Church bell’s melodious ringing on an early Sunday morning
Heralds the grandiose day to give the Lord our thanksgiving
That’s on autumn equinox’s Sunday, last week of September
Or close to a harvest moon on the first Sunday of October -
What a blessed and joyful feast once a year to all parishioners!
Families bring portions of their harvests as presents to offer
Thanking God for His copious blessings with adoration prayers
When slow procession goes solemnly along the church aisle
Congregation brings goods, crops like vegies, grains or rice
And baskets of fruits to the altar as gratitude to the Most High!
As church organ heavenly plays the melodies of classic hymns
Parish and choir’s voices fill the air to worship and glorify Him
Songs on earth’s bounty, labor and return of harvests are themes
Proclaiming God’s graces abundantly fall like autumn foliage and rain
And the altar is lighted with autumn hues from ripe fruits and golden grains.
Life is your harvest
purplepeninportland
The combine drones in the field
gathering corn planted in spring.
The father holds the wheel—
his son pulls the wagon
to take the corn—
efforts measured
by what they yield.
The father bears his years,
his love for family and farm.
Branches of trees dance in winds,
a day of winter they will bring
silent moments under a cover of snow
reflections of sun as the year passes
over his spread of land as it rests.
The harvest moon is seen in autumn
Around the world this time of year
It helps bring in the crops we need
With feast that come with food and beer
With thanks given as summer ends
The harvest moon is seen in autumn
It blesses us with its moonbeams
From earths top unto its bottom
Now chants and prayers are given
To thank the One who blessed it all
The harvest moon is seen in autumn
It is a light that never dulls
It glows to us so extra bright
We sing of it while others strum
The music is a great delight
The harvest moon is seen in autumn
Walking under the harvest moon
Pitch black ~ so Erie
But magnificent moon
Captivated by its beauty
Looking over the water
No street lights~ stars shine bright
How i love the moon and stars
Come walk with me tonight
Dancing in the moonlight
Sigh ~ let it shine forever
Stars twinkled all over the sky
Like an orchestra playing a symphony
Perfect moment in time under ~Harvest moon
A temporary dwelling, built for my family and me
How could I build it, barely able to see
A palm-frond provided with sharp-needled stalks
How could I buy one, I no longer walk
Delicious meals prepared by my wife’s loving hands
How can I help her, I longer stand
Sweet, festive songs sung to melodious tunes
How can I sing, my hearing’s in ruins
I am so grateful, though dependent on others
My caring, devoted Jewish sisters and brothers
________________________________________________________________________
Notes:
In Israel and the world over, Jews eat, recreate, and sleep in tempor-
ary huts called 'sukkot' for seven days during this festival. The holiday
is named 'Sukkot' after these huts.
We wave/shake palm-fronds, myrtle and willow leaves in synagogue,
as part of prayers for rain (in Israel) in its season - i.e., after(!) the festival.
I awoke from a dream early this morning,
stepped outside…was met by a cold autumnal breeze
and the glow of the harvest moon
over the mountains…peeking through the trees.
I was reminded of a legend
one with an indigenous theme
that…If for some reason you can’t sleep at night
It means you’re awake in someone else’s dream.
If that was the case I stood in the cold…
enjoying the crickets nightly tune
and watched through the trees and over the mountains
the setting of that harvest moon
I watched her shine her light across the sky…
watched her slowly drop…
watched her wave goodbye…
and dive behind the mountain top.
And I thought…
if I am awake in someone else’s dream
wherever they may be
there dream will be a beautiful dream
if they’re dreaming my reality.
I predict, A lost balloon inclused an airloon tomatoes;
I predict.obisidiam bitter sweet floral Midwestern tornados;
I predict. Spontaneous combustion yellow brick road;
Balls eyes view seedlings sprew, breaking ground;
Marine ponds, rivers. lakes over flows;
Aura radical green flash rich soil sound;
I predict autumn harvest in spite of the weather will be found graciously received
The Wolfman has cometh, too soon
He growled and he howled at the moon
Then sharpened his claws on our Priest
For a bloody October feast
The following month was the same
Too frightened to mention his name
We battled the beast, but he fed
And rattled our bones till they bled
So, we ran and bolted our doors
Then hid beneath boards on the floor
Feeling safe, but still, he got in
And ravaged my young nephew Ben
December, his hunger, got worse
It doubled, then tripled, his curse
We're spewing arterial spray
No white Christmas for us till May
Autumn's many colorful moons seen through the lens of a camera,
I see beauty and color everywhere.
As a child,
I did not know there was a harvest moon.
I loved watching the full autumn moon,
as it seemed to change colors.
Autumn's many colorful moons seen through the lens of a camera,
have changed over the years.
What has made this change?
The huge night clear sky is not as clear as it once was,
the full bright moon is not as bright.
Do we see the change year after year?
Do we even care?
I weep for the beauty of olden Autumn days,
a more peaceful time.
A bright full moon and clear night's sky,
that was once seen through the lens of a camera.
September is a season in between,
where nature is silently changing.
Where what is grown becomes a harvest.
Where stocks of corn invite a harvest,
with longer nights and shorter days between.
To reap the fields in a season changing.
September for farmers is a time of changing.
When fields are plowed after the harvest,
as they move from fields to silos in between.
September's changing between seasons brings a harvest.
Autumn means rest now.
The green harvest is gathered
And the barn is full.
squirrels’ rewards, gifts
harvests of autumn, blessings
gathering bounties
coolness of dawn breathes courage
leaves wash the mountains in hope
I have never been a believer in destiny or fate
and hate the thought of a fence without a gate.
Freedom should be a bounty offered to everyone
and I don't just mean when the day's work is done.
After each ripened harvest there should be a gain
of useful things gathered and lessons learned remain.
I've the mindset of que sera sera; what will be will be
it eliminates anxiety and it's always worked for me.
I'm often accused of having my head stuck in a book
So, if you can't find me, that'd be a good place to look.
Chances are I'll be reading about cloudless blue skies
or some dismal love story in which the sad damsel cries.
It's curiosity that keeps me turning pages of a tome,
to visit places, I'd love to see like Japan, Athens and Rome.
I usually carry a backpack with me, filled with books...
not caring if people stare at me with disconcerted looks.
blue harvest dusk
gathers at the book’s edge~
I carry its questions
forward, each page leaning
into whatever waits
to be read
Two houses sit side by side on a quiet residential street.
In one, lives a man with an unlatched gate,
always ready to pause his lawnmower
to ask how your mother is doing,
offering a spare hand when it appears one is needed,
or leaving a basket of fresh tomatoes and cucumbers on the porch step
just because the harvest was good.
In the other lives a shade-peeker, a shadow behind pulled blinds,
who measures his property line down to the inch,
grumbling heavily under his breath when an autumn leaf crosses the boundary,
starting his car engine, revving with an intentional roar,
building a higher fence
out of a quiet, lingering spite.
For years, the coldness attempts to stake its claim,
trying to choke out the light with petty grievances
and silent, harsh glances.
Yet bitterness only locks a person inside their own small fortress,
leaving them alone with the echoes of their own noise,
and barring the door from the inside.
When the real storms roll through,
it isn't the tall fence or the sharp words that hold fast.
The stubborn, simple kindness wins out every time,
outlasting the cold
and leaving a light on in the dark.
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