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Death Autumn Poems | Death Poems About Autumn

These Death Autumn poems are examples of Death poems about Autumn. These are the best examples of Death Autumn poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Indian Ink

“Indian Accent”

Hear the whispers inside

Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow

A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry blue eyes enchanting melodies!
Voices falling from the sky
Rising hymns release ancient demons that cling to the soul

The darkness dwells under gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World,
Exposing Indian hands that weave native smoke into the air
Their spirits taunting burrows from the muddy Earth
Moccasin makers rise from underneath
Guardians of dream catchers
Smooth thread from the outer edge, bowing heads.
Luminous gems of ivory,
Chasing a florid kiss.

Through the winds of enchanted drums, voices cry out for rain.
The hollow chimes mesmerize  
An ancient rage begins to flare
Stale madness, 
The spears of the perfumed buffalo skin pierced my senses
Removing the veils that cover my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Washing the scalp that bleeds on my face
They collect tears from memories of the past.

KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!

Raven silk braids, feathers fall from my hair.
Dancing in a horrid hallucination of Peyote,
Waking up from the “American Dream.”
Holding out my arms, I am free, I can fly.

I AM A BIRD!

By; PD


Details | Verse | |

Will Shepard

The day Will Shepard shot my dog
His barn burned to the soil;
The flames licked at the Autumn sky,
The smoke as black as oil.
I dropped the torch onto the earth,
And felt the whole world turn,
I stood and watched Will Shepard’s barn,
I stood and watched it burn.

The day Will Shepard shot my dog
I set his horses free,
They galloped over grass and sand,
They galloped to the sea;
I dropped my whip onto the floor
And thoughts turned to my gun
I stood and watched Will Shepard’s herd,
I stood and watched them run.

The day Will Shepard shot my dog
I put him in the ground,
My bullets found his heart and brain,
He fell without a sound;
And as his lifeblood ebbed away
And light fled from his eyes,
I stood and watched Will Shepard leave,
I stood and watched him die.

And now I sit here in my cell
And through the bars I spy
The carpenter with wood and nails,
Who builds my gallows high;
My vengeance has been satisfied
As far as I can see,
For that old dog Will Shepard shot
Meant all the world to me.


Details | Crystalline | |

Seeing Autumn's oak adorn

Painting sky before I was born,
Draping my grave in leaf and acorn.

----------------------------
Contest: Crystalline
Sponsor: Rick Parise
11.22.14


Details | Narrative | |

when autumn comes

here, where I walk,
confused silence swirls around my feet,
and the anguished summer leaves
are lingering limp, waiting for autumn...,
waiting to crumble and mingle with earth
drunk with the morning dew

somewhere beneath them
under the thunder
earth wears the scab of a fresh wound
in a place that will not be forgotten...
corrupt with mourning
sprouting with questions
immersed with regret
hollowed with anger
and shadowed by trees of despair

birch-bark faces, heads bent low, shadowed eyes
stone-cold voices, carried in the wind, behind disguise
while mute birds watch without a song
the leaves will decay, green goes, and the eye forgets
forget?  never....
while pawing on the hard and bitter earth
of reason, is impossible...

autumn comes
and autumn goes
I will live in hope that baffled minds
will clearly see a winter sun
and give up blaming ... who?



_________________________________


Details | Free verse | |

Graveyard Girl

There's a girl in the graveyard that never seems to leave.
She hangs like dust in the autumn air.
She has beautiful flowers and tangles in her hair.
When it seems she's right there, she's nowhere.


Details | Free verse | |

Anticipation


What the Quack!
I dont want my poems in Poem Zoo!
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Details | Personification | |

In Silence

And so it was that Autumn would die with a gust of wind she said goodbye Of love mortal she sits subdued sipping remnants of death imbued With curtains drawn she lay in rest in silent prose she relived each breath of life abandoned of weary roads where Winter's freeze would glisten alone And so it was that Autumn had gone in the lonely grips of winter without a song


Details | Narrative | |

Tea is Served

In a lovely corner of her garden, 
 a trellis was curled with rose climbing vines,
  and something enchanting, had been designed, 
     from an ordinary day on a warm afternoon.

