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Best Autumn Poems

Below are the all-time best Autumn poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of autumn poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Autumn Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Autumn poems are below this new poems list.

Autumn Leaves - 2- Group of Ten Old College Mates by Rajaratnam, Gunadevi
Autumn of Life by Buhagiar, Victor
After autumn by Motaung, Pheko
Autumn blossom by Kuijpers, Vesper
AUTUMN WALK by Rogers BLK PANTHER, VAL BROOKLYN
Autumn ends by Motaung, Pheko
Air of autumn by The Aritistic Poetry Sisters , Heather and Chantelle
Air of Autumn by Cooke , Chantelle Anne
Autumn Leaves by Buss, Gerald
Red Autumn Wind by Golden, Gregory

View all new Autumn Poems

The Best Autumn Poems

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Indian Ink

Listen to poem:
“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 fall from the sky;    -Rising hymns release 
-ancient demons that   CLING to the soul

Darkness dwells under - gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World!
Weaving Native smoke into the barren air
Indian spirits haunt the muddy Earth---
Moccasin makers rise from underneath;    While
  guardians of dream catchers - print the Universe
Smooth thread from the outer world; 
Arrowheads,   Ivory gems,   feathers, and illusions
I stumble upon a florid kiss.......   My veins;
Run Cold, like ice through a desert night.

Winds of enchanted drums - cry out for rain
Hollow chimes mesmerize,  my ties,  my eyes
An ancient rage begins to flare --- MADNESS! 
- takes place among the sanity of  who   I am
The spear of the perfumed buffalo scrapes my skin
I remove the veil that covers my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Drying the scalp that bleeds on my face

KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!

Raven silk braids and feathers on 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


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Where The Sycamore Grew

The sun-yellow house seems smaller, somehow
seeing it now,  with much older eyes...

The street seems narrower, the trees are taller..
Where once open fields spanned both sides of the road
they are building new structures, and fences have bloomed
The neighboring orchards have all but disappeared

But somehow we knew the house would still be there....
Strangely distant, ...yet, still much is the same

There is a newer red tricycle
on the smooth flagstone path
one that we laid on a hot summer day...
in front of this house that lies at the bend
at the end of the road, where the sycamore grew...

As sudden as wind, thirty years fades away, lost in the moment of this crisp autumn day
And quickly alive, memories rise, becoming again the springtime of lives..... 

...our first Christmas trees,..and first anniversaries...
 ...a place where I cried long into the night, the child in me grieving when mother had died...
      ..then long, starry nights, lost in the moonlight, 
           counting my blessings, and holding my babies

Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow house

It's funny, I know, but I'm glad they have kept the yellow...
And it still wears the trace of sun, and crisp-white shutters...

The little yellow house, with a flagstone pathway that we laid
that sits beyond the bend, where the old sycamore grew...


                                       _________



Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

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Past-Life Nightmare

A child of four suffers recurring dreams,
disturbing parents and siblings with screams.
When she awoke, always sore in one knee;
next to a birthmark, it throbbed painfully.

Night after night she feared going to bed.
What caused these nightmares that raged in her head?
Even when grown, the torment persisted,
so a therapist’s aid she enlisted.

“Hypnosis,” said he, “might offer some clues.
Why not try it?  You’ve just bad dreams to lose.”
Once under, he guided her to a room --
here people’s lifetimes in books were entombed.

“Find one that is yours,” her counselor said.
Quickly she did, but before it was read,
she felt an ache, saw just a faint title.
The words, she thought, said “Alister Bridle.”

The hypnotic trance now suddenly broke;  
puzzling questions “Mr. Bridle” evoked.
For many years she thought that was her name;
perhaps a past life had been filled with pain.

Who was this man?  She simply had to know!
Seasons passed, summer suns made way for snow.
In Florida now, 1998,
she thought all the nightmares she had escaped.

But strange dreams always catch us by surprise --
when the lights grow dim, our minds fantasize.
Cloaked in velvet, she left her parents’ farm,
stealing away on a late autumn morn’.

To meet her love, she climbed on the carriage,
knowing her folks would forbid their marriage.
Warm-hued leaves carpeted the hillside road,
and her pulse beat fast; she’d soon join her beau.

