Fall Poetry

Autumn

Summer fades; the first cold, Northern air
Sweeps, like hatred, through still days -
The August heat now gone elsewhere,
To Southern, bird-filled coasts and bays;
Amid constricting vales of cloud,
A pale and liquid Autumn sun
That once beat down on an empty plain
And may again. And may again.
Some of these skies stir memories I can't recall -
Of lost days in a tranquil lane, long gone,
Where the golden, evening light lay everywhere
And, across quiet fields, the Atlantic shone.
Like you, my childhood's in my head
And lives, though peopled with the dead.
Now, as evenings fall,
I, unfailingly, recall
That certain qualities of light
Have their own kinetic power
And remove me from real-time
To bear me down the tunnel of hours
To other days, longer days
And memories of simpler ways.
Still, sunny evenings with long, liquid shadows
Sliding over a stubbled field
As I watched through the tainted, coloured glass
Of the cottage window. Or, I kneeled
On the sill to peer at the shining sea
And, closer, geese at the garden gate;
And the grey-brown earth of the lane outside
And a broken out-building of ragged slate.
Now, across the narrow, urban valley
Lighted windows appear like stars
In peoples' homes, and a huge, beige moon
Climbs into view; the sounds of cars
And an acrid smell of burning leaves
And a barking dog and a distant train.
And a growing whisper from the trees
Reminds me of the approaching rain.

Trever Hewett

Dancing Leaves

Golden leaves are dancing in the street,
Happily, for skies do not them show
That soon by evening glow shall be first snow,
Yet they shall meet decease with glee replete!
Merrily they frolic to-and-fro.
How do leaves dance so without two feet?
Oh, if like the leaves we each could greet
Our days with zest, death never to foreknow.

Andrea

Castles Of Colors

How I love to walk
On the dried fallen leaves
The sounds of crunching I hear.
Colors of brown, red and gold
Form a carpet so rich,
The sounds are a tune to my ear.
Rake them up in a pile,
Like castles of colors,
And then the children appear.
As they tumble and roll
Through the piles of dried leaves,
Their laughter filling the air.
As the cold air approaches
Bringing winds that will sting,
Say goodbye to these castles so dear.
You'll not see them again till next year.

Floria Kelderhouse

Created on September, 19, 2002