Tea would be served, with her large knuckled hands, 
to a bouquet of her friends, and some neighbors of mine,
by the most gentile’ lady, I have ever known…

She made it seem like days of old, when decorum was in fashion, 
      before composure, and poise,.. had become scorned and cold
          where propriety still mattered, as precious as gold.
                                                      ~
Lilting voices would chatter like the birds on the wing.
Ringing with laughter,  across fragrant grass, 
Flower frocked ladies, around a few scattered tables. 
Linens and laces, under ashes and maples.
Silver coifed hairdos, with apple cheeked faces, 

                    And me?   There I'd sip.... quite out of my place... 
                      watching it all, from the cool dappled shade.
                                                      ~
There were delightful surprises to meet the eye…
Delicate confections, cucumber sandwiches,
made by her hand, just for the occasion.
Fragrant branches, covering the veranda.…
Rose petal blossoms, painted on china.  
The most beautiful tea set, oh, how divine it was! 
Envious eyes, covetously pined for it!

She wore a floppy garden hat, a dress of mauve, and there she sat.
Her weathered skin, her cheeks of rouge... a smile to love,...you would have too,...
She had lived a war, and more than one.....iron strong, a generous heart
Knowing eyes, and sparkling wit, 
She would hold your hand in hers and smile,... listen well, of that I'm sure
  and then would sip and chat awhile, of this and that…
                                                         and you would learn of love somehow
                                                      ~

I sipped my tea, and watched it all, and never thought of future things. ~

For now I sit here all alone…the chatter gone, the birds have flown.
Where once her charm, her love of life
the grand old ways, have slipped away…gone are those days, she loved so well.

Soon after, in the autumn chill…when word soon spread that she was ill 
      I was away, and never knew.….I hope, oh Lord, she was not alone ….

And looking back …I think of that….. and how strange the fact….. how odd it is…..
that something owned by someone grand, a china cup, so delicate, 
                                                                                 so fragile in the hand,
can last beyond the grave...intact,….
                    although a dear, enchanting friend, her life would have to end…..

                                                     ~ ~


_______________________________________________________
For Contest Sponsored by Just Archaic Poet:  Song choice- "Tea For Two"


Details | Free verse | |

Fading from life

it’s always august’s end
september’s beginning
that bothers me the most

i feel that brush of cool air
press against me
like a kiss on dead lips

the trees are now painted 
a sunset’s reflection
but all i see is red
in summer’s end

the leaves dance gracefully
beneath the winds
one last time
before they fall

the trees will soon stand 
blank of life
like you and you and you
and my mind
as i remember
each ending
as i watched them 
fall from life
amongst summer’s end



09/07/13


Details | Heroic Couplets | |

Saint Blackheart

Saint Blackheart walks the Autumn streets and smiles with diamond eyes;
   She's well-aware of what you think, but listens to your lies.
Confess your deepest fantasies or never look her way --
   She's free with random kindness, though she won't have much to say.

Saint Blackheart seeks the shadows for the secrets they impart.
   Her life's a patchwork puzzle made with jagged shards of art --
Impressionistic paintings on a canvas dipped in red;
   She dances like a demon for the angels in her head.

Saint Blackheart loves the twilight and the elemental rain;
   She'll stand and watch you suffer, yet she senses all your pain.
A soft, Franciscan echo making up a primal scream
   Can hurtle from her crimson lips and dart from dream to dream.

Saint Blackheart lives in solitude among the ancient trees --
   You'll find her there within the mist, but never on her knees.
Her hands will offer nothing which is not her own to give;
   And though you wish to die in peace, she may just let you live.

