October poems find material in seasonal change, familiar occasions, and the particular atmosphere of a place. Turning leaves in one region or new growth in another can prompt different reflections on time, memory, anticipation, and the world outdoors.
Browse the examples below with attention to how the speaker makes the month personal. What image or event anchors the poem? A specific detail can distinguish this October from a general seasonal picture and reveal the feeling attached to it.
October is here and I fear it is clear;
low gear, it competes with some holiday feats.
Halloween greets day thirty-one to stun-
with fun that October alone does own.
But I groan, as I said, it's too far ahead!
To be led to Christmas trees hoping to please
will tend to tease us to shop till we drop -
fast hop to a holiday two months away!
On display, gift-filled sights, and Christmas lights
are December's rights to sell fair and square;
not share at this time in October's prime!
A crime to now steal our Autumn zeal!
crimson feather drifts
through the still October light,
and I remember
how gently the years settled
among the roots of silence.
Gasping leaves start falling on the distant hills
Scent of cinnamon and rich harvest prayers
Stir the silence of those gentle dewdrop tears
A voice of praise, the wind sends its chills
Impish squirrels play on the lawn, dancing together
Rhythm of hope gotten in each nut they find
Drifting from limb to limb, just as God designed
Preparing their harvests for the colder weather
As the mountains change from green to brown
Fluttering leaves dance through the frosty morn
We look to skies and see the clouds they’ve worn
Know those graceful leaves will keep falling down
Lingering feels of Summer;
Preping scenes of Autumn,
Like mortal modes of indecision,
Touching me like Summer.
Gradual unveiling of Autumn.
Although green is slowly fading,
Seems Autumn's running late.
Anticipation's making me wait.
I refuse to be frustrated.
Summer's feel will dwindle and pass.
Although Autumn's not given to haste,
What she brings is well worth the wait.
amidst stick figures, the shrouded wind
spray paints lime, bronze, crimson,
sunshiny-orange, a little here and there
to the delight of a poet’s wandering eye.
wanderlust of Autumnal loveliness,
breathtaking token of red-ivyness
and still green, a cornucopian covering,
amidst stick figures, tall and bare.
We lift prayers, like the sun, rising with positive thoughts and happy hearts.
We ask God to protect us in all our steps today, and that we will use all our actions to make our day bright with light and love all day.
We ask God to clear our path to remove anything negative that tries to block our path.
Lifting prayer to God, today and always.
The quiet rose unexpectedly,
distinct in the early fall of
less colorful autumn days,
it allowed the warm heat of summer passed
to fade into the deferring tasks.
Garden ends, leftovers of spring
wonders and magical beauty lost to newer things,
trees containing color shades
a palette of mysterious parades
in yellowed, peach and crimson reds
counting the days ahead.
An October of nature's wonders cleared
of bud and bloom left here,
in storm clouds that loomed near,
winds blowing restless and free
rains that brought us to our knees
beneath the shadows of the trees.
You can see it if you look
the stillness of the slowing brook,
it's pleasantries of which God speaks
the bounty for the calm gentleness of the meek,
holding onto the times that may yet be
this living within the want of universality.
Go to the forests, across the open seas
embrace the magic and mystery
of the blessings and gifts remembered
come in the Octobers and Novembers
of life living in every burnt ember.
Soft roses shiver
In the chill of sunset
...Petals take flight
Sparrows gather
Await the suns touch
...A choir of quiet
A red maple blushes
As elm and oak undress
...Nature’s curtain call
An old dog
Follows the sun
...“Nappous interruptus”
October protest
A gathering of pumpkins
...Silently chanting
Tiny fingers
Dance warmly
...In new mittens
Purring softly
A window sill house cat
...Yawns
You think I am blind to the frost at my feet,
Or the price of the wine that they find so sweet.
You claim you were sacrificed into the dark,
While I wore the velvet and carried the spark.
But sister, look down at the dirt on my knees—
I bargained with ghosts while you slaughtered the trees.
You speak of the butcher, the blood on the thread,
As if you alone bore the weight of the dead.
I smiled for the kingdom to keep them from dread,
While bleeding inside from the harsh words you said.
