Best Indian Summer Poems
Indian summer. . .
a gathering of leaves dance
quietly to death
8-17-22
~N/A~
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
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6-4-2017
~Premiere Contest Second Place~
ONE Haiku Old or New with Seasonal word ANY SEASON - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Rick Parise
~Second Place~
Autumn Haiku
Sponsored by Lu_Loo
Contest Judged: 9/20/2016
Indian summer lies within your autumn hazel eyes,
my velvet bloom vibrant now lost after your killing frost;
love lingers in bereft fingers, I stroke your face in guise,
once lustrous, amaranthine heart lies bleeding in exhaust.
My velvet bloom vibrant now lost after your killing frost,
your chill withered russet my enchanted efflorescence;
once lustrous, amaranthine heart lies bleeding in exhaust,
as you disperse in scarlet moonlighting vaporescence.
Your chill, withered russet my enchanted efflorescence,
blue breath exhaled... my cooling mood still hangs in our mid-air;
as you disperse in scarlet moonlighting vaporescence,
your affair concupiscent more than my bemoan can bear.
Blue... breath exhaled, my cooling mood still hangs in our mid-air,
my harvested heart-ache, my heart-break, my heart-feeling weep~
your affair concupiscent more than my bemoan can bear,
into all my tomorrows tears of my sorrow shall seep.
My harvested heart-ache, my heart-break, my heart-feeling weep,
amaranth once fertile, frost-bitten, fading everyday;
into all my tomorrows, tears of my sorrow shall seep
despite your warmth, light of day and hoarfrost melting display.
Amaranth once fertile, frost-bitten! Fading everyday,
love lingers in bereft fingers. I stroke your face in guise;
despite your warmth, light of day and hoarfrost melting display,
Indian summer - lies! - within your autumn hazel eyes.
Susan Ashley
October 8, 2017
~ Third Place~
Contest: Mid October Premiere
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Memories of autumn linger still
The pale sun loiters on the hill;
A prodigal year now grown old
Is gathering all her days of gold.
Flocks of birds now eager to go
We share the dream with footsteps slow;
We meet beneath the apple tree
Join hands in silent company.
We will not part love, oh not yet
Too soon the weary sun will set.
The crickets cease to sing their song
The gold and russet wilt away;
The crimson trees stayed too long
And all the sky is wet and grey.
We know at night the frost will fall
And scar the asters on the hill;
The golden rod and sumac all
Will feel the hand of winter's chill.
But love, it is not the time to part
I need to hold you near my heart;
Yesterday was such a golden smile
Today we might love awhile;
Till autumn dies and love forget
And we must leave, but dear not yet.
A glass half-full of August pours its gold
on autumn's copper turning it to bronze.
The brittle Santa Ana gusts unfold
to rattle omens hidden in the fronds
that burst from trunks up high like absinthe flame
and singe October's turquoise-matted sky.
Each puff of smoke that dormant clouds became
has disappeared from desert's opal eye
as amber winds come shrieking from the east,
igniting saffron plumes among the brush
like raptor birds of paradise, a beast
awakened from a summer's verdant hush.
The crows in flight are ashes on the air
that scatter in the sunlight's molten glare.
Indian summer
sunlit leaves of flaming red -
morning frost melting
Susan Ashley
October 6, 2017
Once glorious, but now rusting buildings, lined every dusty road.
Somehow everywhere clung the smell of cow dung.
My heavy bag, a giant rucksack,
Most of it I shipped right back.
I thought there wasn't much glitz or glamour,
And fought rough in a bit of a clamour.
Tuk-Tuk's going tut-tut, the hawkers piercing eyes and traders raise the price.
Welcome to Mumbai!
First, I met Tony, who promised to show me,
All the sights and sounds and where stuff might be found.
He exerted Rupees and expertly duped me,
But for a guided tour, I'd have expected to pay more.
My first "queue" for train tickets,
I was newly in the thick of it,
Could they organise a straight line?
They're walking on the train line!!
The infusion of livestock into the traffic,
My confusion and shock, all of this madness,
Each to their own, but, who the hell planned this?
But first impressions are often misleading,
Best get some rest, a wash and a feeding.
An open mind, that beliefs, often null and blind,
Just might find, can lead toward the fuller life.
From the mountains to the Thar desert,
Everywhere, I found was rather pleasant,
Lived like a king, paid like a peasant.
The colours everywhere and flowers worn in hair,
The spices on display and price you have to pay,
Surprises me to say, she'd grown upon me more each day.
And I had five months to travel through,
I bid a sad goodbye India, I'll see you real soon.
On scented breeze, she'd whispered to me,
As her saffron voice caressed my ears,
She hinted with ease and flickered desire,
While cinnamon curls lingered from her hair,
and nutmeg sweetened my dreams.
Incredible warmth at October’s end kisses GoddesS
Nature, and the only thing I can think about is yoU
Do you recall the time we first met so like a dreaM?
I saw you, and a poem inside me started to blooM.
A calm like that beautiful day began to caress mE.