Saint Blackheart will not weep with you or wipe away your tears,
   Yet she may catch their crystal hue and treasure it for years.
She'll lay a little flower on a long-forgotten grave --
   A tribute to the tortured soul she never tried to save.


Details | Rhyme | |

Trumpet Call

My heart is the same full of love
     My house that shelters it full of pain
But it's autumn in my life, Dove
      The hair of gray and wrinkles reign

I set the table full of food
        For the family to dine fun times
But it is autumn in my life
       When changes prepare for winter

I'm not sure I'll know winter now
        For I have not experienced it
But it's autumn in my life somehow
        Where beauty glows bright from the depths

Producing leaves of many hues
       Love the autumn of my life, Dove
Now all that's left winter's white snow
        I think that when winter comes cold

Plants freeze if left out in weather
      They will need a warmer place inside
But since it is just autumn now
       There's time to prepare room somehow

I still watch the birds from window
       They have not all gone away love
But it's autumn in my life now
        Soon most will be gone for winter

Winter soon will approach with cold
       Seemingly death of the roses
But it's autumn in my life my bold
       There are few thoughts of approaching winter

But when winter comes my way
        The body rest to rise another spring
Now it's autumn in my life this day
         On another day I'll be called by trumpet away


Details | Narrative | |

Remembering The Children of Beslan

It was the first day of the new school year
The children of Beslan had no need to fear
In anticipation they eagerly left home for school
Some walked hand in hand with Mom and Dad
Others skipped along the well known path
Excitement filled the sidewalks and the streets
As fleeting thoughts collided in mid air

Some thought of new friends to be made
Others of old friends with whom to play
A little sister left at home 
Of baby brother asleep in his crib
Much too young to run and play
Some favorite lullabies which Grandmama sang 
As Grandpapa played his violin

The first day of the new school year
Mothers beamed with such pride
How their little ones had grown
Never would they ever want to let go
Others gave in to their children’s cries
‘Mamma, I do not want to go to school.
May I stay with you today?’

On wings of hate evil had already arrived 
With diabolical plans and bombs in hand
To maim and murder the children of Beslan
Who became captives in their little school house
After the dastardly deed was done
Dreams and aspirations lay splattered 'cross the floor 
Childhood innocence forever vanished! 

On the day of internment the sun in his temple hid
Earth wept pouring rain, her bitter tears
As Mothers’ voices cracked and strained 
Cried out loud, their children’s names
While others pleaded in vain for death
Fathers in a state of shock stood stoically in the cold autumn rain
Wearing faces carved in stone

The blood of children cried out to Heaven
Where at the throne of mercy 
Sits a God who is just 
Though their bodies lay broken in tiny white coffins
On angels' wings their souls did ascend  
He will judge all men and their deeds 
All, on one appointed day

A tribute to the children of Beslan, No. Ostetia, Russia 9/1-3/ 2004


Details | Rhyme | |

Stone Flowers

Posted - 08/18/2005 :  16:22:45       


In north-west Indiana
on a meager patch of ground,
stone flowers greet the morning,
stillness there, no other sound.

I walk among the headstones
taking note of those I knew,
thinking about their loved ones,
how their courage saw them through.

There is no stone to guide me
to the one I came to see,
his ashes had been scattered
on a hill of sapling trees.

Thirty years have come and gone,
he would surely be amazed,
little trees, now fully grown,
all aglow in autumn blaze.

I stand in awed silence
as the sun comes streaming through,
my Father was my best friend
and the greatest man I knew.

 


Details | Free verse | |

CEZANNE STUDY - The House of the Hanged Man

CEZANNE STUDY – The House of the Hanged Man

Late Autumn

Buried in a hill,
Steep as descent from humanity,
A country house stands.
It’s late autumn,
Deep, sick autumn –
Deep as the plunging cellar door,
And fronting, its branches stripped, begging skyward,
This raped tree
Which no longer hides the window –
The window, like a large, trumpeting mouth.
*No E flat clarinet here,
*No Eulenspiegel, opaque humor.
No – The whole, a ground interment,
Is color of rotting flesh,
This God-awful house!

