Mary Rotman Poet Prose Poetry

In Fall

In fall, Boomer Halloweens produce orange and black memories;
     will I ever outgrow treat-laden bags and glowing pumpkins? 
Van Gogh's flaming handiwork draws crowds in the Blue Ridge;
     he paints the trees, but God does the skies.
The slanting sunlight creeps up my back, 
     its lengthening rays whispering “snow.”
Manic animals off their meds gather food.
     Stashes forgotten, they must follow winter's diet.
Sleep comes early to me now.
In fall.

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Funom Makama January 23, 2016 at 12:18 PM Wisdom and arts hug as twins in between your lines. A wonderful 7

Carrie Richards October 9, 2015 at 12:17 PM This makes one want to curl up, and contemplate. Lovely poem, lovely prose, you painted like Van Gogh :) And while I'm here, I must thank you for your 'appliance challenge'....it was a unique subject matter for a poem, but enjoyable. Thank you for my placement! Mary Rotman October 10, 2015 at 12:30 PM You're very welcome. I try to choose subjects that will be fun to write about. Have you seen my nexdt one?