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.

3 Autumn haiku Shiki style by Goff, James Marshall
Autumn Mood by Haley, James
Autumn chill, fall wind by Bailey, Brahn
AUTUMN GLOOM by Strand, Brian
Ballet In The Autumn Sky by Hinshaw, Robert L.
Snowy Autumn Clouds by Scythe, Vermillion
The Comfort of the Autumn Breeze by Loo, Laura
When Autumn Leaves Fall by Shields, Jane
To the autumn harvest by Wang, Hao
MOURNING IN AUTUMN by Rodrigues, Kim

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,
regarding it now,  with time-worn eyes...

The street seems narrower, and the trees are taller..
Where once open fields spanned both sides of the road
there are new tract houses, and fences have bloomed
The neighboring orchards have all been removed

But somehow we knew the house would remain....
As if seen from a distance, ...yet, still much is the same

There's an unfamiliar red tricycle, and a skate left behind
along flagstone pavers that wind to the door
It's a path that we laid on a hot summer day...
in front of this house that sits at the bend
near the end of the road, where the sycamore grew...

As suddenly as wind, that springs from the dust
thirty years flew away, and fell into in the past
And quickly alive, all the memories rise, 
     like a whirlwind of leaves, in a springtime of lives.....
_____ 

...Our first Christmas trees,. our first anniversaries...

 The place where I cried long into the night, 
  as the child in me grieved for a mother who died...

 Long, starry nights, I was bathed by the moon
                    rocking my babes to a lullaby tune
_____

Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow house
Our very first house, with the snow-white shutters

Strange, it may be, but I'm glad it's still yellow...
Still wearing the face of the warm summer sun 

The sun- yellow house, with a flagstone path
Where old slate stones bring the sun to the door
It's a path we laid on a warm summer day
in a place that we knew as our very first home
 
Just a small yellow house, with snow-white shutters...
that sits 'round the bend, where the 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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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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Under the Stars

Breathtaking
    poetic passions,
         lavender skies
             in the gloaming.

The lure of lavender
     reflections,
          the heavens are open.
                Suddenly,
                       crystal rain.

What
    a divine cascade~
         romantic waters,
             dazzling
                  bodies of light
                       starbright!

Tranquility
     on becoming enlightened.
          Autumn's breeze~
               windsongs~
                     Luna's light...

Oh my love
      it is quiet tonight,
            hold me
                  under the stars.

A glimpse of heaven,
      a place of enchantment,
           anima mystique~
                always you.

Oh poet,
     behind closed eyes,
           my soul belongs to you.

You are so beautiful
     amour,
          many lifetimes
                in the shadows.

The wonders of love,
      divine inspiration
           under the stars.

Seasonal dance
     tonight.


© Connie Marcum Wong   
Poem of the Day June 19, 2017 


Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017

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In Strangler's Wood - tanka version

At a dead man’s throat lies the rain drenched woolen scarf that stifled his screams. Cold Winds howl through decayed trees - witnesses in the shadows.


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

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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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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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And Sweet Is Her Demise

In primrose twilight, summer is still near. She whispers in my ear; I hear her in the one lone owl that hoots to only me. I wake to find her shining through the clouds - though breathing not so warmly on my cheek. I glimpse her waning smile as in a field I dance to soundless music in her sun. My mind goes wandering, and in the breeze I hear her sigh, for she is lingering within the scent of asters that I pluck. I’m hanging on to that one glint I see of her before me in gold glitter dusk. But in the cries of geese across the sky, she calls goodbye, and sweet is her demise. Dec. 2, 2016 Now used for the Blank Verse Poetry Contest of Janice Canerdy


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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Blow sweet Breeze

With the turning of the green
the fevered hues engulf my soul
rich radiant reds glistening in the sun
as my heart gleams with memories
of the solemn words that fall from
your angelic lips.
The ornate orange and dynamic yellows
come to life
like those sparkling flecks dancing
inside your autumn eyes. Oh my heart
my heart, rest my heart.
Breathless the breeze blows a subtle scent
of sweets from the pink flowing Amaryllis.
Blow sweet breeze blow  off into the night
and on your wings I plant my kiss. A loving kiss
filled with the finest fruits of my harvest like the
finest bottle of red served on the terrace overlooking
the Grande Canal in Venice under a moonlit sky.
Blow sweet breeze blow and onto her veranda swirl
swirl gently into her palatial palace and wrap my love
firmly upon her waiting cheek.


Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2016

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Hot cider dreams



Fall glides in on the wings of migrating monarchs, stained glass visions seeking respite from a tedious journey signaling a change in our surroundings Blushing, the complexion of November slips from swimsuit informalities to fawn layered outfits of earth tone lace Singing of cool breeze melodies on chrysanthemum dance steps Sweetly autumn reaches, filling every part of my heart collecting at my feet like fallen leaves Swirling about me on winds of fleece lined affection tickling fancies and coaxing smiles Maple syrup hues cling to pumpkin seed desires, painting pathways in tinted curves, outlined in kaleidoscope siftings, champagne ribbons winding to stroll with the one you adore Fireside encounters warm of passion’s enduring flame a’ glow on shade drawn windows and pine needle temptations floating of chilled evening whispers Wrapped in my arms, hot cider dreams gather amidst comforting aromas, weaving scented shadows neath wool blanket motions and as the season changes, so do I… I fall more in love with you


Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016

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Falling Like Leaves

Oh, how sweet Autumn air collars my heart
The vapor of leaves
Chill summer reprieves
Years since our isles then drifted apart
Still, every Fall's camber
Your eyes, gold and amber
Wheaty hair spilling like corn-silk to shoulders
Scarlet trees framing our merge as it smoldered

Falling like leaves ... for you.