*Til Eulenspiegel was a German buffoon who delighted in playing
nasty tricks on the nobility. He was hanged.
*The E flat clarinet is high pitched, capable of sounding the pitiful
cries of Til as he mounts the scaffold 






Details | Couplet | |

Autumn

Immersed in the sound of the low rustling wind
Memories and places they haunt yet again
Passed by so quickly as each falling leaf
Drifting and flowing on an unyielding stream
A current to carry from birth right on through
Filling our moments with cares which ensue
A mind lost in remnants of lovers and friends
Babies and children and time long since spent
Familiar, intangible, just out of reach
Longing for ghosts that my heart doth beseech
Winter is looming and summer is past
A time for remembrance the years gone so fast
Beauty is captured in my last breath of life
The sparkling colors in the warm golden light
Do mimic the glory and wonder be told
In those bright days of autumn and a life to behold
 


Details | Rhyme | |

He Can't Tell Her Now

He is playing in school
Acting like a fool
Little girl makes his heart go Wow!!
He is kind of shy
She's the apple of his eye
But he can't tell her now.
It is a few years later
And he starts to date her
She fills his dreams somehow
He wants her to stay
To never go away
But he can't tell her now.
It is the secret of his life
He wants her for his wife 
He would take that final vow
Though the years go by so fast
He knows his love will last
But he can't tell her now.
Now in the Autumn of his years
He realizes his fears
That life has past them by somehow
He knows his love will stand
As he touches her cold and lifeless hand
But he can't tell her now.

    Of all the emotions we go through in life, the saddest is regret.


Details | Verse | |

The Solemn Wraith That Passes

The solemn wraith that passes, 
once a child whose life in stasis 
fell, cursed by the cruel kiss of fate, 
scuds as the Autumn clouds across 
the full moon of the grieving mind.

Disappearing as the Winter snows 
when Spring rain drills the grey repose, 
young victim of an adult hate, 
in memory you still bear the loss; 
each sorrowed thought serves to remind. 

The solemn wraith that passes, 
wept and shadowed like molasses, 
fixes at your throat an amulet 
and holds there fast the albatross, 
the cross-born love of womankind.


Details | Elegy | |

Autumn Leaves

I first met Autumn when I was very, very young,
she was just a shy, quiet girl, but so very bright.
These maple trees were our favorite to play among,
as our laughter faded away with the falling sunlight.

I can still see her brown sweater, and reddish-orange hair,
blowing around her smiling face, like a flickering flame.
Her innocent voice still whispers on October's cool air,
near the place, where our lonely swing remains the same.

As the summer days said goodbye, and welcomed September,
the death of my dear, young friend came all too soon.
Autumn was one of those whom you'd always remember,
her soul was as beautiful as the shining, harvest moon.

She was here, then gone, leaving words that were never spoke,
to this day, I have never understood why Autumn had to leave.
Her presence lingers on the wind, like drifting wood-smoke,
as once a year, her playful spirit arises on All Hallow's Eve.




August, 4th, 2014


Details | Epitaph | |

my angel

i met you in the springtime when the flowers were in bloom
and i knew yyou were my angel when you walked into the room
i knew that god had sent you down on the wings of a big white dove
just to be with only me and tto bring angelic love

our hands were ever so entwined and united were our hearts
we knew that we would walk together until death did we part
when sprringtime turned to summer we were happy as could be
and i just could not imagine all the love you had for me

now when summer turned to autumn and we felt the gentle breeze
i was ever so elated because you were still with me
but the time has turned the pages and i am so all alone
today god sent other angels just to guide my angel home


Details | Rhyme | |

Why all this Destructions

Why all this Destructions? – Zamreen Zarook

God created this whole universe for the mankind,
He gave everything lavishly, thinking that we might be kind,
Even though people are able, they seems to be blind,
Whereas people failed to mind.

The sky which was created for the man started to scream and cry,
Since good morals and ethics were decry,
The fire started to do the mimicry,
As the water lands cannot bear, it came to man with a battle cry.

Land couldn't hold and it started to gorge,
Fresh air merged with chemicals and started to urge,
Whatever created for the man have started to over charged,
Stop evil and let the merits be enlarged.


Details | Free verse | |

The Storm

And the storm calls to me in ways you'll never understand
A gentle call that urges my soul forth
The lighting guiding a path for my feet to walk
Between the stones and ash of all that once was
I stand in the echoing silence of the rain 
It drops down upon my skin like the blessing waters of heaven
Soothing me, lifting the weight from my body 
I feel at once as if I am home
Standing amid two dimensions 
Caught between two skies - here and there
The night wraping around me in warmth
The gentle wind lifting me off my feet
Drops from the clouded moon washing away my body
and I am left just a soul, an essence 
The storm calls me forth from beneath my roof
Beckoning me into its depth 
I stand among the reeds in the basin 
They dance and sway as if welcoming me
And I sway with them back 
Caught up in the power that charges the air
That threatens to sweep me away 
If the ground will just loosen its hold
The thunder rumbles a low welcoming growl
And I get pleasently lost within it
I am so small compared to its vastness
I close my eyes and succumb to the skies wishes
Rising higher until my feet no longer touch the ground 
My fingertips touch the liquid color of the stars
A sigh drifts from my lips
There is no need of thought to stay afloat
There is no demand to breathe in air
No crushing weight upon my chest
As my lungs struggle to survive
There are no struggles here
I make my bed on blackened clouds
And give in to the call
The storm has claimed me as its own 
It was such a struggle to stay upon the ground
When the storm would call me home


Details | Rhyme | |

The Wound

When my mother died
My craving eyes rained
And tormented soul cried
Blood sucked and energy drained

The sky fell, the sun eclipsed
It was a horrifying dark day
The fragrant breeze turned into easterly wind
O God! Orphaned at the age of twelve, why say

The spear of loneliness pierced my heart
Causing deep bleeding wound
Pointed at me was misfortune’s dart
All my hopes and aspirations drowned

Seasons came and seasons went
In the desert of heart autumn never changed
Gardens were filled with bloom’s scent
The butterflies with colors artfully arranged

My heart remained a symbol of despair
No one ever shared my grief
My cancerous wound alone to bear
I searched and searched but no relief

(Winner in the Member Contest of Destroyer Poet judged on 6-20-2012)


Details | Classicism | |

Flight of Fall

As I lay one sullen autumn morn
on pearl dew turf with the day unborn
staring at the grey grimacing sky
with the mood and moment not quite high
sepulchral static wherever I looked
when my dreary dizzy gaze was hooked
at a lone leaf's death-descent down
to join its wilted kin on ground
then a sudden silent slithering breeze
deprived me of my warmth and ease
and the disturbed withered shroud of Fall
hustled revived in a rustling brawl
hurled and curled in the fading mist
till the whispering winds chose to desist
but Nature lies dead once again
until the wind resumes,retrieves restrain
and I know this flight of life is brief
for I'm none other than a fallen leaf.


Details | Narrative | |

Autumn

They call me the dying month, the bringer of cold harsh winds from the north.
I sneak up upon unsuspecting late summer well wishers, wrap my cold hands around their cheeks and come forth.

Moving silently across the country side, I graciously give the kiss of death to the once green leaves.
In my path I leave nothing but skeleton shapes twisted and old, they are nothing but shadows of once mighty summer trees.

In death however comes beauty of colour, the brown crispy leaves illuminated by the red autumn sky.
The stage is set and the players cast, the final curtain call is all but nigh.