She thought only of him; joy cast its smile,
but that’s when he called, “Alice, the bridle!”
The leather band broke and wrapped ‘round her knee.
To the ground she was pulled; her horse ran free.

She met death, but past-life dreams recycle,
and she’d never been “Alister Bridle.”



*Based on real events I experienced.


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009

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FALL IN LOVE

F eeling enraptured, Autumn dances in the wind, then undresses.
A s bright robes fall to the ground, her passion paints the twilight skies.
L ike a nymph, she beckons, tossing her fiery auburn tresses.
L ongingly she sighs - September’s bliss lingering in her eyes.

I ndian summer days come; then they go.
N ights though chill, embrace her in indigo.

L ater, in November, her sweetness wanes.
O ctober cannot stay forever loving her.
V acantly she gazes through freezing rains.
E ndearments whispered - cease - when Fall loses ardor.


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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In Strangler's Wood - tanka version

In forest dark where trees bend low
beneath a slice of half moon’s glow,
          silent shadows waver there,
          chilled by gusts of autumn air.

Quavering, as if afraid,
they fall on stumps from trees decayed.
     among those stumps the shadows creep
     and shroud a form that seems asleep.

Lightning flashes . . . Thunder peals.
A sight forlorn the light reveals
          a man, quite dead, in woolen coat,
          with scarf of death left on his throat.

The shadows saw, and now they quake,
lone witnesses in murder’s wake.
     They cannot speak, but if they could,
     they’d tell all travelers of the wood:

"We’re not the foe.  It’s one of you
that makes us tremble as we do.
          Although we loom and cause you fear,
          something worse is lurking here."

Then Thunder echoes in accord
as from the sky, cold rain is poured.
     And silent shadows start to shrink
     into a night of blackened ink.


At a dead man’s throat lies the rain drenched woolen scarf that stifled his screams. Cold Wind howls through decayed trees - witnesses in the shadows. For Debbie Guzzi's Metamorph Poetry Contest a rhyming poem changed to a tanka


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

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NATURES WONDERFUL GARDEN

NATURE’S WONDERFUL GARDEN

Nature’s wonderful garden in display
display of autumn colours in array
array of beauty to share in delight
delight of birds in a picturesque sight.
Sight of swans as they fly above the ground
ground that is covered by leafs as if gowned
gowned by a blanket of colourful hue
hue of earth moistened by a misty dew.
Dew that reflects sunlights shimmering light
light that wakes up into a morning bright
Bright is the dawn as a new day ascends
ascends to where the earth and heaven blends.
Nature and seasons in a divine bliss
bliss of life and beauty to reminisce.

T.J Grén

March 2016
My first attempt at writing a chained sonnet.


Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2016

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Winds of Autumn

I called to the winds of autumn
As they wrapped up the dying year;
"Oh stay for a moment and tell me
Of answers I need to hear".

Who is the rival of prudence
Who is the merchant of crime
Who closes the eyes of beauty
And steals the hours of time?
Who brings the winter to age
From the springs of the fountain of youth
Who is the companion of sorrow
And destroys the justice of truth?
Who's the apprentice of Satan
The Prince of the Power of Air
Whose appetite is transgression
With more than enough to share?
Who weakens the power of the great
Who slaughters the wisdom of wise
Who brings the honest and gracious
To depths that others despise?

The winds of autumn now answered
With a voice like a phantom call
"It's an evil afflicting so many
Who drown in the drink alcohol."
This is the spell of the devil
Who casts his net from hell
An addiction with power to destroy
Gathering all who are caught in its spell
For his net will gather the unwary
To beguile lost souls with his breath;
This is the destruction of lost dreams
That perish in the arms of death







Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012

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THE OLD OAK TREE


         Oh I am but a simple leaf
         withering within the gutter
         one summer of bliss
         now! Just an autumn flutter.

                   For some; destine to fall
                   upon stony ground, a part
                   of life’s infernal gyration.
                   Yet for those that fall
                   within your reach, to live
                   on within your soul!

         While limbs that stretch
         towards the solstice, create
         vivacious veins as channels of hope,
         a pledge of foliation continues
         to endure what spring has
         furnished; autumn expires. 

