As the leaves fall, and the trees bare themselves before the coming cold, I can only hope and trust that spring will return, and that I might be there to witness it again. Thanks very much for reading!
To the Sun
September sun, shine down upon the field
and garden which your kindliness makes green
wherein the tastes of summer days are sealed
enough to make a wintry mortal keen
when February’s chilly arms embrace
the hill and forest in its icy sheen,
remember us, in dreams of Queen Anne’s lace
through endless nights the spirit may corrode
and from each countenance a smile erase,
avow to them who strive against the goad
or shiver as t
I used indents in this case at the suggestion of @AC Benus. Each indent calls attention to an antecedent in a less-indented section. Is it a dark art? I’m not sure. Would it sound differently to the ear unindented? I think you may be right.
Thank you! It’s good of you to have given this one a go. If you could see and hear and feel as I did in this poem, then it was a worthwhile experiment.
Coming on Autumn
These latter days when katydids still croon
their songs beneath the sparkling skies,
reminding us of endings, all too soon,
unraveling of that which ties
us bound to this, our comforting cocoon,
we wait the final act
while life remains intact.
And as I ponder this, I realize
no fervent wish would I retract,
nor disavow those dreams that some despise,
to see again the light diffract
upon your frame in ways
You’re very kind in your comments. Easy melancholy is an apt description for the overall tone of this group. I hope they grow on you. Many thanks for reading.
I’m glad these speak to you, and I join you in lamenting the loss of a friend. Distress is written about just such a hurt. The thought that you would re-read these is wonderful encouragement. Thank you.
Thank you for reading these. You’re right, my dad was a wonderful man. He taught me tons of life lessons without explicitly doing so. Distress speaks to a wound that is still unhealed, a hurt that I may have caused. I grieve about it still. Thanks again.
Relations
Families
are like an old attic
where sepia toned memories lie
asleep where afternoon explorers unpack them,
unfold them and shake out their wrinkles
to laughter before they’re
discarded.
Transformation
On what day
did I become my Dad;
take on his rolling, stoop-shouldered gait,
or match his raspy voice which yet crooned boyhood songs
to children both amused and tolerant,
a greying artifact
Thank you very much for your kindness in responding to these two. For now, I’m glad of the change to cooler temperatures. Come January, I’ll be wishing I had bottled some of these days so they could be opened and re-enjoyed, like a fine wine.
Your description of asters covered in bees made me wish I had been there too. Meadows are wonderful, deeply satisfying places, at least to me. Thank you for commenting on these.
Weather Report
Weathermen have said it’s gonna
steam and parboil flowers and fauna,
over-bright and hot and sweltry,
perspiration on our peltry,
turning shade a different color –
brighter, yet a little duller –
cooking insects, crisping grasses,
sunshine like a thousand brasses,
followed by some evening lightning;
thunderclaps both loud and frightening,
after which, some rains torrential
should make streams more consequential,
You’re very welcome for this recollection of autumn’s onset. There’s technically still a week of summer yet, but fall is definitely a reality now, whatever the calendar may say.