Autumn, a-drowse
Ag'ed, drag them.
As deaf to a leafy music's
Bright shimmerings
As blinded are, further above
To whose throne rings.
Behind its sound
What do I see?
Out each branch hung, with timbrelled hand
A worshipper.
Nature, plainly more conscious of
Its own Maker!
Once Clara arrived, and she beamed with pride -
Applause, after all they were horrified…
In Autumn, a fall;
The Belle of the ball;
The dance of her life, where she could have died.
To cry is a shame and to laugh is lame.
For once down the stairs (do you know this dame?)
She stumbled a waltz…
Could you get her salts?
She’d dance with the stars and a solid frame.
back door breeze.
relief from sophistry.
sounds of ink
dipping into darkness.
I see moonbows,
or I’d like to; believe
in wings of brightness,
breath of sweet season.
quicksand takes my breath.
soothing tunes of velvet
like romantic violins
reel me in; I need briskness -
a cold blast. I need leaves
to relieve my melancholia.
don’t refuse me the hues
of Autumn, a drift of falling.
The season’s subtle winds bring change, from the skies
to the mountains, bearing an autumnal overcoat
boasting gold, orange, and scarlet, gradually
hushing to a dying chestnut brown.
Soon, the warming of spring will throw back its head,
laughing at crocuses and daffodils daring to
bloom above winter’s malingering snow.
The pulse of dawn captures me in its taciturn wake.
Above, the trees shed the last of their death and
blend in with the persistence of the evergreen.
I slowly bend and bleed with the horizon’s edge and
hold summer by the hand, laughing and
giving autumn a nod, knowing he’d be back
one day.
i feel tortured in winter, the fog reminds me of good times,
when my gray world turned to pink
i feel tortured in autumn, a season spent missing someone, a total love blackout
i feel tortured in summer, a summer meant to be full of love turned to gray
i feel tortured to see rain, it reminds me of weeping nights and when i was in pain
a tortured poet and his tortured seasons
a tortured poet forced to be tortured by torturous peoples because of their torturous sin
a question why did i associated my memories
and made my seasons tortured ?
do you hear rustling?
it's the rustling of the leaves.
autumn interweaves.
days are much cooler,
there's no more sweltering sun,
autumn has begun.
trees adorned with gold.
it seems king midas was here.
give autumn a cheer!
Whispers of autumn's approach, Apocalyspe ready to roll?
Heaven had seen one struggle. Good and evil clashed,
which found Lucifer & Staff cast to earth in shame.
Why in his hometown did Jesus bind his own control?
At Babel, mighty men plotted strength and had crashed.
God upset their language; now we all play word games.
Are whispers of autumn a mere oversight - why bother?
Nazareth had its little gods, folks with too much clout.
Christ had set his sights on this earth with infinite foresight -
coupled with hindsight, the timely wisdom of His Father.
Does God cloud the eyes and ears of those who dare to doubt?
Who knows? sovereign perspective, way beyond my sight.
Welcome whispers to earth as our world nears rock bottom -
inconvenient, noisesome insights from Agent Autumn.
the long sleep
We got up late that morning
bills all bills paid
it was autumn, a morning and cold
righteous and smug under the duvet
I have 500 photos taken of threes
young trees, mature trees
and pale, dead trees, birds avoid
Should I make a collection titled
"Trees in our life"
I have on my nightstand a must-read
book so far left unread
it is the "must read" I dislike
Olive trees can last long and are
useful for Palestinians as long
as grim settlers stop burning them
These horrible people who believe
God has blessed them
and they suffer from the arrogance
in their ethnicity
at the drive up to my village
stands a tree that, if it could talk
will tell us when Jesus and Maria
rested, in its shade
I have changed my mind about
dead trees, it must be lonely to be dead
to be peed on by drunken hunters
Life is like that
we hate what we will become
In Spring, a floral clock
Time shows us.
Love's own love-flushed dial!
Fairest smile!