                   Yes! If we can but learn
                   from nature’s complex simplicity,
                   that life be of a cycle
                   from the seed we are conceived,
                   then let spring be my beginning
                   winter my exultant eve!

         Let our two cultures
         merge as one, the
         decomposed humus
         to become the sustenance;
         our transfusion the
         new beginning.

                   Let us breathe the
                   fragrance of born again;
                   let each slender limb,
                   stout body bear our
                   tenaciousness, each lyrical
                   leaf our life’s blood.

          Let us mollycoddle each
          precious tear that falls from a
          angry sky; dance gracefully
          upon the wind, embrace
          on moonless nights, bathe
           in summer madness.

                   Let us hear the bluebell call,
                   the daffodil pray, the apple
                   blossom bear witness; the
                   clamour of the field mouse
                   the pitapat of the butterfly
                   the silence of lovers in love.

             Let us be sanctuary to the
             symbolic songstress, scuttling
             squirrel, vulgar urchin;
             a fortress for the warrior
             a haven for the pacifist
             an inspiration for the poet!

 EPILOGUE 

                  The call of springtime
                   we will invoke,
                     logging representative
                      we will gladly choke;
                        nature’s guardian.
                          “This! Obliging old oak.”

Copyright Harry J Horsman 2000


        

         









Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2010

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Windowpanes

An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and 
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of 
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field 
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community 
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound 
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the 
evening to be appropriate for the purpose. 
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical 
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that 
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the 
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by 
our café.

When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew, I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true, A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent. I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more. Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore, The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry, As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by. The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes. The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve. My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before. She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside, And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride. Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart, For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part. Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear. The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years, Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears, When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew, And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.


Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009

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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.


Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2006

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Lilah of the Lilacs

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. By Andrea Dietrich For the Women's Only Poetry Contest of Kelly Deschler


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012

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The Universe of You

THE UNIVERSE OF YOU I have never seen a flower blush when I took it's hue and held it there a prisoner captive to my view. I have always heard the song that's in the autumn breeze playing taps in harmony with the forest leaves. I love the smell of rain that brings the springtime into bud and swells my love of nature into a teeming flood. I celebrate the cycle of the daytime into night and find an equal blessing in the shadow and the light. I've always felt affinity for all created things and surrender to the pleasure that their beauty brings. And though I could spent a lifetime sailing drops of dew I've never seen a universe as beautiful as you. I've often sat myself by gentle mountain streams and overflowed the dams that were holding back my dreams. I've breathed the scented forest on the mountainside and washed away my sorrows in an evening ocean tide. I've laid down in a meadow and debated with the moon and spent some quiet moments on the surface of Neptune. I got married to a zodiac with one of Saturn's rings then spied a super nova and went on a cosmic fling. I've run away to nebulae in galaxy brochures and bathed in scenes of wonders on distant planet shores. Every cosmos in creation could parade before my view but I've never seen a universe as beautiful as you. I've never seen a tree once withdraw it's shade and deny a creature the comfort of its aid. I've never seen any anger in the sun at noon when it burns relentlessly on the desert dune. At sunrise I take an oath to live with all my might and reinforce my gratitude each and every night. I could spend some hours riding on a crystal flake drifting wildly in a gale mindless of my fate. Many times I've been through trials of wind and rain and snow then sentenced to the splendors that the seasons show. And though I've searched throughout creation, I must say this is true I've never seen a universe as beautiful as you.


Copyright © John Wilowski | Year Posted 2012

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Gone Forever

Here I sit amongst the long grasses and the reed,
in a solitary place, where my breath is freed,
on an Indian Summer's evening on the lake bed,
autumn has come, yet the warmth has not fled.

Blazing orange skies, are mirrored to reflect,
I cannot imagine a scene being any more perfect,
as I looked up, an unfallen leaf caught my gaze,
spotlighted in the sun's last golden rays.

I noticed this crimson leaf as it began to wave,
the end of a short life that I could not save,
then swept away suddenly by the wind's rake,
and ripples formed as it landed on the still lake.

