Listen to poem:
September’s Threshold -
Written: August 23, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Daniel Henry Rodgers
Quote: " September is a requiem for summers that leave us softer and more honest.” By Poet.
September is holding its breath,
silent shadows outstretching.
Twilight sparkled in sepia, sapphire and wine hues–
Citrine trumpets, saffron violins, ochre cellos weep,
magenta flutes fly like startled swallows.
Vermilion brass rolls out the last warm chord,
a cosmic waltz of color and cornucopia.
A rustling from petal,
a salient summons of swell.
I breathe it in deeply,
its mellifluous coolness,
and wonder strikes—
every passerby carries
an abyssal memory,
a sacred creed of sorrow.
Calyxes crack, stalks twist,
fronds scour air with art,
each a glyph of goodbye—
a labyrinth of motion,
a slow waltz.
Pluck catharsis from vast hush,
savor the sap of shift from peculiar cup.
The sun severed from summer,
its adamant warmth
now only a lattice of light,
sashed across sedate afternoons.
Hydrangea, peonies—
once frolicking in the sun,
now folded into hollow hush,
a garden of ghosts.
What September leaves behind:
the whimper of waning days,
the threshold, and genesis
the ruby-lotus of regret,
the serendipitous catharsis
of maverick mortality,
both a scourge and a scholar.
Time bloviates, truculent,
yet reveals its pristine truth:
we are mirrored to its morphing.
an Ouroboros of seasons,
a genesis dies untamed,
each epilogue exudes poise.
Wake me when September ends,
but let me remember
the patina upon my soul—
the saudade of summer,
the hiraeth of youthful nostalgia,
the lapidary lattice of memory
even winter cannot weather.
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