With a crunch under foot, hat and scarves protecting such delicate pale frozen skin.
The first frost falls upon my deathly hands, I greet winter as my old friend with an honest grin.

Like the leaves from the trees my time is short, but the cycle continues without me and I die knowing my part has been played.
I close my eyes as you do in bed, into winters night will an autumn evening fade.

My time has ended and I bow out gracefully, for the work I've done I feel no shame.
As all things that share a purpose and live with meaning, it's time for us all to return whence we came.

03/01/2015


Details | Enclosed Rhyme | |

if i had one last minute Dad

  If I could tell you just one last thing 
  I would tell you Dad, I wish I had more time with you 
  you taught me how to stand tall , do things the right way 
  If I could tell you Dad , before you flew your plane that Day..

  You had asked me to go , and many times I wish I did .
  For my fate would be as yours and Friend , Death,  by a crash in the end.
  I think what was so hard for me Dad , is I always felt something special 
  This was only something you could give me Dad ,  no other ..
  
  Since you left September 4th , a bitter afternoon , not just losing you , myself  too.
  I lost you Dad, maybe I could have told you not to fly your plane that day..
  Or maybe you were just too good for this World , and could not stay ..
  For I have found many judgments in life , no one builds me up like you did .

  If I had just more minute , after your remains were discovered after 9 months 
  I would hold you , and tell you I love you , Please don't go , just stay with me.
  And still , I can't let go . If I could just free my soul.. Dad, if I had just one more minute .
 
  In Honor of "Thomas Francis Kelley " your proud Son , Mark L. Kelley, 
  wrote by; Shanity Rain. 
  I hope your playing Golf in Heaven so when I get there , we can play 9 holes.


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Autumnal Dirge: Translation of Paul Verlaine's Chanson d'automne

Autumnal Dirge

(One of many possible translations* of « Chanson d’automne » by Paul Verlaine)

	for Sandra Feldman

Drawn out sobs
Violins
   of autumn
Wound my heart
Through a languor
    Monotonous

Hardly breathing
And turning wan, when
    The knell tolls,
I recall
Days gone by
   And I cry

And I have to leave
With the unwelcome wind
   Which bears me away
Here now, there then
Much as  a
   (Wafting) Dead leaf.

•	This is as close to a literal translation as I can get, for I do think the original visual structure ought not to be disturbed and as long as the poet’s « meaning » (Intentional fallacy/Affective fallacy notwithstanding), if any, be not overly distorted.

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013


Details | Tanka | |

Autumn


 
 
Beauty has fallen painting the pastel of love in a breath of fire below the bare heights of mist Autumn's tapestry lies strewn _______________________________ 11-4-2013


Details | Couplet | |

Unknown

Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?

Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.

And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.

I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep. 

Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.

And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.


Details | Personification | |

To Be A Scythe

On the days the wind does blow life gets caught up in how things should go and winds gather up the harvest from the field to tow to blow up harvest in good flight it may freely flow but what of those who never know and never feel the warm winds of autumn blow and the scythes will never come home and all hope of good harvest is then forever gone


Details | Ballad | |

Antigone

I am the face of misery
My life, a dissonance of autumn and spring,
The years are written in the same
Lugubrious, nostalgic grey
How can it be the author to blame?
I cannot scream this all away…
Burn nor Bleed this all away…
To Death I am Ordained

Lacuna ever growing
With Velvet sheets of life flowing
Aeons apart of my "royalty"
Under the mask the cannot see...
Can you dispel this tragedy:
Antigone - Epiphany failing

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

No words of hope
No words of hate
Do I have Lenore to send to me:
The sordid child of Thebes
Caught In the longest nightmare
life - the slowest way to die

I know this is my life 
But I'm not under control
under the mask the will see
Just Another Human

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

Can you dispel my life; this tragedy?
Can you control the storm in my mind?
I'm asking you: can you rid me
Of The Curse of Antigone?