Autumn is near; listen and you might hear
birds chatter more and cicadas singing.
Asters and bright goldenrod will appear.
Southward bound, the geese in V’s start winging.
Longer grow the nights. You may also see
farmers bustling in their ripening fields.
Days are cooling down degree by degree.
How lovely the bounty late summer yields.
There’s just a certain something in the air.
Whether a feeling, scent, or just a breeze
that blows with tranquility through my hair,
the last of summer’s rays I wish to seize.
Seven silver snakes
suddenly slither southward
seeking summer sun.
The rains are here, relentless as ever
The grass blade is excited like never
The season of hibernation is over
Swirling in water, as a duck dumpling
in sauce
The blade of grass has come home
A rich gourmet of moisture and nutrients
Thrusts the roots, taking its journey southward
And the shoots going northwards
The grass blade has taken its place.
As the rains continue in its season
The lush of greenery fills the reasons
Natural beauty in lyrical passion
Paradise in a paradox, Laying among
the lilies.
I have been in unequaled turmoil,
Overused in my personal trauma,
Drowning in tear rivers of tragedy,
Soul dipping southward trajectory,
But they do not seep from these eyes,
Nor do they follow the cries,
Just the heavy emptiness that thrives,
Within each breath hope in me dies,
But then there are those who remind me,
Why I have walked the road of words ardently,
Thank you for reigniting my linguistic dream,
I want you to know,
that you are the intrinsic thread that holds my spirit seem.
Tango dancing, sol and earth, opt to lengthen
orbits around which they twirl, separation,
taste of death, as icy breeze blowing forewarns …
birds to fly southward.
Wasps and snakes, both hibernate, bats and snails too,
warning Mother Earth to draw closer to source,
before life as we know it thus breathes its last …
lesson for mankind.
Days shorten, nights lengthen but do we not see
winter flowers joyously blooming, wafting
fragrance teasing, delighting both heart and soul …
God within calls us.
Heavily, I lay down my head.
You said this time would be different.
As blue as the evening sky, this is true.
Each bruise is in a different place.
My face faces southward to the lowest degree,
dirty from your unwashed hands.
Plans are rearranged, like my shifted skin.
You say you want to begin again.
The gin's poured anew, like wholesome juice.
Loose are your boundaries and new broads,
goddesses of lust and deceit.
You cheat yourself of what could be.
Freedom becomes my dissociative hope.
Soap never washed me clean.
I lean into an open dream,
a different time, a new paradigm.
10-9-24
The green is turning brown again.
Farmers are harvesting their grain.
Birds are planning their southward trek.
And I'm enjoying awesome sunsets from my deck.
The early morning dews are stick on the green grass.
And sooner than later, the hurricane season will pass.
maple trees blaze red
geese soar southward overhead . . .
October’s rising
From far a cool wind gently blows,
There's a pleasantness in the air.
Harsh summer heat steadily slows.
The leaves of trees, new colours wear.
Autumn has come in time to cheer
From far a cool wind gently blows
The season brings everything dear
Stock in squirrel’s granary grows
Leaves fall ending their sprightly shows.
Some go fluttering in the air
From far a cool wind gently blows
Some trees are going starkly bare
Flowers begin to fade and die,
As the season’s about to close
Many birds in flock southward fly.
From far a cool wind gently blows
Days weave together
as night tears at the seams
Light as it vanishes
deserting my dreams
The sun making promises
darkness reneges
The truth stays an orphan
that both will misgive
The rooster to signal
that devil’s retreat
Hope spawning a sunrise
where wishes beseech
All joy upon waking
released from the pall
The clock now a weapon
that hangs on the wall
In mutual exclusion
our psyches must live
A damned symbiosis
all take and no give
But hands will fall southward
the shadows reborn
This daydream a nightmare
—as twilight sojourns
(Bryn Mawr College: April, 2023)
southward bound flying
in shape of a boomerang ~
will return in spring
written November 26, 2022
Crisp nights, heavy dew, coming soon
Smoke trail of swallows southward fly
Fruit boughs droop under harvest moon
Corn towers up to touch the sky
Fall speckles in the trees on high
Crisp nights, heavy dew, coming soon
Fat melons ready for reaping nigh
Chill spooks asylum of common loon
Not one hundred by afternoon
Imperceptibly shorter day
Crisp nights, heavy dew, coming soon
Ranchers bailing last cut of hay
Back to school--holiday can't stay
Football practice all afternoon
Prettiest birds all fly away
Crisp nights, heavy dew, coming soon
Hint of Autumn Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Entered August 17, 2022
The calendar hanging on the wall says,
"Beware! It is yet winter,"
Though the night air whispers,
"Listen not to this."
The lashing rains, deafening and onerous, pass.
Frogs rejoice in loud, riotous chirping.
Newly sprung rivulets rush down abruptly greened slopes
Gurgling and gushing like freed children escaping school.
Fragmented clouds waft leisurely eastward, so unhurriedly that the
Stars appear to stroll southward.
On the moon's rising, a feathered chorus begins the
"Litany of Spring."
Nature mocks its own ominous tones of winter's requiem.
Sometime around the first of October,
the windswept canyons I go to see.
They will be as an ocean
of blazing trees.
Yes, a multitude of trees.
Russet, red, orange and gold,
they will surge to their highest tide -
the tops of the mountains!
These bright trees seem
like a giant gilded wave
rushing on and on and on
in tranquil splendor
against a backdrop of persimmon sky
in which seagulls glide.
Flocks of geese too might be seen
vanishing southward
in the waning light of sun.
On viewing this sea of canyon trees,
I feel my soul engulfed
by autumn nostalgia
as wistfully I gaze
out onto the horizon at eventide.
However, night falls quickly.
I realize I must hasten
back to my valley home.
For Your Favourite Poem from the first half of 2022' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Today, on 2/2/22
The snow is melting fast.
The river’s rushing southward
As some police boats hurry past.
My bench is dry; I’m sitting
In a little patch of sun,
A respite I’ll enjoy until
The cold’s once more begun.
A date with all those 2’s occurs
Just once, but some will see
A matching one with 3’s, but oh,
How ancient I will be!
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