Oh, how this time lifts me back to a dream
At our ivy-clad schools
Such young, preppy fools
World as our oyster, and raw, it would seem
Escaped to the woods
Shedding all of our goods
There, on a blanket of bright, leafy death
I strained in all passion to fever your breath

Falling like leaves ... for you.

Oh, how the fall always kindled our flame
The semester would start
Embers warmed while apart
Weekends adoring the ways that you came
The woods were all ours
Under branches and stars
Each mutual climax was sweeter than last
Those hours exhausted, like us, far too fast

Falling like leaves ... for you.

Oh, that Autumn suffuses my blood to this day
Our sweet prurient pains
Still surge through my veins
You inculcate my core in the most vexing way
So when October sighs
I still ache for your eyes
Tho' it's been near four decades, you still drench my soul
With the song of each color, and the twinge of the cold
You're the fire of fragrance that will burn 'til I'm old

I fell like a leaf ... for you.



** SECOND PLACE in the "Best Rhyming Poem July Thru September" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Sponsor. **

** FIRST PLACE in the "Autumn Romance" Poetry Contest, Julie Rodeheaver, Sponsor. **


Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

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Loving Years

Dark honey tanned skin glistens
    From the moisture of humidity.
The ladies flirt shamelessly with 
    You, but your eyes gaze upon me.

Your stature looms at six foot three.
    Your swimmer's shoulders impress.
In our island sea we swim leisurely,
    Traces of salt remain as you dress.

White sandy beaches, ever your haven.
    We sip Riesling as the stars appear.
Nestled in your arms,  time takes flight.
    I feel so safe when you are near.

Your strength amply hides a tender heart.
    The depth of your voice all admire.
When we first met I became enamored,
    Feelings that quickly turned to desire.

We have shared so much over the years.
    More happiness than dark sorrows.
Family treasures that brightly shine,
      Reigning with love into our tomorrows.

In the autumn of our lives I feel the chill
    Of winter's inevitable harsh advance,
Yet days of youth remain in our hearts,
    Memories held, that time shall enhance.

© Connie Marcum Wong

Poem of the Day October 27, 2017

Late October Standard Contest-Third Place
Sponsor Brian Strand      



Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017

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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.”

       © Harry J Horsman  2000


        

         









Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2010

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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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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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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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Here, Again: The Autumn Equinox

Written for the Avebury Gorsedd, 24th September 2016  
I wish you well...

I’m here, again…
Come riding in, upon the western wave
My hair all wove with golden leaves, my breast
As pale as moonlight on a hidden grave
And all the sins of summer long confessed

I come, again…
In sweeping skirts, with white swan feathers strewn
To brush the summer dust from weary grass
Make ash of aspen, damp the flame of noon
Before the frost freeze water into glass 
 
I bring, to you…
Windfallen apples, berries from the hedge
Long shadows on the barrows, and the chalk
Wild winds to stir the willows and the sedge
And mist, and myth, down every path you walk

I’m here, again…
The promise of the harvest to fulfil
The energy of autumn, streaming through
The swirling springs that spiral round the hill
To drench the land in red and russet hue

I come, again…
Between the longest day and shortest night
To fill the blood and marrow of your bones
With all the orange glory of the light
Before the dark descend upon the stones

I bring, to you…
A cornucopia of ripened fruit
Dark juices of the vine in bottles bright
To nourish soul and body, to transmute
Your thought to dream, your dream to second sight

For I am She…
Am Autumn writ, in every field and tree
Am mistress of the Owl and running Hare
So yield unto my kiss, and blesséd be
And dance with me, oh Druid, if you dare…

@ Gail Foster 23rd September 2016


Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016

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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.


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012

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Dillard Mill

It rained all night. The day rose dripping grey.
The cool air, welcome after summer’s heat
Smelled finally like fall. The first red flames
Of sumac bushes shone beside the street.

At noon, the mill pond mirrored clouds on blue.
The Huzzah Creek splashed sparkles off the falls.
The solid mill stood watching silently,
Machines asleep inside behind red walls.

The buckeye trees, already bare of leaves,
Had strewn their shiny fruit across the ground.
And I collected, joyful as a child,
The great brown treasure: chestnuts, smooth and round. 

October 12, 2016



Copyright © Agnes Krampe | Year Posted 2016

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Still I Run

I race for summer's setting sun
as crimson bleed the alder leaves
and still I run.  And still I run;

my rival, Time, is yet undone.
Past pyramids of flaxen sheaves
I race for summer's setting sun

across the low unbroken run.
Each cow out in the pasture grieves
and still I run.  And still I run.

In late September’s crisp haibun
my heart to fragile hope now cleaves;
I race for summer's setting sun.

With slaughter of the calves begun
I fled from 'neath the killing eaves
and still I run.  And still I run.

Our time on earth is under gun.
My burning chest now breathless heaves;
I race for summer's setting sun
and still I run.  And still I run.*


*I expanded this from my triolet, “Setting Sun”.


Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017

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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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Ode to Autumn

Earth’s sphere of fire bids adieu to me

As dying embers gleam across the sea

In rare hues reflected by autumn trees,

Swirling in motion with October’s breeze.



I feel the joy this season has to share

In golden harvest that the branches bear,

And I am thankful for this blessed year,

For divine abundance I share so dear.



The sun and moon take on a special glow

As thunder clouds move swiftly with the flow.

Yes, autumn coaxes feelings to revive,

Those mem’ries of past seasons still alive.



When autumn spreads her dress of lacey frost

I know, in breathless beauty, I’ll be lost.



© Connie Marcum Wong



Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2013

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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.


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013