The leaf was carried away and my eyes followed,
then drowned by the water's surface and swallowed,
windy fingertips tugged it from the branch to sever,
existing once, like today, and then was gone forever.








Note - This was my original idea for the poem "The leaf",
but it was revised for a contest. I just wanted to post both 
versions of the poem.




Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

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At Summer's End

When Autumn veils my season's smile and lingers in the air a while . . . though Indian days be gold spun, my summering will come undone. Night's shadows fall more quickly now; birds sooner too forsake their bough. No tarrying for old friend Sun when summering becomes undone. Oh, warmth of Summer, leave me not. Through Winter's frost I grow distraught. The melancholy has begun; my summering will come undone. As Autumn veils my season's smile, my summering will come undone. This was used for Summer's End Contest


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

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This Autumn Day

My hope that summer, like a sun-drenched dream, might linger through September splashed away with days and days of rain and endless grey. But then I woke to see a welcome stream of sunlight fall on me. This autumn day, bestowing skies of blue, begged summer stay - then into evening glided with a gleam! 9/11/14 for the One Autumn Day Poetry Contest of PD


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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Autumn Reverie

Shifting haze, so slowly trailing
Through wood and field, now veiling
Melancholy skies, holding back the tears
With wild geese flying to meet other years.
Flames of crimson torches come flinging
Leaves on knarled branch swinging; 
Desolate winds rush leaping
Taking flowers to their final sleeping.
In the groaning of the atmosphere
Unfolding sorrows weep with the fading year;
Fields of cluttered stubble are tangled
With rampant weeds, dew drop spangled.
Flocks of birds leave like flying missiles
Over fields of corn and drying thistles;
Then my dream of autumn fades, paling
Through a grandeur all prevailing
When sunset fires light sky and sea
And sink in the breath of serenity.




Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2011

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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


Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2014

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Obstacles

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.


Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010

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Of Days Gone By

Sometimes I laugh
Sometimes I cry
Sometimes I dream
Of Days gone by

Life was hard, each day we learned
We never wanted what we hadn’t earned
A handshake at the bank was the only must
Lives were built on faith and trust

Friday night dances at the school’s old gym
Pledge of Allegiance and a morning hymn
In the Spring, caterpillars all over the trees
Stop at the candy store for jujubes

Pinball machines and wiffle balls
Growing to serve, duty calls
Decorating the car for the football game
Jumping in leaves when Autumn came

Watch a parade on Decoration Day
Visit the grave, a prayer we’d say
Meet at the diner after class
On Christmas Eve, go to Midnight Mass

Play in the street until well after dark
Climbing trees at the local park
Baking potatoes on an open fire
Riding  a bike after patching  a tire

Delivering newspapers in all kinds of weather
Put a nail in a bat to hold it together
Counting stars while lying in the grass
Standing under a pavilion until the rain would pass

Sometimes I laugh
Sometimes I cry
Sometimes I dream 
Of days gone by.


Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2011

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The golden dusty days

Long gone are the golden
Dusty days!
Where once, like Blazons
On Armorial Shields,
The gathered bronze sheaths 
stood -
Cut through at the stalk...
Raised from time honoured
swathes.

Burnished like brushed copper
By high summers slanted rays:
That were sliced so thinly 
From the thickening air,
As they brightly 
Caught the hot glare,
From the grass mowers blades.

For the singing scythes,
Once wielded so ably
By strong, capable arms,
Are standing abandoned and
Forsaken:
Blunted, left rusting,
Languishing alone
In damp, dilapidated  barns.

Now their songs are forgotten -
Lost within a woeful winds 
lament!
Blown far out 
From the green meadows;
Separated from their verses
Once sung so heartily 
With purposeful,
Lusty, well practiced intent.

So think you all well,
Next time you pause
Your drawn eye,
Upon Englands rich harvests
Of ripened barley, 
Yellow wheat, and stiff rye...

To dwell on the lost seasons
With melancholy tears...

And think of the old reaper
Who cuts back at the years!





Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2014

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- Begging Sunlight -


A yellow song about autumn
Leaves falling slowly 
May nature embrace me gently

Birds mixing tunes 
Of such ecstatic sound 
Rising a sweet melody 
Creeds and song carried with the wind
in the highest tempo

Kissing one heart priceless gold
Crossing bridges and mountain majesty of the world
Rustling softly breathless whispers treasure
Most quiet need, by autumn sun and candlelight

Like sweet thoughts in a dream
Dazzling of wonder as magical charms
floating flutters gently on a breeze 
Delightful day it is for all who dwell
delicately blown upon warm sunlight rays 

The sumptuous yearning of summer that left
Breathtaking feeling dance circles around
Viewing elements and seasons as they change
Deeply touches embracing beauty inside 
Into the dawn's early and tender caresses
You stand in front of the sun 
morning dewdrops upon your vision 




Written by L. Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :)  16.10.2015 
Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015

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Lives to Live

I need more lives for me to live
In this universe of beauty;
I plan more days to find new ways
Of doing freedom's duty.
I need not more joy than this
For I am life's dear lover;
And when I wage to turn the page
I'd never want another.

The glorious pledge of sunny Spring
With sweet June coming after;
Bring autumn sighs and summers cries
Lost in winter's laughter.
With virgin moons and scorching noon’s
And stars of a thousand nights;
I'd need no heaven if love be given
With all its sweet delights.

There are many splendors for the eye
And such music for the ear;
The mind would reel with all to feel
And see to touch and hear.
There's many ways to spend the days
And more to do what's kind;
For bread now cast on waters past
Returns again I find.

There are such gifted souls to know
And many more to learn;
While a promise rests in earth's warm breast
And unknown stars still burn.
In six days God made all the earth
The bible is known to say;
Six lives I need to plant a seed
Of love with one for each dear day.

But sad if love should fly away
Or hide his face from me;
Six lives aren’t much if I had such
But one’s all that need be.
With unhappy May and sorry June
Sad dawns and weary night;
A sorry world through space was hurled
When love had lost her light.


Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2011

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ONE AUTUMN NIGHT

Our shadows are silhouetted against the fading orange sky.
A blanket of russet and brown leaves carpet the ground
Like tiny children we kick the wind blown leaves, hearing them crunch under our feet
The silvery moon casts its eerie glow, illuminating the trees
Branches once dripping with their coats of leaves are now naked and exposed
The biting wind reminds us that summer is just a distant memory
Pulling our hoods over our heads we hurry home to a roaring fire

09~06~14
Contest:- One Autumn Night
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
~awarded 7th place~


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014

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Any Old Poem Contest: echoes and whispers uncut

listen,
the whispers
of leaves
turn color
announce
autumn is here.

touch,
the echoes
of the rain
that waters
and blossoms spring.

taste,
uncut
the snow shapes
the crisp cold
ices the wintertide.

see,
the sand sculptures
that paint
that rekindle
a childhood summer past.

smell,
the seasonal airs
stimulates the senses
and the memories they carry.

in the glee,

in the hopes and dreams,

in the human spirit,

lives the miracle of life.

the magnificent
voices in every pitch
deep and resounding,
the melody

 of echoes and whispers – uncut.

Maurice Yvonne
Any Old Poem Will Do - Contest
For Skat A
Entered: August 29 2014


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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Autumn

Autumn and bygone memories,
bare cornfields, luscious heaths,
where tracks zigzag to vales
as hikers' joy blooms.
The green ferns thrive
from recent downpours;
goats graze before the winter blasts
and hay-laden carts amble by.
Here and there old farms dot 
the countryside, smoke silently
curling slowly out of blackened chimneys.

Rambling around, gardens greet us,
faint scents permeate the air.
Late sunflowers start to hang their heads,
crinkled celosia "cristata" adorn haughty patches,
while blue Agapanthus demand queen reign.
In wooded areas once green, all color mutate:
ash turns to yellow, maple delights in red,
while dogwood almost precious pink.

Eventide approaches, many haste for meals,
a homely vegetable broth, a crusty bread,
cheeses of all types, and roasted lamb and mead.
Fully satiated, all repair for a goodnight's sleep,
in barns, tents or beds provided by comely spouses.
Oh would that autumn never ends.

12/20/2015

For the contest, Any Poem, sponsor, Broken Wings
Placed 1


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2015