John is a poet and short fiction writer who enjoys collaborating on stories with other writers, and partaking in challenges.
Seasons: Word Prompts Help Creativity ~ Week 57
Once again our friend and fellow poet, Brenda Arledge has provided another word prompt to challenge and inspire us. This week's word prompt is "seasons" a subject that has always been popular with writers, poets, and songwriters. I am sure it has inspired many others here, as it has me, and I can't wait to read the other responses.
I hope you enjoy this, my contribution.
The seasons are what a symphony ought to be: four perfect movements in harmony with each other.
— Arthur Rubinstein
What Do the Seasons Mean to You?
The seasons come and they go,
As the hands of time move on.
Summer, autumn, winter, spring,
Each one captured in a song.
Summer Lovin’, Autumn Leaves,
Thanks to Spring, Winter Dreams.
Our lives also go through stages,
Seasons symbolize these changes.
Seasons can mean joy or sorrow,
Life and death, hopes of tomorrow.
In the Summertime by Mungo Jerry,
The Boys of Fall by Kenny Chesney.
Poets love the seasons too.
Winter often makes poems blue,
Autumn - death, and summer - fun,
Spring means rebirth, and has sprung.
If of summer I would write,
I would pen my words at night.
These days for me are oft’ too warm,
I’d rather write during a storm.
I write of autumn when I’m drawn,
And sit outside just after dawn,
Watching coloured leaves that fall.
But ivy still creeps up the wall.
And if in winter I should write,
I’d keep the windows shuttered tight
To stop the chilling southern breeze
That whistles through the willow trees.
But, when my muse comes forth in spring,
I’ll listen as the bluebirds sing,
And let my poems describe the flowers,
Nature’s beauty, light spring showers.
Tell me my friends, and tell me true,
What do the seasons mean to you?
Because you are all writers too -
Before I bid you all adieu.
Famous Poems About the Seasons
Nothing Gold Can Stay
by Robert Frost
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
"Nothing Gold Can Stay" was written in 1923 by the American poet Robert Frost. It was published in the 'New Hampshire' collection the same year, which would later win the 1924 Pulitzer Prize.
Frost describes the changing seasons perfectly in this short poem. His very name suits writing about the seasons perfectly, but for some reason, I always associate his name with winter.
This poem is about the fleeting nature of beauty, youth, and life itself. According to the poem, nothing “gold”—essentially nothing pure, precious, or beautiful—can last forever.
And there are similar sentiments evident in this poem by Carl Sandburg.
by Carl Sandburg
I cried over beautiful things knowing no
beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at
the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow
is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
come in the first spit of snow on the
northwest wind, and the old things go,
not one lasts.
SEASONS ~ an Acrostic Poem
Summer’s the hottest time of the year
Enjoy the beach and outdoor fun,
Autumn’s when the trees shed leaves,
Spring heralds new growth again,
Only winter’s clothed in white.
No matter what else may occur
Seasons never change.
The sun shines different ways in winter and summer. We shine different ways in the seasons of our lives.
— Terri Guillemets
Summer don’t be cruel
Please don’t burn my skin bright red
Show your milder side
Autumn leaves falling
Shades of red, yellow, and brown
Carpeting the ground
Snow falls silently
Landscape covered in white sheets
As though dressed as ghosts
Songbirds are calling
As they welcome a new spring
And see their eggs hatch
Does Heaven ever speak? The four seasons come and go, and all creatures thrive and grow. Does Heaven ever speak!
My Favourite Season
Of all the seasons of the year
The one that I like best
Must be the Christmas season.
It’s better than the rest.
Christmas bells are jingling,
Red and green lights twinkle too.
The Christmas tree is standing,
What more is there to do?
Tinsel decorates each room,
A wreath hangs on the door.
There are presents for the family,
And some to hand out to the poor.
Carols are sung from door to door
Celebrating Jesus’ birth.
‘Tis the season to be jolly.
And spread joy around the Earth.
It’s called the festive season
When we can all break bread,
To celebrate the year soon gone
And greet the one ahead.
In the winter she curls up around a good book and dreams away the cold.
— Ben Aaronovitch, Broken Homes
© 2022 John Hansen