You chose to be iron, you chose to be knife,
While I carried the crushing burden of life.
I begged for your shadow, I reached for your hand,
Before you laid waste to our father’s cold land.
You call it protection, this poison you pour,
But you built a prison and locked up the door.
You made yourself monster so no one could touch
The girl who was broken by loving too much.
So let the leaves wither, let October turn gray,
I will not bow down to the ruin you made.
We are twin branches, yes, twisted and torn,
Sharing the root where the venom was born.
You chose the darkness, but do not pretend—
It was your own hand that authored this end.
The harvest is dead, and the orchard grows cold,
October has arrived in its crimson and gold.
They lit the great bonfires to burn out the chill,
And led you in velvet to the top of the hill.
The autumn wind sang for the darling, the blessed,
While I walked the shadows in a ash-covered dress.
They feast on the apple, they drink down the wine,
Ignorant of blood that runs thicker than brine.
You stood at the alter of dying fall light,
Reaping the glory I sowed in the night.
The frost on the iron, the rot in the thread—
I gathered the dark so your orchard stayed red.
You weep for the dying, you pray for the year,
While I am the butcher that conquered their fear.
When October's shard cold drives the winter down deep,
It isn't your mercy that let's the town sleep.
You call me a creature of malice and spite,
A shadow that haunts your mid-autumn night.
So blow out the lanterns and step to the glass,
Watch how the autumn leaves wither and pass.
We were twin branches of one dying oak,
You are the fire, but I am the smoke.
If I am a curse on the rust-colored earth,
Remember: I died so you'd have your rebirth.
( chremamorphism )
crisp ...
you lay like solemn ashes
'neath glass ... spotless, sacred
dried to bright hues ...
the shades of her lips in chill autumn air
(winter, whisp'ring soft)
edges crimped ...
like the hems of her pleated tartan skirt
you are the vestige, precious
of a moment ...
a final moment of love, true
sweaty, sweet passion
that found its confluence under a vault of fire -
a canopy of crumbling crimson
wafting, weaving a rustling woodland blanket
the bed for a callow curiosity
confusing, carnal, but perfectly imperfect
numberless months have yet
ceded to the wind
(as tender as the moons they bind)
since I rescued you from the hood of a sweatshirt
still, your color is unerring
and your scent is ...
her.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
OCTOBER SKIES
MY LONG-AWAITED VISIT HAS FINALLY COME, WHERE I EMBRACE MY BIRTH MONTH AND TAKE IN ALL THE QUIET MAGIC AND BEAUTY OF MY OCTOBER SKIES.
UNDER THE SILVER MOON AND WAILING WIND THAT SOUNDS LIKE A HOWLING WOLF, I LOOK UP AT MY OCTOBER SKIES AND WONDER WHERE LIFE WILL TAKE ME.
OCTOBER IS THE CULMINATION OF ANOTHER YEAR'S ACCOMPLISHMENTS, LOSSES, TRIUMPHS, AND MEMORABLE MOMENTS, ALL DOCUMENTED AND FILED WITHIN THE VAULT OF MY HEART.
THE STARS ABOVE ARE THE ONLY COMPANY THAT SURROUNDS ME IN OCTOBER, AND IT'S THE ONLY TIME I FEEL SERENITY AND PEACE AND FULLIMENT.
OCTOBER SKIES. MY LIFELONG FRIEND, COMPANION, AND CONFIDANT.
green grass
shocks
yellow roses
shock
calendars withered
bag linings
fret
autumn ...
leaves
naked harvest
crows inherit fields,
October mends misty sky.
straw hands hold their post.
whom does the scarecrow guard?
An oak leaf cradles summer's final light
its blue-veined sky where bronze leaves drift and glow
around a cardinal poised in cobalt glow
while brown-edged margins welcome coming night.
Along each vein, small sepia currents keep
a flock of tiny seasons turning near,
their copper scripts inscribed from year to year
before they settle into autumn's sleep.
I lift the leaf and find a world still there
its feathered heart unfolding past the frame
as if all beauty slips from leaf to flame
and leaves its brightest embers in the air.
October Categories
Definition | What is October in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.