Best Natureautumn Poems
Shallow edged with twigs, and sodden leaves
The odors of the earth, green moss and peat
The roots of quiet trees and rotting logs
The crumbling bank where cattails wash their feet
Where tiny minnows dart with lightning speed
Among the roots where wild ducks come to feed
The very core and essence of the earth
Born of melted snow, and sleet and rain
Of birds who roost amid the tree tops high
And breathe the wholesome fragrance of the sky
Trees that sway and swoon along the bank
Shedding leaves of amber, rust and gold
Like ashes left from burning autumn dreams
To listen, standing guard on either flank
O'er twig and stone, with watchful eyes so keen
While shading coves where angler poles have been
Across it's face, a restless ripple seen
Where tangled grass and weeping willows lean
Upon the shores where struggles soon will cease
This place to spend in nature's splendid peace
... Summertime is growing weary.
Welcome to the autumn rain,
A new season taking over
Hydrating the earth again.
Arid land with celebration
Greedily absorbs each drip,
With the dry and dusty flora
Raising eager mouths to sip.
Running rivulets of water
Turning grasses back to green.
It is showering time for nature
Every plant a new washed sheen.
Summer lingering in spasms,
She must abdicate with grace.
This is changing of the seasons.
Fall is slipping into place.
Autumn dressed in leaves of color
Gold and scarlet, every tone.
Pre-apology for winter
With a splendor all her own.
Dancing breezes
Bursts of sun
Crisp apple autumn day
Leaves twirl upwards with a flourish
Spurning twigs that yearn to cling
Lovers pass by, their laughter lingers
Dark clouds obscure the sun
Colors change to shadows blurred
Gone is the beauty in the rust and gold
Longing is found in the chill as the sky surrenders
One drop of rain falls and a lonely blackbird takes wing
Windblown and cold
I breathe in your sweater's scent
Never more
Will you reach out to intercept
A falling leaf
____________________________________________________________________________
Collaboration between Sharon Weimer and Carrie Richards
for Debbie Guzzi's "Twining" contest
Summertime is growing weary.
Welcome to the autumn rain,
A new season taking over
Hydrating the earth again.
Arid land with celebration,
Greedily absorbs each drip,
With the dry and dusty flora,
Raising eager mouths to sip.
Running rivulets of water,
Turning grasses back to green.
It is showering time for nature
Every plant a new washed sheen.
Summer lingering in spasms,
She must abdicate with grace
This is changing of the seasons.
Fall is slipping into place.
Autumn dressed in leaves of color
Gold and scarlet, every tone.
Pre-apology for winter.
With a splendor all her own.
Joyce Johnson
15034 Calhoun Rd.
.
In the night
The autumn roars-
Blowing leaves
To my front door-
Begging me
To let them in-
To save them from
The cruel wind-
That tore them from
Their mother’s’
Loving limbs-
As helplessly
She stands by –
For with roots
She is tied –
Naked-
Empty arms
Reaching to the sky-
Watching
As her children die-
As
One by one
The
Leaves
Keep
Falling
D
O
W
N
I have walked through the seasons of the year,
Summer brings us the warm sunlight,
The beautiful nature portrayed by the calm lake and tall trees,
A swim in the recreational swimming pool.
The exquisite blue jay perched in an evergreen tree,
The flutter of a monarch butterfly.
Sending summer's song to nature,
The cool days of autumn come.
Tall green maple trees,
Tinted by God's sunlight .
Walks by the conservation area,
Squirrels scampering about.
Discovers of the enhanced nature,
The winter's snow ascending slowly.
Each snowflake an intricate pattern,
Blanketing the earth.
All purified by the whiteness of the snow,
Spring comes and the snow melts.
The warm weather arrives,
Cheers us and befriends us.
The blossoming of the buds on the trees,
To welcome us.
God's garden come to life.
What a blessing from the Lord.
Copyright Gwen Schutz
November is a Lady fair
Clad in a russet gown
With copper scattered in her hair
And gold spun in her crown.
Her rich, red blood is blushing bright
Within that copse of trees;
She walks to meet the coming cold
With stately grace and ease.
Fair is her cousin, Spring, no doubt
In apple-blossoms shod
Who dances forth on airy wings
And turns our thoughts toward God.
Fairer yet is Sister Summer
With emeralds on her brow
And daisies in her azure hem--
To youth, her charms endow.
