If e're we could move that mountain from between thee and me,
where would be lament or reason to grieve?
How remove the hollow from the tree, or shore from the sea?
What left would there be?
What if ere the beam lost it's moon.
Or lovely Autumn raiment lost it's tree? What then would it be?
Can one sow the seed without the land?
Would this be what Powers planned?
The grief, the longing, oh, the heartfelt gaze,
The strife the loneliness, but a soulful phase.
A mountain surmountable, a hollow fulfilled,
A sea able to be, a beam again spilled.
A stage again for raiment,... a fertile valley for seed.
Our love could not be boundless without the bonds of these.
Earth’s sphere of fire bids adieu to me
As dying embers gleam across the sea
In rare hues reflected by autumn trees,
Swirling in motion with October’s breeze.
I feel the joy this season has to share
In golden harvest that the branches bear,
And I am thankful for this blessed year,
For divine abundance I share so dear.
The sun and moon take on a special glow
As thunder clouds move swiftly with the flow.
Yes, autumn coaxes feelings to revive,
Those mem’ries of past seasons still alive.
When autumn spreads her dress of lacey frost
I know, in breathless beauty, I’ll be lost.
© 2013 Connie Marcum Wong
Like violets were her eyes when first I spied
the lady with a sweet child’s face who peeked
at me from bushes that she stood beside,
alluring Lilah, beaming, apple-cheeked!
And so it was that more and more I found
myself among the lilacs in that place
where first we’d met, that I might hear the sound
of Lilah’s laugh and glimpse her angel’s face.
On fragrant garden paths we knew the thrill
of blossoming affection. Poetry
was time we spent! But when my love fell ill,
the autumn of our bliss was not to be. . .
I visit Lilah now where she’s at rest
nearby the lilac blooms she liked the best.
Leaves twirl through the chilly air
Leaving naked tree limbs flailing
Soft sweaters cover me with care
Winds caress with gentle breezing
Crackling and popping beneath my feet
When I walk across the dirt pathway
Colorful leaves even cover the street
Creating oak, poplar and birch bouquet
Squirrels carry nuts into their haunts
While birds begin to fly toward the south
Melancholy feelings start to taunt
Bringing suspicions of winter’s mouth
Autumn is a season of colorful charms
When harvest begins at all the farms
©2014 by Regina Riddle
Written on July 24, 2014
I've been dreaming of a sonnet in the cradle of the breeze
I've been dreaming in the silence of her feathered nest of dream
perched in peaceful solitude autumn falls with golden leaves
where hymn's flow free within a quest along the winding stream
Has my presence ever crossed your mind in lonely nights of need
of placid love refined in gold where one desires thee
a place where time has come to stall of gifts of love and deed
in lust I wait in colors of spring for her my sweet jubilee
In last breath fare of desperate need my eyes have finally seen
my fair young lady from distant hallow floating near within my dream
I hear her voice in loving song with tales of gifts foreseen
with silken wings she flutters free to rest along pure stream
I've been dreaming of a sonnet in the cradle of the breeze
I've been dreaming in the silence far beyond the graceful trees..
Burnished bronze, tarnished teal,
flare warnings yield to winds of steel.
Their urge to jump, to flee and hide
cuts off the warmth for suicide.
They leap and land at such a cost,
far flung debris- refulgence lost.
They shrivel brown, dark fibers done,
decay beneath the wayward sun.
Their shredded shells in supine piles,
small hells ignite by human wiles.
Gray smoking wraiths slip out to sigh,
soar off to smear the flannel sky.
Green progeny will take their turn.
One chance to live is what they earn.
It was the first part of September
As the leaves were just starting to turn
The bonfire shrank to just one ember
A fearful forecast she would discern
Yes, the hurricane season lived on
Although the seas were starting to cool
Bounty of trees now plucked – pecan
As children made their way back to school
Indian Summer brought such sad news
A woman still in her autumn years
Struggled from her eyes, tears to excuse
She had to face the greatest of fears
The doctor offered no hope for her
Would this month be her last September?
*Entry for Brian’s September Contest
Leaves of rust do bounce within the brisk wind
As trees release them from whence they ascend
The frigid air blows down the lane of leaves
Orange charms lay about where we all believe
The sun sits low barely over the drive
Straw blends with the grass as fall comes alive
The crispness of each day flaunts us with pride
Colors of autumn describes the outside
Trees are nearing their midnight life cycle
Almost bare with few leaves to recycle
Crops are near the height of sowing prowess
Yellow stalks surround the farmhouse fortress
The season does explain the cool weather
It’s the most beautiful time of the year
Freedom differs on how each men define it,
like the love of autumn or cold of winter.
Vast it may be but meaning is implicit,
so vast that no soul can ever hinder.
I define liberty as a pen and paper.
Mere it is , but my understanding is sure.
What is simple for you, to me strikes deeper.
Thin a paper be , but it lasts to endure.
The glory of ink is immeasurable,
for a tender soul of mine to comprehend.
Though age has numbers, I am an example,
of a generation's hope for we to ascend.
May the world be courageous to project art.
Like this sonnet , this is where I start.
There’s a path of flowers I glide across
Such a beautiful color made of gloss
Orange pieces of delight made to pass
Within this meadow that is long to last
The blades of grass are surely tall with pride
Turning colors from green to brown inside
There’s a lone tree in the sight of the field
Where orange and red leaves become its build
Flowers impact this field in retrospect
Looking at it from my past with respect
Power of the flower is prominent
Secure in my heart which is dominant
Orange is the color of the plant’s choice
Field is glad of their presence, they rejoice