Autumn breathes softly through the waking trees,
and amber leaves go dancing with the breeze;
the summer sun grows gentler in the sky,
while swallows stitch their pathways as they fly.
The maples blush as though they’ve heard good news,
the golden fields put on their autumn shoes;
a crimson leaf comes tumbling past my door,
as if the wind has brought a gift from shore.
The mornings wear a silver, misty shawl,
and twilight comes a little soon to call;
the moon appears more intimate and near,
and stars seem brighter in the cooling air.
Yet Autumn's breath is not a breath of grief—
it teaches beauty hidden in release;
for every leaf that falls without regret
whispers, “Let go—and find your wonder yet.”
Leaves dance around the maple, complaining
Grumbling that autumn’s breath is too near
And, I remember times that don’t need explaining
Leaping in piles of crunchy leaves, without fear
Melodies, graceful as a prayer in the soul
Glorifying the Creator of this gentle fall
Winds and rain couldn’t stop – we felt whole
Because of the wonder in that autumn’s call
We soared through the air toward the pile,
Mountains of leaves buried us in their scent
This is what it means to be a child with a smile
Playing in leaves with autumn’s quiet consent
It felt like a psalm was being read by this day
Our hearts knew the melody of such grace
This is the meaning of heaven sent, I pray
That everyone discovers autumn’s sweet embrace
On the hills, and in the valleys, there are leaves
Just waiting for a child’s laughter and mirth
It only takes this memory and my soul believes
Nature offers solace to the children on earth
Breath Without Apology
I stand here,
with a chest full of echoes,
and a tongue heavy with prayers.
I want a life,
not stitched in fear,
but woven in safety,
like a blanket that never tears.
I want a love,
not a riddle,
not a puzzle with missing pieces,
but a flame steady,
burning without question,
a hand that does not tremble
when it reaches for mine.
I want peace,
not the fragile kind,
not the one that vanishes
when silence enters the room,
but peace that lingers,
like incense in the rafters,
like dawn refusing to surrender to night.
I want simplicity,
the kind that feels like home,
like laughter spilling in kitchens,
like children chasing shadows,
like the sound of rain
reminding us we are alive.
And if you ask me again,
what I want,
I will tell you
I want to breathe without apology,
to love without armor,
to rest without ghosts,
to live before dying,
to begin before ending.
© Tr. Elvis Otieno Gikoi
® ArtFromHeart
(for Stephen)
There’s a certain point in summer
when it feels like it’ll last forever
a dazed mix of complacency and lethargy
when everything is tired
from the gardens, to the dogs, to our senses.
Satiated perhaps, but it’s something more,
a sense we have arrived at the peak of the peak season,
the fullness of Leo,
in all his solar glory,
and what can top that?
Of course this is about the exact time the nights get cooler,
we notice the peak has passed,
and winter approaches
with all those chores undone.
So is life....
in all its simplicity,
and yet with this endless cycle of seasons
the endless cycle of human ups and downs also churns on,
all the things that
naturally arise in our habitual
dualistic mind.
And this is far more taxing and exhausting
than the external heat and dust and smoke,
exhausting and overwhelming,
at least for me.
So a good friend tells me something today
he probably didn’t make up
but just as easily as anyone could have;
“Everything you need you can get from a single exhalation.”
(Originally published in my 3rd book, Sun Made Flesh and Fiber, 2019)
I saw her gleam beneath a hollowed moon,
Her eyes were voids where galaxies have bled.
A predator whose silence sung my rune,
Each breath she drew, a shiver born of dread.
“Yet there are no pacts 'twixt beasts and men,”
Her whisper coiled, a serpent near my ear.
Yet still I danced, though death prowled in her den,
Some wretched lure had bound me close, sincere.
Her smile, untainted art, uncrafted and pure,
A blade of grace that cut without defense.
I stood transfixed yet strangely felt secure,
As shadows swayed with whispers deep, intense.
Her teeth, the scythe; my blood, a crimson thread,
And yet in this, I loved the truth she said.
Lento Soup - 9-1-26
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Autumn's Amber Breath
Sweet autumn's amber breath completes
Bittersweet's return, upbeat
Among the aster, so far flung,
Unsung glory in her harvest tongue.
On golden seas of sunflower swans
Dawn's soft sighs ripple, like chiffon
In rhythmic waves fall's silver grin
Spins the scarlet season's love-in.
summer comes to end
last breath for flowers and leaves
as autumn moves in
As I walk the crisp autumn trail,
the birds in the fading trees wail.
Love the red, gold and brown falling,
and the russet and amber crawling.
A scent of wood smoke brings me peace,
as south fly our beloved Canada geese.
There is beauty in this crumbling,
the decay and autumn's grumbling.
I adore the still solitude,
autumn's breath in the forest hued.
I am in quiet reflection,
and feel God's divine perfection.
