Four Seasons by Ash Slade

the buckets up high

pouring wide on us below,

white mountain washed out.

flowers droop in rain

robin hopping on the ground,

compass pokes through clouds.

blacktop griddle hot

feet blistered and cracking up,

breakfast frying fast.

werewolf winds yip loud

witch's fingers scratch up panes,

dancers hitting ground.


Ash Slade lives in a small Connecticut town. He enjoys collecting poetry books, journals, and pens. In his spare time, hobbies include: spending time with friends and family, reading, and shopping. Past publications include The Blue Nib and Circus Of Indie Artists: Nevermore Edition edited by Dale Bruning.

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Sea and Sky by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal