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.
... 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.
The sky is grey then yet
the sun’s rays still prevail
in shining light on to colour
deprived land.
The trees have shed their leaves,
they litter the dark ground almost
hiding a dark secret of what is
hidden beneath.
The wind blows scattering leaves
making them swirl on the ground
covered in a sea of brown.
Butterflies are my only company
in this gloomy and sombre land
they provide the only colour
alighting the memories of more
happier times;
no sound emits for no animal walks
on this land except myself.
My footsteps are muffled by the dead
leaves, they softly crunch under
my delicate feet.
My silk dress twirls in the wind as
I walk, my exposed skin becomes red
by the cold air making goosebumps
thrive upon my soft silken skin.
My thoughts are sad for I remember
the days when the land flourished
dominated by an ocean of colour then
yet here I stand in a ghostly land
with nothing but the wind and a few
beautiful butterflies for company
for the autumn mist has engulfed
the essence of colour and life.
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.
Within a vast sea
under a calm and distant sky
is a secret solace known to few.
This is a place of peace,
silence, and tranquility.
Here dwells knowledge in the purity of living,
simply breathing life into a glorious texture of emotional bliss.
High on the oldest tree are the words Drink when thirsty.
Masked phantoms move past,
with a ceaseless breeze against their backs.
They speak in riddles with jigsaw mouths,
in mirror eyes they watch themselves.
Evening falls again.
Day has closed her eye to another freckled veil of starlit hue.
A memory, now lightly nudging my shoulder,..
I see again their dances,.. around autumn fires,..
when the forest floor smelled of dry leaves,
and the moon spilt shadows though naked trees.
Moistened now I drink life's sorrow,
I tastes life's joy,
and death awaits with menacing indifference.
This poem I am writing is about trees,
how they swing and sway in the cool, autumn breeze.
The leaves fall and they tumble onto the ground,
people walking by stomp all around.
Beneath their feet the leaves are crushed,
because people just walked and rushed.
A small, red car drives by the tree,
from the backseat window a girl can see.
She glances at the leaf and couldn't care less,
because she wants to get back to her own mess.
The leaf is now dead, it's pretty unfair,
that poor, poor leaf now full of despair.
Morning’s misty mourning lays her shroud upon the lake
With imprinted recollections at the end of autumns break
Copper shades reflected though the hazy hanging veil
Foretell with pastel palette of the coming winters tale
The bracing northern wind that sweeps the cobwebs from the shore
Allows the reeds and grasses to resume their dance once more
As the ripples on the glass lake lend tranquillity respite
and stir the dormant waterfowl, raising mute swans into flight
The distant purple mountains, like sentinels hold fast
Vanguards in the distance, they withstand first winters blast
In apprehensive mode the lake, awaits the coming snow
As winters threatening message warns the vale with icy blow
The autumn leaves forsake the trees, who brace themselves for war
In naked stark defiance, standing gaunt along the shore
The busy boats that bravely bobbed in bustling summer ranks
Now cling like mussels to the shore upturned on the banks
Rains fall down on me
Torrential thoughts flood my mind
Forever and all time
Rains fall.
Words flow out from me
Exalted rivers from my mind
Forever and all time
Words flow.
Sun shines upon me
Warming my body and mind
Forever and all time
Sun shines.
Moon rises behind me
Casting shadows on the doubts in my mind
Forever and all time
Moon rises.
Love comes slowly to me
Passion joins my heart and mind
Forever and all time
Love comes.
Children laugh and play
Spring brings a rebirth of my mind
Forever and all time
Children laugh and play.
Winds blow all around me
Bringing Summer changes into my life
Forever and all time
Winds blow.
Leaves change with my moods
Colors of Autumn fill my mind
Forever and all time
Leaves change.
Snow flies about me
Beautiful winter fills my mind
Forever and all time
Snow flies.
Death arrives to take me
Takes my body and mind
Forever and all time
Death arrives.
(January 26, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Indigenous forest so awash with trees.
Leaves strum a tune in the cool Autumn breeze.
Rustling rowans and galloping ash.
A rustic blanket for a well trodden path.
Plum tinged foliage,fleet of foot in the dance.
Melancholy movements has me in a trance.
Woodland dance floor with pine-needle skin.
Acorns descend hit the floor and join in.
Ancient great oak stands fearless and tall.
Watchfully presiding over each leaf that falls.
The seasons will pass and flowers will flourish.
All dancing their feet in Gods soil to nourish.
Drifting of herbs and bluebells in spring.
Come Summer,a chorus,the nightjar will sing.
Badgers emerging on mild winter nights.
Flittering bats in forest twilight.
Crossbills and siskins searching for fruit.
Goshawks and buzzards circle and swoop.
Indigenous forest,a landscape supreme.
Take the kids there tomorrow,its got to be seen.
23 October 07 9:49 am
The wind plays a tune with a whistling breeze.
As it dances and whirls through
the autumn trees.
Come wind come snow come wintry cold,
your time has come and
summer must go.
The flowers have died back into their beds
and hibernating animals have
tucked in their heads.
The birds have flown south to their winter time home
and I sit here wondering, and writing this poem.
Life on Purpose Live it before you lose it! ©2009
Maple and Cloud
so gently the autumn wind rises then falls
as the mourning kiss of nature calls
so gently it blows on two loving hearts
while poor tired old maple is falling to parts
her leaves get so heavy so they tell her good-bye
when they are gone I see her reach for the sky
each year I see her grow so tall and so strong
but her leaves keep on coming and then they are gone
so how can dear maple still stand so proud
I found the answer when I talked to cloud
forever he moves across an endless blue sky
when he passes poor maple it makes him cry
so why does the cloud cry down on the tree
and the tree keep reaching for the cloud it can see
well maple can’t move and cloud cannot stop
she's stranded on bottom he's stuck on the top
it's really no mystery it's more like a curse
both longing for the life the other finds perverse
The armada sailed before my
eyes, crispy autumn leaves in
the evening breeze. Into the
mist of the cooling pool, away
on a voyage of serenity
The watching reeds and sedge
wave farewell, the damsel and
the dragonflies in harmony sang
their goodbyes.
And the evening crept silently
dragging its cloak and diamond
skies, over hedge and stile, offers
sleep to this once sun kissed land.
But the moon has her friends,
who walk and fly her calm. Live
the safety of the night and the
daylights hunters eye.
The pitter patter of tiny feet, the
bats transparent wing against the
moon and reynards silent stalk.
Sit quiet listen and the night
comes to life, the owls glide,
the grass snakes slide, branches
gossip in the breeze, hedgehogs
grubbing as the foxglove rings
the hour.
The petals fold and sleep, the
willow with soft dew weep, and
in the peace the spider plucks
his web and serenades the
silver clouds as the land lies
deep in the heart of serenity.
There is a certain magic
To the first frost of the year
When autumn’s golden halo
Has been kissed by winter’s cheer.
As the sun climbs over the horizon
Your breath’s vapors become unfurled
Like plumes of steam rising from within
Its warmth in the chill revealed.
Every twig, every branch, every blade of grass
Every surface that one can see
Has been adorned as though from high above
As though diamonds are now given for free.
Every surface has delightfully been adorned
With a million gems thrown from the sky
Having been touched with Jack Frost’s icy caress
Winter’s love of autumn cannot be denied.
(November 30, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
So, finally it snows.
The amber glow of
Distant streetlights
Illuminating the sky
Like the embers
of a frozen fire.
The softening sound of silence
As each weightless crystal
Swirls it's own part
In the perfect dance.
What seems like chaos
Reflects the majesty
Of an Autumn murmuration in flight,
Ever moving, darting, hustling
But of one collective intellection.
Tomorrow will be a day for wellies,
Two coats, hats, scarves,
Gloves with fingers that end at the knuckles
Leaving tips to turn red as noses
And itch as they are later warmed before the coals.
But tonight I do not mind the cold
As I stand and turn my face Heavenward,
Listening to the muffled stillness of the night
And smile to myself as I softly say;
"So, finally, it snows."
An autumn wood
displays the wonder of nature
in it's peacefulness
and quiet glory.
I sit under a gentle yellow sun
watching the leaves
as they fall slowly to the ground.
So fragile is the health of spring
that in fall
the ritual of passing
is enacted with unfaltering dignity.
An autumn wood
is not unlike
myself
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