Autumn unbuttons the
afternoon, loosens its
gold along the lane. A leaf
comes down without a sound
and lands inside last night’s rain.
I used to press these little
flames between the pages of a
book, believing something
bright would stay if only I
refused to look. Now
copper gathers at my
feet; the branches
open to the grey. I
leave the fallen
leaves untouch
ed and take
the long
way
home
tod
ay.
There's
No rush
This morning;
Take your time and
Breathe in the dawn air.
Voices are soft with sleep,
As if mimicking the breeze
Rustling through the bright autumn leaves.
A fresh pot of coffee is waiting,
And at the table, I see you are too.
I take my place beside you and feel
A content kind of laziness.
We talk, about nothing much,
But it fills my heart so;
And we talk for hours,
Our roots unmoved
By the time
Passing
By.
You, parkland tree, now landed on
Neath, lain of we two, now
Who may not speak up but who listens!
Deep-rooted one, deep thou!
Love-birds, all, whilst that for their hearts
Does, a-flutter, resume
The avid clapper of one made glad
Does, leafy blown, assume.
trees' seed
limbing
streetlight
fills lies
blue snap
mopped map
boughs break
away
blues stream
my cheeks
stop leaves
why me
changed, few
green, blue
I stop to examine the legs of a spider: shining silver on golden thread. She is a mother now, sweet little Charlotte. She is casting another web. I am crafting another image: There is beauty in everything, even anger. Spiders are not angry. They have hardly killed. Man is angry. Man has killed. Killed enough to not notice the beauty of a simple Autumn afternoon in the legs of a spider.
trees gets a workout—
branches rattle, leaves shudder
roots refuse to move
sunflower turns round,
tracking the sun all day long—
evening light stalks backs
The elm feels smug now—
showing off autumn colors—
dressed to die in style
dandelion ghosts
wait for puffed breath to come near—
leave before they're asked
snapdragons gossip
mouths open to every sleaze—
the wind takes the blame
pinecone hoards seeds—
doomsday prepper in the woods—
banks its hopes on spring
thorny vine hangs out,
snags your sleeve—stay for a while;
what's all the rush for?
willow boughs whisper—
tangled whispers touch the pond
water keeps secrets
young pine stands too straight—
trying hard to look grown-up—
rings hide under bark
palms on vacation
lean too far out over sea—
no luggage is due
Sapling asks the pond—
which of us is upside down?—
neither can answer
roots hold yesterday
branches reach for tomorrow—
the open trunk waits
amber autumn trees
appear leafless and lifeless ~
longing for winter
Poetry Wheel Challenge:
Theme: Change
Emotion: Longing
Color: Amber
Season: Autumn
Form: Haiku
Object: Leaf
Verb: Fall
Created using the PoetrySoup Poetry Wheel.
Floating across the ridges, gentle leaf
Soaring to new heights, despite the grief
Still, soft joy providing soul’s relief
Music in all its grace, autumn’s relief
Song as bright as sunshine in each leaf
This is the moment, pouring out its grief
Across the ridges, soundless edge of grief
Quiet prayers, in His presence is relief
Trees and hills, bound by each vibrant leaf
Every leaf, despite its grief, finds relief in Fall
In the fifties, I saved my dimes religiously
twenty let me plant one tree
Deep in a forest’s mystery
~ now a lasting legacy
Whilst are glowing in whose midst
For each fruit tree's
Flavours to try
The privileged sense of it
Passes we by.
Where each old world's dying wish
Celt's, Greek's, spear-dropped
Blew them, be us!
Faint, mythic isled; if yarded
Less serious!
seas of trees
green like peas
light wind breeze
puts my mind at ease
before that deep freeze
during eighty degrees
head to Missouri please!
SAGE TREES SERENELY CANVASSING
Quiet tree branches,
Lean as if in prayer;
Leaves soon to be graved:-
Indeed, Spring will soon pass on;
Leaf-falling Fall, awaiting:-
Tangled tree bark on the ground,
hear the bush sounds all around.
Birds and leaves are here with me
and other things that I can’t see.
Even trying very hard, there are those things
from which I’m barred.
With those things I cannot see,
the bush has given peace to me.
She turned the conversation to doctors
I told her I was about to sock her
Speak of something more pleasant
Like plagues killing off peasants
Left my last visit, wondering ~ ‘What for?’
In spring the thaw begins to creep,
Thin winter’s hold, soon starts to sleep,
Quiet murmuring, slow and deep,
Secrets that rivers rarely keep.
Earth awakes from its desired rest,
Rebirth of lawns and trees redessed,
Soothing breeze greets the tender chest,
Heralding promise to be blessed.
Sub Categories
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.