But Queen of wealth and beauty
In breeze of spiced perfume--
Fair November meets the Winter:
Lady Autumn and her Groom.
Nature, the quick change artist
Is dropping hints today
Of the beauty of her fall attire
And splendor on the way.
The fruit on the old apple tree
Is falling to the ground.
Fat grapes await with patience for
Jack Frost to come around.
Bright flowers in the gardens are
Ablaze with final showing
While lower temperatures assure
That Autumn will be glowing.
We say good-bye to Summer
As fall comes creeping in.
We’re grateful for the lull before
Cold winter shall begin.
And so it is with our lives,
When we reach our autumn years.
We show our maturing colors as
Our youth’s green disappears.
As October skies show fading places
fading traces of yesterday...
I will watch a sky yield a change of hue
turning gray from shades of blue
Let the trees turn crimson red
Let the wind bring seasons new
I'll smile upon the pillowed earth that brings instead....
A golden spread of autumn leaves to lay my head
On a fading stage of August
Lady summer reluctantly sheds
Her emerald robes of a dying season
As the blazing Autumn stands
In the wings
Adorned in her gown
Of russet and gold
Awaiting her debut -
Her opening night
Of an illustrious September
Have you ever watched the wind blow
As it whispers to the trees
The branches dance in harmony
To the tune of an autumn breeze
It's power demands attention
As it shows it's mighty force
It's destruction comes in hurricanes
As nature takes it's course
An unsuspecting leaf
Floats wistfully from the sky
The wind comes to it's rescue
And teaches it how to fly
The wind might be invisble
But we see the path it goes
It can touch most anything
And even pierce our souls
I wrote my poem last night for Brian Strand's competition a hymn of praise for Harvest and
just saw today that I got the date wrong and that it is already judged. Anyway now that I
have written it , here it goes:
Let us sing a sweet song, a song that's of praise
For our crops to be ripened and harvesting days
For the fruits of the soil, for barley and wheat
Maize, oats and corn, that our children will eat
For the evening sun on the newly mown hay
For the farmer still working in the dusk of the day
For the apples and pears still ripe on the trees
For the fill of the honey pot, the toil of the bees
Blackberry picking, will uplift our song
Tasting juices of autumn we'll all sing along
Let us sing at crescendo for the fruits of the vine
The lush of the grapes, the full bodied wine
When the harvest is done, our glasses we'll raise
And thank mother earth who deserves so much praise.
"shhhhh.....shissssssh"
"be quiet"...whispered
"Can you hear that?"
.
.
"What is that sound?"
Is it far...a faraway
train whistle lonesome
from song of mainline?
Is it the soft ting
of the tea kettle
cooling on the stove,
bending it's metal?
"What is that sound?"
It is the slow creak
of old wooden chairs
as mortise and tenon
slowly adjust, torqued
to a shifting weight.
Could be a mantle
clock tiptoe ticking
away Sunday afternoon.
Why don't they make
digital clocks tick?
Is it that catlike scratch
of the Autumn branch
gently scraping the window?
"What is that sound?"
It is the hushed hum
of computer fan lulling
a digital brain.
The Venetian blinds
rhythmically tap half-open
double-hung windows.
The vibrating whir
of some electric motor
compressing or orbiting
the periodic table.
Mountains of Quaking Aspen
leaves relaxing the winds.
When is alone welcome
and when is it forlorn?
The weight of near silence,
light as the dust that
floats the sunlit room,
or heavy as a cardiac
anvil under ancient
spreading Chestnut tree.
Did the bell toll at
the village church,
ringing all comers
to awake momentarily, or
was that just tinnitus?
Unable to open eyes,
sounds belie surroundings
and alone might be
fallacy or welcome.
Deceptive senses afoot
in the stirrup, and hammer
tapping anvil might only
be a mindful dream.
© Goode Guy 2011-06-13
Die Stille im Wald
Nur leichter Wind in den Blättern
Am frühen Herbsttag
Doch vom fernen Dorf erklingt
Leises Läuten von Glocken
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The silence in the woods
Only a light wind in the leaves
On early autumn day
But from the distant village sounds
The gentle sound of church bells
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El silencio en el bosque
Sólo poco de viento en las hojas
Un día temprano en otoño,
Pero desde el pueblo lejano suena
Sonido silencioso de campanas
the autumn sky
the colours red and orange
pages of light