These Autumn Sun poems are examples of Sun poems about Autumn. These are the best examples of Autumn Sun poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
My recollections are grifters, dragonflies glazing
glacier springs, skimming over unforgotten lands,
fleeing my inept hands that so long to just once snatch
that fragility, but those filigree wings raze the heart.
Recollections can be Mercurochrome whims
that heal with stings and then leave stains.
Are such things a balm and do they enflame?
Grifters all, those yesteryears and their sly charms,
That shift alarms and then zero in for the kill.
Dragonflies soar through my dreams like they did
at the cottage we rented the summer I turned twelve,
before my mother changed, became ill.
Glazing the lake, the sun seemed lower there.
Glacier cubes, little ones, would click against
cups that held lemonade, but I had a secret.
Springs hid in a forest nearby, so I would trek
through woods to sip water so pure
that I was Bernadette in Lourdes.
Skimming stones over the lake, trying to
count past two, I never succeeded.
Over and over, I would try to wake the
Mystical Lady beneath the reeds.
Unforgotten are those days.
Lands of soft green are now gold.
Fleeing memories can’t be done.
My childhood is a menagerie of tales untold.
Inept are these words as I scribble moments
that ate melting Raisinets as the sun set.
Hands, much smaller, now flutter in mine.
That and this, she commands, and asks why
the man in the moon wants to hide.
So, I watch the magic in her unfold,
like that spring and that child from decades ago.
Long is the growing process, but short are days.
To remember those firefly evenings is to forgive,
And those campfires sparked more than conversation.
Just once, though, I wish I could forget the rest.
Snatch that gawky girl and return her to enchantment.
Fragility deserves a second chance to sing with crickets.
But those hours are gone, and the ones I now live in
are driven by the compulsion to nurture.
Filigree wings worn by a tot remind me of journeys and
how time’s narrow portal opens only to close.
Raze I will that autumn and its mad, destructive chill
and I will protect one serendipitous season.
The heart we are given can be filled with such love that the
maternal trickles its way down to a girl studying dragonflies and
we hop on a boulder to sit with our former selves
shoulder to happy shoulder.
*For Debbie Guzzi's Et Cetera Contest.
Memories of autumn linger still
The pale sun loiters on the hill;
A prodigal year now grown old
Is gathering all her days of gold.
Flocks of birds now eager to go
We share the dream with footsteps slow;
We meet beneath the apple tree
Join hands in silent company.
We will not part love, oh not yet
Too soon the weary sun will set.
The crickets cease to sing their song
The gold and russet wilt away;
The crimson trees stayed too long
And all the sky is wet and grey.
We know at night the frost will fall
And scar the asters on the hill;
The golden rod and sumac all
Will feel the hand of winter's chill.
But love, it is not the time to part
I need to hold you near my heart;
Yesterday was such a golden smile
Today we might love awhile;
Till autumn dies and love forget
And we must leave, but dear not yet.
The flower face of the sun bloomed on you;
the corona of light
easing the passage, caressing you.
Catwalking on the bright side of life;
the false jollity, aching to laugh.
Embraces, your body in a bowl of arms,
brave waves, the last goodbye.
My own desperate clutching, as if
I were a tree sucking at the sky.
The delicate frosting on my birthday cake -
a sugary irony.
How quickly the coronal of anniversary flowers
became a wreath.
Choking on the three hundred miles
to your resting place,
the car eating the road.
Tension-riddled, the family squabbles
snapped at the air.
Alone in the pristine, starched hotel room
propped between pillow and sheet,
stiff as rigor mortis,
my eyes ploughing a newspaper,
thoughts turned introvert and febrile.
A white envelope holding the small silver gift
of your necklace, an oyster cradling its pearl.
Your gold ring playing its warmth
on my finger, thin and white,
the September sun shining in it.
A passion flower clinging to its wire hoop,
sweating out the fragrance of late summer.
Defiant and slightly shocking in my bright patchwork skirt;
a vibrant rainbow flying in the black leer of the cortege.
easing the great weight of his grief with a Valium.
The voice of the vicar carrying,
stentorian, across the echoing expanse of church.
In your diaphanous dress you were a bride
displaying your bouquet:
the mourning arum's white head bowed.
Fine linen shrouding the table, pink curls of salmon,
water glasses floating their tiny icebergs.
Plumbing the depths of your wardrobe,
the outfits hanging limp as fish.
The room gasping in late sunlight,
heady with your Florentyna perfume and oxygen cylinders,
the light lying glassy and quiet.
Your loving memorabilia yielding to damp autumn earth.
My eyes opening to your immortality. An immortal truth.
In winter’s white, as angels cry
for early spring to warm the wind,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned.
For early spring to warm the wind,
at Valentine’s romantic calls,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls.
