The prom dress that you never wore
That certain boy you didn’t date
The phone call that came nevermore
All shaped the turns that made your fate
Looking back along your wake
Old disappointments linger still
Yet all those things that made you ache
Were ground within life’s turning mill
Yet there stands reality
Where perseverance, dreams were made
Through them you clearly came to see
Your finest choices have been played
The glittered dreams of youth and truth
You once wore proudly on your sleeve
Have ripened into lasting proof
Of all the things you did achieve.
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.
As summer ebbs, a cooler breath will dart
as Autumn's vibe is felt in every heart.
For, by late August, changes will begin
as shorter days and longer nights sneak in.
This breath will sigh of brilliance in the trees,
as flowers fade and ripened orchards seize.
While crisper air dissolves the humid haze,
new glory soon replaces Summer's phase.
Oh yes, these Autumn breaths will swiftly flow
to form and paint new views of burnished glow.
Reshape the scenes that rose by Summer's sway,
and offer life to us another way.
When Autumn breath shouts, “welcome to my Fall,”
we will accept old Summer's curtain call.
Oh
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.
autumn haze creeps in
as dwindling summer sunsets
cast their last hurrahs-
the fruits have grown and ripened
now await their harvesting
demure hushed in Avalon fog
weaving fables at grey spindles
river was tableclothed quiet
whiteness soft enveloped bodies
silvery sheath covered psyche
maidens mature into women
protective watchful fog unveils
ripened wombs awakening pink
__________________
sponsor : Nette Onclaud // 2.8.26
contest : Eight by Eight : theme Fog
Placing: Third
Poetry Wheel Challenge:
Theme: Dreams
Emotion: Joy
Color: Blue
Season: Harvest
Form: Couplet
Object: Lego
Verb: Bound
Created using the PoetrySoup Poetry Wheel.
Upon the floor we play, me and my little boy
where toys are helter skelter... where we find joy
It's harvest time for our ripened fields of corn
Pretending the yellow ears are babes been born
Blue Legos are his favorite color in the giant set
Time spent in play with him, I never will regret
Mothers dream of her child's laughter as a favorite sound
When he naps, into the toybox the Legos are bound
Not a moment ticks when life may not grow,
Let seasons come and go, tides wax and wane,
Life keeps transforming, ever on the go,
Gets born again wee like ghazal’s refrain.
Death leaves behind a ripened seed in chain,
The soul as traces a long-drawn voyage
Whose seed sprouts forth time and time once again,
Aiming to evolve O at every stage.
If quiet does a drop evaporate,
So too a soul when to new flesh passeth,
In silence does Nature new things create,
Whine not O man in life nor yet in death,
For, ye come crying taking first fresh breath
That ye whine all life and leave so at death.
________________________________
Musings | 11.02.2011 revised July 2026 | death, faith, life, Sonnet
Formed through pure delight caught by the kites which clung to the rays of sun and brought down light on the merry cusp of villages imbrued were carried bunches of berries of diversiform hues, in baskets tucked under the arm and woven to bare the tastes of heirloom berries that oft unsavory have now ripened and March brought April to enlighten.
I listened and, though faintly,
heard the breaking of the day.
It sounded as a rooster's crow;
the cricket's song fading away;
The splitting of the morning air
by eagles' wings in flight;
the ringing of the church bells
and the crack of dawn's first light.
I looked and saw the parting clouds
acknowledging the sun,
like the opening of the curtain
when Act 1, Scene 1 has come;
Like the awesome entrance of royalty
into a crowded room;
like the joyous arrival of new life
from a mother's ripened womb.
I felt, in that brief moment,
that this was special, not mundane,
not like evening with its setting sun
or a rainbow after the rain.
This was different, not redundant,
never graced by poet's say;
and it was a new beginning,
first light of a brand-new day.
the low-hanging fruits
quite simply and easily -
sun-ripened sweetness
dazzling red color
a absolutely delight -
juicy strawberries
watching the clouds float
a state of euphoria -
nature's temptations
A rainbow tastes like sky-born fruit,
ripened on the edge of rain,
each color melting differently,
each hue a fleeting sweetness
you can only hold in memory.
Red tastes warm, like steady fire~
the flavor of something brave.
Orange tastes like laughter rising~
a citrus burst, bright and breathless.
Yellow tastes like sunlight softened~
lingering warmth, honey-thin and gentle.
.
Green tastes like newness~
like cool, glossy leaves after rain.
.
Blue tastes like coolness~
a slow settling of breath inside the ribs.
Indigo tastes like evening’s turn~
the velvet weight of dreams unfolding.
Violet tastes like longing~
the sweet, soft ache of something beautiful.
And the whole rainbow together?
It tastes like light lingering a moment longer~
a sparkle on the tongue,
a breath of color you almost believe in,
a promise made of rain and hope
and everything that fades
but still returns.
By Phan Tan Hai
Leaving the quiet countryside for the city,
he remembered the grass wet with night dew,
remembered sunlight on ripened rice fields,
remembered sutra-chanting drifting softly from temples.
He wrote onto paper the soul of ancient towers,
lifting his brush with a sorrowful ink.
Loneliness seemed to gather and settle—
he asked where the true spring source might be found.
“As long as Autumn lasts, I shall not have hands, canvas and colors enough to paint the beautiful things I see” ~ Vincent Van Gogh
Summer's end
fall harvest in store
ripened gourds
rising hopes
and who’s this to cheer my day?
a friendly scarecrow
Final Days
Autumn’s sad demise
withered vines
chilly air
you look threadbare, far away,
my tired, straw-filled friend
Deep Winter
a blanket of snow
covers all
I once knew
where are you? oh my, you have
become a snowman
The ink dark sky choked with ripened longing
with a face darkened and stricken with fear toward the inner sea
spills a whistle stained with traces of your hair
In the thrashing strong wind a mind lost shower
plants the thorn of memories grown in Udo
and scores the shoulder of Seongsanpo sleeping in stillness
Caught in the defiant shove of the departing shower I
gently seized as if falling into sleep by the touch of the leaving wind
flow toward the pooled water where you remain
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