Long Russets Poems
Long Russets Poems. Below are the most popular long Russets by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Russets poems by poem length and keyword.
October's moving in
I can feel it on my skin.
The wind blows lightly every leaf
but brings in the cooling sheaths
pushing back
the leftovers summer beats lack;
In the quiet rush
the trees whisper, hush
calling out to all of us,
change is in the breeze;
the warm that remains
is just a hint of September games
leaning into fall residue
autumn calling in the faded hues;
colors ranging from the lime lemon blends
into the shadings of olive-brown russets
so many shadow feature ramblings
rest in the crimson carmine maroons;
the sun rises late, ambers crawling in
setting early to the harvest orange crimson
and the reawakening of the blood moon
with autumn calling a lurid dying of October from June;
October's moving in
making for winter taunts and teasing
in the constant changing of the season.
Awful avocados always
Breathe bitter blue breaths
Craving cardinal’s Christmas carols
Ditching deliberate dungarees during
Elusive extraterrestrial escapades.
Forsaking fitful Floridian flamingos,
Getting gaudy, gratuitous gnarly gifts,
Herewith having hilarious hefty hallucinations,
Imagining India’s illustrious indigo ideologies.
Jackals jerry-rigging jealous junking jackalopes
Kangaroos kissing kindly,
Lamenting lovebirds likely leering
Meandering muddobbers making merry,
Nevertheless necessary negotiations
Ostentatiously overhauling orange ostriches
Private parties practically prancing,
Quiet questions quickly questioning
Ripe red russets revolving rapidly
Sensing secretive shadows shyly
Traveling through trickier times,
Underlings ultimately understanding
Variegated virgins vitality
Waxing willfulness whilst
‘xacting ‘xtra ‘xciting
Yarned yellow youthfulness yipping young
Zesty zipper zings zealously, zapping zebras.
The trees in the park today
Swaying in the breeze
Saying goodbye to summer
And hello to autumn,
Clothed in their display of
Greens and browns and
Russets and yellows
That drift and flutter
And slide to the ground
To form a soft carpet
At the footpaths edge
That rustles and crackles
And whispers underfoot
To accompany the sheer
Pleasure of walking
Flat footed through it.
Perhaps this is a gift to say
We are starting to prepare
For the sleep of winter.
We’ll be back in the spring
Goodbye for now.
And so the trees in the park
Settle down for their long rest.
I walk that park day after day
And watch for the first signs
Of new green leaves and shoots
That welcomes back the spring
And signals the start of a
New cycle of natural rebirth
And anticipating
While sunrise bathes the early morning air
Illuminating new dawn’s loveliness,
Where mild rain tints the pure of crystal glare
To rouse shimmery boughs through June’s finesse.
Herein, aisle of florets displays its charm,
In brightest russets , in the mildest blues
Unfurling nature's waltzes that disarm
While showers of mist embellish all hues.
And garlands pirouette to catch glossed drops,
That my own soft feet twirl in revelry
When bubbles of dew explode, then to pop,
On clusters’ sunlit jive waking a lea.
Till nightfall approaches to calm the flow
Blooms curtsy, praising godly Light’s halo.
................
Sonnet Contest Submitted 8/21/2016
Checked at www.howmanysyllables.com
Originally Posted 3/30/2015
There is something strangely satisfying
About sweeping leaves in the wind.
A pure and pristine panacea for the soul.
As the impish zephyrs play
With a rustle of laughter
Tumbling through;
Sometimes for,
Some against, the action of my toil.
With the rhythmic swish of my broom
The breeze blows and the branches bow,
Scattering Nature's confetti.
A tree lives a lifetime every year.
From the youth of Spring through Summer's prime,
To the regal twilight of Autumn,
Reminding us that there is such beauty in old age.
As a child I saw
In my mind's eye,
The word AUTUMN written
in the russets and ochres of the falling leaves.
Colours so bright, but with an earthiness that grounded,
Enveloping in the warmth of Nature.
Akin to wood smoke and open hearths,
Unlike the flashy pomp of Summer's gaudiness.
Autumn awakens sleeping memories,
Turning my thoughts to the magic of childhood
And how I used to play at being grown up
As, in youthful innocence,
I attempted the futile task
Of sweeping leaves in the wind.
They're known by many names - taters, potatos, pertaters and spuds.
As a Hoosier lad I toiled hoein' taters and flickin' bugs off their buds!
So I was very well qualified when I entered the service, by and large,
When 'volunteered' for kitchen police to peel taters by a mean old sarge!
There's even a National Potato Day observed with tumultuous celebration,
With a Potato Queen, parades and other such nonsense across the nation!
Politicos pontificate about the virtues of taters 'specially in Idaho and Maine,
Where they transport them to our kitchen tables by truck, plane and train.
There was a national debate on how to spell potato with or sans an 'e'!
Dan Quayle didn't know how but I would've spelled it 'tater' if it were up to me!
Some taters have a patriotic bent since some are called reds, whites and blues!
Other varieties are yellows, fingers and russets from which you may choose.
To fill a feller's paunch the lowly tater can be mashed, diced or sliced.
You can make a tater salad or tater soup though you'll want them lightly spiced!
Taters roasted on the grille or scalloped tater casseroles will go with anything.
Barbeque tater chips or French fried taters with hamburgers are just the thing!
Mom would've been horrified to find lumps in her taters when company came!
In cafes today lumps are cela va sans dire s'il vous plait and is their claim to fame!
No matter how you slice 'em, taters are savored by commoner and king as well!
And you can argue 'bout the spellin' of 'potato' but 'tater' you can easily spell!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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