At Valentine’s romantic calls,
rebirth of nature’s light divine,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls,
and blossoms pastel shades recline.
Rebirth of nature’s light divine,
when day equals the hours of night,
and blossoms pastel shades recline,
to hail the queen of May in light.
When day equals the hours of night,
a summer’s sun will come to play,
to hail the queen of May in light,
we chant and sing along the way.
A summer’s sun will come to play,
so life can grow as gods decreed,
we chant and sing along the way,
with warmth and light our hunger feed.
So life can grow as gods decreed,
the rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
with warmth and light our hunger feed,
the wealth of harvest is our own.
The rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
in autumn breeze that chills the heat,
the wealth of harvest is our own,
as gold and red belies our feet.
In autumn breeze that chills the heat,
a year that ends with blessed Samhain,
as gold and red belies our feet,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign.
A year that ends with blessed Samhain,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign,
in winter’s white, as angels cry.
The audio version of the Poem can also be heard on my You Tube
Channel 'RavindraKK1' or by using the below given URL
While I was standing near My Autumn tree
The Sun was fading, with all its grandeur and beauty,
Somewhere far, very far away amid the Poplar trees.
I was in a state of enchanted stillness,
Beholding the gold which was showering on me,
With every gush of wind coming from the east.
The earth was wrapped in a lovely darkness,
Slowly the Sun rays slipped away from the hands of the evening, but
It embraced the night in her arms perhaps to console its forlorn heart.
I was glued with the fragrance of Autumn, while the Sun was still fading slowly,
Leaving only a yellow and radish glow in the sky.
The golden leaves of Poplar were still falling on me,
Coming to me while flying from the Poplar tree.
Suddenly the birds said adieu to me, reminding me once again the passing of time,
While I was standing near my Autumn tree.
Kanpur India 4th Sept. 2011
Poem submitted in honor of Brian Strand's contest
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
My Son Moon and Star ~
Approaching the celebration of his Birth
cherishing the gift I received
within weeks of conception I knew
something amazing was in Creation ~
the Stars held a party
sending me with one of their own
Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky
It was magic It was destiny taking its flight.
In love with an October full moon
drawing and painting I liked
thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
caught in a loss of time
Hours going by as choosing my color
a wittness to three falling stars
A clear night sky sparkle's
A once Famous Star was sent
inspiring the tiny child inside ~
Never a doubt in my mind at all
child bearing was worth any pain received
yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
one to cherish and hold
My Son was born the following August ~
working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year
as the set of Leverage for 3 years .
Has done a Indie movie here
In Paris it was seen and honored
coming soon filmed in Portland ~
"The House of Last Things "
awaiting the credits , you will see
1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant
My Young Lion Mans dream ~
A proud mom I watch every show and the credits
as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
My Son & Moon and Star
A name you will all know ~
Happy Birthday to my creative Son
you will exist in my heart forever~
The sun will rise,the sun will set,
no more love will life beget;
The day will break,the moon to rise,
no more love,as this life dies;
The Summer heat,or Winter cold,
no more love will this life hold;
The Autumn fall,and Springtime green,
no more again,will love be seen;
The wheat will shoot,the grass will grow,
no more again sweet love to know;
The grape will ripen on the vine
no more,no more will love be mine.
inspired after reading an essay by Nicholas Ferrar(1592-1637) the English ascetic of the Little
Gidding community(was also TS Eliot's inspiration foth the last of his Four Quartets).
Having wonderful summer memory
it warms our hearts long
Summer memories that we can bring back
on the cold windy autumn evenings
Summer memories we can dream of when
snow falls during the winter
It will warm our hearts in front of the fireplace
on a cold winter night
Summer memories is a new journey
when one thinks back
Yes, we can almost feel the sun warm and the
smell of beautiful flowers
Close your eyes......running barefoot in
a meadow of timothy
Watch the sunset..... sun bathing in the sea
Yes, it was quite a summer
After the fall, winter and spring comes summer
again and we can create new memories
that we will take good care of
To you plump puffball,
Squatter of the mushroom fungi.
May your soils be rich
And your spores be many!
Moonstone child of nocturnal reverie
Pride tempts to invite fallacious vanity.
Creamy alabaster skin,
Spongy firm of flesh within.
A saucy lunar face to taunt the sun.
His nomadic gaze leaves no course for fun.
The sun edges off towards autumn skies,
Pragmatically steady; contemplatively wise.
The sun may have kissed her on a whim,
Crazed butterfly flutters; needles to pins.
Translucent skin, her conceit and crown,
Blushes from saffron hue, to Dijon brown.
Physical metamorphosis; transmutations collide,
She becomes a phase converted seasonal bride.
To celebrate this new found core,
She sends up clouds of dust, and sleepy spores.