A breath soft cinnamon is early
S p r i n g
not perceived at any other time of year
when two tweeny caterpillars cling dear
to one dandelion stalk sublime —
Shy LimeLight of green opens its legs
across yellow field — no scientist can
capture such subtle sheen
daisy clean
Heart feels its mighty loom alright …
It waits tentative as pink buds peep
from cacti who were in soundless
S l e e p —
Acacia stops shedding bare brown
splints — fresh mint bleeping
Noon arrives sooner sprinkling spritely
misty loss as Winter N o r t h w a r d
farewells
goodbye to woollen socks —
lullabies fade beneath mustard mohair docks
…
Southern Spring bells with clocks
C h a n t i n g
Chiming unlock
Autumn leaves an aftertaste that kisses cold.
Then transfuses startled green veins with gold.
A shivering whisper, slips through oak and elm.
As faded yellow disciples tumble from their realm.
As it hums through wheat; the heavy heads bend low.
To ripen while the last warm amber winds still blow.
A long-drawn-out sigh, draws summer from its reign,
Gold and red leaves tumbling down to an empty lane.
Thin mist curls upwards from the cooling ground,
Cold breath slips down, through cracks, without a sound.
Gasps rattle shutters, and worry the tiles and doors.
Sends dry leaves scurrying like mice around the floors.
Autumn breathes on apples till their red cheeks glow,
Then thumps them down one by one onto the ground below.
It finds the restless geese beneath the cloud.
And beckons them south, to join the gathering crowd.
At dusk its voice turns hoarse, as darkness grows.
Growing rasping and raw, with winter up its nose.
Then Autumn, now breathless, loosens one last leaf.
It spins to Earth, collapsing, in gold-flared relief.
september’s breath….of the mountains and
valley squirrels reap winter’s nuts
Written: August 27, 2026. This Week's Poetry Challenge: The Color Blue
*************
Blue is the color heaven cannot keep —
it spills and settles into every deep:
the iris, the bruise of morning, the folded hill,
the sap, the vein, the daydream, the last will.
Lapis and ultramarine and indigo —
the solemn alchemy that dyes the soul aglow
cobalt, the jeweled breath that fills the pole
where the bright water pauses, deep and whole.
It is the hue of distances, and hush,
of all that recedes and never lands;
the blue-veined longing in the evening stand,
the sapphire murmur of the mountain's blush.
Blue is the grief the glad sky must impart —
the wound of clarity, the rinsed, the clear:
for blue is the color of the lonely heart
that, being infinite, is always near.
Dark grey first autumn breath a bone chill hint,
summer’s sun- rash boom absconds on trailing glint,
luscious terrain brazen in hue’d rose cheek,
hazy mountain slope a sombre damp peak,
tint and tapestry awakened brisk fall gasp,
dapper drift net shades spawned to grasp,
pigment in meadow mould a gold rim beige,
tone shift bold red, earth brown, copper rage,
sweet gum tree orange, purplish fervent die,
to sniff katsura pink tree, charred candy sigh,
hail harvest bountiful, heart rippling feast,
red fire ablaze, hungry tongue wild yeast
beetroot, turnip, parsnip, root crops galore,
“Falls” raw lungs whiff hearty soup of yore,
yet honey-tinged morn, fleet of foot pause,
fades as cold plummet primes its icy claws,
green copse shrunk, drab moon weepy tune,
woodsy wren hoarding food in mournful croon.
mud squelch booth on path, smog purged lair,
wet moss splurge rinses pollen, season gulps air
I welcome Autumn with a fond embrace,
Feeling Autumn's breath upon my face.
From high upon my Smoky Mountain stand,
I pause to behold Autumn's artistic hand.
Mist lifts slowly from the valley floor below,
As if a curtain rising on a long awaited show.
A majestic painting unfolds before my awestruck eyes,
Highlighted by the golden rays of a bright sunrise.
An endless carpet of trees, wet with morning dew,
Blazes with candy-colored leaves of nearly every hue.
My mind fails to recall a more stirring sight,
As unbidden tears upon my cheeks alight.
The sweet smell of ripened apples, littered on the ground,
Mingles with the earthy scent of mushrooms that abound.
Life is sustained by the season's bountiful fare;
Wild berries, fruits and nuts grow carelessly everywhere.
To eat hand to mouth is my childish heart's desire,
So, Autumn is the season that I most admire.
The air starts to shift and turn cool
A gentle whisper, nature's rule
A softer light begins to gleam
Reflecting in a sleepy stream
A scent of earth, a hint of frost
Where summer's vibrant bloom is lost
The sun descends in golden haze
Through shortening of passing days
A silent setting starts to weave
That only souls who watch believe
The trees in robes of russet dressed
Their leafy crowns now put to test
The fields are bare, the harvest done
A resting time for everyone
The scent of wood smoke starts to rise
Beneath the vast darkening skies
A comfort lies in the night`s chill
As the cool breeze stands deeply still.
This autumn breath, prelude to frost,
To winter`s advent, never lost.
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