Nestled in your arms, I lingered in sweet wondeR.
~indian summer~
indian summer
apple crisp yawning first light ~
amber moonrise nights
cozy mellow sunshine
warm pumpkin spice afternoons ~
yellow cornfields doze
sleepy vineyards dream
reveries of maize and gold ~
twilight lullabies
drowsy fields of wheat
harvest glows in pumpkin hues ~
autumn’s balmy breath
9-15-21
Contest: Hello September
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
The winds of Winter wait,
Whispering to me of the approaching future,
But still far off, biding their time
Until this span of light and warmth has lasted out its stay.
Meantime, I engage myself in taking stock;
Compiling the days that define myself to myself
Enlarging the catalog so far as I can,
Building up a narrative.
So many memories
Like fireflies in a Summer's night
Flash through the dark spaces of my mind.
Childhood: Flash
Youth: Flash
Young Parenthood: Flash
Empty Nest: Flash.
Family, friends, events
Joys, sorrows, beginnings, endings -
All make their flickering passages;
All paint their images onto me
The particles dance and shift
Cells die to be replaced
The face in the mirror becomes my father's
Molecule by molecule
With each passing instant.
The particles dance and shift
Moving back towards the dark unknown
From which they came,
Yet somehow in the midst of it
The I that was
And am
And shall be
Remains to watch the long parade unfold.
And that parade, banal and fantastic,
Marches past that inside window where I watch to see myself pass by,
As some newer self shall do the same through all tomorrows
Until the day when all the marching stops for me -
And then, my fellow marchers,
O my many, varied Loves,
On that last Winter's day,
Where will we be,
Where will we be?
What musics shall we hear?
What wonders might we see?
Slowly,
The air fills with blue, and the greens catch fire
The hammerlight of Summer
With little mouse-steps,
Steals off into apricity.
I divide my days
Between wine and responsibilities
As a child divides his
Between play and obedience.
The time itself, at its best,
Is wine to me,
Full of light and flavors
Vying for my attention.
The aptly named Sept/ember
Ignites itself against the skies;
Sets my soul asmolder
The inspiration I have begged and badgered
To arrive, does so at last
By its own rule, on its own clock
In the deep of the night
While I should be asleep.
I awake,
Dreams close behind my shoulder,
And find myself at this crossroads,
Inexorably older.
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born.
The odd uneven time—Sylvia Plath
End Of August
The end of August is oh so near
Yet, another day of golden sun scorches
Another day with ruby rays that sear
Wild brush burns like fiery torches
No not an exaggeration, a flambeau
Blistering heat blankets my tawny skin
Sweltering August, I bid you adieu
Foliage dry and brittle; sunken in
Squinting eyes, blinded bright
Awaiting shadows that stretch and deepen
Sun flowers once vivid, lost in a haze of light
Autumn creeps in imperceptibly subtle, sublimely
Ablaze are the arid western skies
The evening west's sun takes its time, rashly, untimely
Yellow aglow, settling sights of fires belies
Lingering sun setting its rouge rage lust
Harbinger of the season to come
Equinox heralds a sign,
in the end of August
2.
Strange how the arrow of time
Bears us along upon it
Always moving towards some future
Yet,
Obedient to Zeno,
Each moment is the only world we can experience directly.
The sigh of your breath
The touch of your hand
The thought of you enduring through the day;
From these I weave the tapestry that is my world.
A kiss, a touch, a memory
These are the bricks with which we build a life,
And tell ourselves it will go on and will go on
Though in the end it is a flicker in the dark,
The dark that is the final face of God.
And still in the end it will be enough,
Because it is better to have lived and loved you
Then never to have lived at all;
Then never to have told the wind my secrets
Then never to have dreamed Perfection,
Then never to embrace my higher Self
Then never to have laughed with God
At His flawless Insanity.
Indian Summer
The skies are turning washed-out winter blue;
The wind blows hints of frosty future chill;
Leaves now swirl, or sport a varied hue,
And scents of fall awakened nostrils fill.
Lawns yet are clothed in optimistic green,
And southern sun still bakes the southward slopes;
'Round flowers fluttering, butterflies are seen,
And soaring skyward still are human hopes.
October etches out its final lines,
November hovers, hidd'n within the wings;
Life and color, all that's summer, shines,
One last warm moment, all of nature sings.
Soon clouds will gather, gloom blot out the sun,
And Old Man Winter blow his frozen breath;
Life and verdance will their course have run,
And failing, will be swallowed up in death.
Thrill, my heart, in evanscent glory;
Grieve, my soul, its beauty fading fast.
Ponder, then, Earth's swift advancing story--
Every perfect moment quickly past.
Indian summer
the nuzzle of a fawn
as I doze
She stands, not defiantly
not with threats of maim.
She has trust and curiosity
as any babe would have.
She captured my heart
for one split second in time.
Then she was gone.
True story: October 2014
Summer’s gone…
The earth has shifted.
The sun slants
Anew each day.
The chill in the air
In the cool, cool, dawn,
Brings a change
Most welcome, some say.