Notes About The Poem
Entry for Autumn's Breath Contest: Sponsored by: Regina Mcintosh Date wrote 16th August 26
Conkers
The woody musty note of fallen leaves
hints that summer’s gone, but no-one grieves;
at least not us schoolboys walking home
as we, those piles of chestnut leaves would comb.
Glossy brown gems inside their prickly husk
we searched for as the day turned into dusk;
if none were found among fallen leaves: a stone
a ball, a stick, into the tree was thrown.
Conkers in autumn, sport of playground kings;
horse chestnuts drilled and threaded upon strings,
in turn dangled like victims from a rope;
each swings his own with scarcely hidden hope
to smash their archfoe’s conker into pieces
thus the value of their own increases.
It goes like this, each day for quite a while,
bruised hands and wrists accepted with a smile.
One day it stops, unwritten, but seems right,
time to start preparing Guys for Bonfire Night.
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