Tag Archives: Four Seasons

Ann Wachter

    A feather when viewed separately may seem like only a feather, but
  when seen through the eyes of truth it is a sacred instrument that lifts
  birds in flight.            ~Molly Friedenfeld


Spring
swing gently back, sway
briskly forward into gravity’s free fall
bend elbows v’d, thrust 
my legs out, feel myself arcing
the curve; pull 
my arms — long and taut — hold tight,  
secure inside this sturdy, pedestaled embrace
breaking free, toes pointing
up 
toward the sky


where I swing in parallel 
accord


feeling the glee of a tickle,
the wisp of the air      filling
my nostrils,


the thrill of life
beckoning me to hold
firmly to my chains,
to steady


harpsichord’s notes  
in time with violin’s strokes  
Martha Wales Skelton Jefferson 


Four Seasons (continued)


II. Summer


travel new pathways — winding,
chirping, trickling toward 
forest blue where 
still end meets cheer hollowing 
in the distant wind


tata tata tata ta
dada dada dada da


my aerie sweeps, climbs
upward.  What height
dare I push before plummeting down, 
down — stumbling feebly 
upon abandoned quay,


giggling, stomping my feet firmly
on good ground,


I upend her harpsichord, 
his violin,’twining 
‘tween Iliad’s lines


III.  Autumn


Children bound gracefully 
about their winding trails, through Monticello’s grove,
as though Martha’s wits and reason 
have

tale


Once upon a knoll,
we swung alongside vines,
tethers of sweet berries
linked one
by one
by one
then we ate the berries
singing a made-up tune
dubbed  ‘Once Upon a Swing’


solitude’s bells, chime rhythmically —
ting a ling, a ling 
ting a ling, a ling  


Her strings unwind; gentle,
sweet, undone 
diminuendo; I linger in the silence 
of her harpsichord 

IV.  Winter


gifting staggering sway to quill a peaceful 
world where God’s heart 
occupies Thomas' hearth


placing sturdy combinations
of lavender and lilies next 
Martha’s grave —
sensing breathless aroma


skidding down Independence Grove —
shady umbrellas open, keeping 
life subdued


offshoots pellet fertile ground
taking root
pound for pound


Thomas reaches back, holds 
his stroke, pressing
the fingers of my harpsichord

__________________________________________________________________________

Ann Wachter is an ever-maturing writer of poetry who completed her Bachelor of Arts with John Carroll University, University Heights, Ohio, 1982.  She hones her craft by attending writing workshops including Iowa Summer Writing Workshops, UW-Madison Writer’s Institute and University of Chicago Writer’s Studio as she plans her MFA journey.  Her publications include Catharsis, copyright 2011; 9-11 Dream from a Steel Beam, circa 2015, Highland Park Poetry Muses Gallery; The Guest, June 2018, The Copperfield Review.

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