still love the changing of the seasons. I have more poems on my personal blog. Select the category “poems” to filter it. I am one of the founding members of this group and its treasurer. I have been writing poems for over 30 years, but my books are currently out of print. lhfeinberg@yahoo.com