In Autumn, a pale-blown
Leaf's o'replus.
Age's own soured outlook!
Crinkled. Crook.
The first turn of a leaf, a constant reminder that summer is brief. The suns slow burn melts into the horizon leaving behind: a colourful show, a crisp autumn breeze and a sharp wind blow. Dark nights soon approach with the squawk of a crow, cold creeps in with the first fog grow. Green leaves fade to red the sight of conkers near. Spikey shields dropping from branches Mother Nature we ought to fear. A crisp crunch of a leaf that once danced to its demise. One of springs creations now drowned out by summers cries. The veil to the under world wears thin, celebrating Halloween by carving a pumpkin. Animals stock up on food supplies autumn a preparation for winter’s surprise.
Autumn, a time for reflections on reflections,
and they are rife, linked to pearly grey sky,
lake, puddle, mud strewn path or no,
while each steep cliff face boldly juts,
sheer defiance without concession or a budge,
through jagged edge loadstone chipping,
as the chilling froth-tipped sea mounts its saline tumult, irrespective of an iron cast continuing rebuttal.
One can pass the baton to u turn so turbulent,
within our mental recess at end of summer phase.
September signpost deigns to whisper,
of a scenic telltale hint and tint,
this somber colour gloss an imposition on July,
sunburst relish, such a sullen flashback,
amid the garden suite indigo plot,
beyond a purposeful utopian expanse,
which every avid green-fingered artisan must doff,
their pale straw rimmed hat to,
that transit between seasons, annual curtain drop,
awash with predetermined wish fulfilment,
glow upon each glitter that sparks our child,
eternal down the ages,
somehow yet an underlying dread might spoil
or pamper,
in such icicle entanglement so wicked in its frozen mosaic,
chase indelible precursor now more than ever so inevitable.
Nature's chill is released upon the breeze,
as she calls upon Autumn to appear.
The time when leaves no longer cling to trees,
their colors now carpet a path for deer.
To her rules they must obey and adhere.
As the clime cools, the temperature drops.
It's the season to harvest many crops.
Farewell, withered leaves that tumbled aground.
Bare are tree branches in the maple copse
when Nature chooses Autumn to be crowned.
October 17th, 2022
Dizain Contest sponsored by Sotto Poet
The theme is: Nature
Paint a picture of a mountain scene with colors of autumn a glow
Paint in white, the highest peak, first of a winter snow
Then somewhere in the distance, the hint of a waterfall,
let it cascade down into a little creek, on the bank, a rotting log
Let the leaves fall from the trees in shades of gold and red
The wisp of a cloud up high and paint an eagle over head
Paint the shimmer of reflection in the quiet shade of a pool,
The ripple of a brook- trout, as it looks for a minnow school
Then paint the rays of the sun, as they steal through limbs of black and brown
Creating little spots of shade that play with leaves on the ground
Down at the bottom, sign your name with pride for all to see
For you are to paint God’s Creation, what an honor that will be
Fall is the most beautiful time of the year for me, with its blushing
Apples and fruitful trees dressed in zesty rubious healthy leaves with
Luminous fruit hanging off its stems, like galas, granny smiths, and fuji
Leaves of multi colored sunburnt shades of yellow, gold and brown
Inside the orchard, ladders, bushels, straw hats and farmer pant- grins
No better place to be then underneath an Autumn tree when every
Golden leaf shimmer-shimmies before swiveling down at your feet
Leaves that dance and shuffle-shake before landing in your hands
Earthing to the ground covering you with giant leafy dry crispy limbs
Arrest the night, stop the moon, hold the stars, its time to listen to the
Voices of the night, the falling leaves have their sorrowful story to tell
Ease into their season with a quiet soul. Help them say goodbye to the
Summer. After all it is the season of Autumn, a time for falling leaves.
September 27, 2021
Autumn a blessed relief
From sun that showed no mercy
Day after blistering day
Green grass burnt to rusty brown
I hungered for Celtic mist.
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