Tag: fall

Poetry

Late October

I love hearing the trees talk
sometimes the high branches speak
            and the low branches listen
sometimes the east whispers to the west                 which gives silence in response
sometimes they all chatter at once
            I lie in the sun, watching, listening

I dread the coming winter’s quiet
        absent leafy voices,
              instead violent creaks
disturb the silence,   as do
              small explosions,
breaking branches, piercing snow
        crunching, snapping
              deadened, hollowed,
                     muffled, no water flows
I wish that it would not come soon
but winter’s here in just one moon

Tags autumn, beauty, canada, canadian poet, Canadian poetry, cold, creative writing, ends, fall, leaves, nature, poem, Poetry, seasonal, seasonal depression, talking trees, winter

Poetry

Sensational Assault

shining jewel clusters
        break open the escarpment
like precious stones waiting to be mined
        brilliant leafy treasure
             blasts of magnificent colour
                  explode across the rocky grandstand
             backdrop to the season’s splendor
        its once generous green given way
        to greedy autumn’s foliage display

absent emeralds
        stolen by nature’s alchemy
   redeemed for rubies, garnets
                            amber, gold
        the greatest illusion
              of    tempered grandeur
        before the bitter cold

it should be forbidden
        that beauty unfolds
        so lithely in loveliness
                before its death
dappled luster’s ugliness
                only revealed up close
moths have chewed endlessly
        leafy veins, now begging bowls
blackened edges encase
                               slug-gobbled holes
not unlike the singed suffering
        of cigarette-burned abuse

maple’s steepled points
                   waxed and dried
crunchy now upon crisp earth
        hard to understand its worth
        its place in time,
        once life, once food
        now dead, now dearth

and oh the scents! I cannot forget
     the dampened clay and rotting fern
        sickly sweet suckles long dried up
a sun-baked bog with willowed dregs
the sunflowered smells twist into sound
scritch-scratching of squirrel toes in trees
chipmunks squeak, thin branches break
                           acorns land in leaves
a buzz of daubers, wasps and bees
        harmonized with the last cicada song
too soon the symphony will cease
               and tarsi tickles won’t be found
not for so long!            so if you please…

I beg for just a bit of time
        to exhaust under this dying sun
        that scalds with will to kill all life
        that incinerates the weak and blind
leave me alone to work my mind
        and feel the last blaze of the year
        striving not to shed a tear
        striving not to feel false fear
that knights permanence on temporary conditions

I will be strong        and wise
        and remain loving, kind
though winter has its eternal quality
        once here, ne’er gone
                still… it must go eventually
                we’ll see…

just let me loaf in this season’s sun
        to soak in such sensational torture –
                   intense, so brief, so fun –
                        ending soon,
                        hardly begun

Tags autumn, canadian author, Canadian poetry, changing seasons, creative writing, fall, forest, grasping, ignorance, nature, poem, Poetry, seasons, seasons change, senses, writing

Poetry

a week before the fall

a slothful orb ascends,
            slowly across the southern sky
    already missing its peak
it shirks responsibility,
             no longer a light above by nine a.m.
in the yard, clocked shadows hold morning’s chill
            while, with a furnace blast, blazing warmth is cast
    lethally, from an expiring sun’s face

what a time of year
one of dread and fascination

a reverse magic of the spring takes place
dishearteningly unbelievable

everything once vital and green
withers away, as flames to ash
full bushes decay under still-blue skies
crosshatched with chem trails

autumn’s appearance should sting less
    with each year of expectation
            but the knife travels the same scar,
    ripping the tissue open once more
            spilling the crinkle of leaves, isolated chirps
                                         icy rainfall spurts

there can be no love in autumn
       what — love for a dying thing?
we expect spring’s rebirth in its vein
    but it’s different
                  inconceivably so
   as nothing can come back the same
taking its time, different life does grow

I no longer delight in season’s change
    a witness to illness arising
                                  and constant pain
    raw attachment, unhooked anew,
            broken hearts where love once grew

I cannot bear to face the task
    of reliving seasons, to watch them pass
            as all things slip like time in glass
  my cageless prison, this life, outlasts

free me before I plunge once more
    through autumn’s orange enchanted door
            cold aversion ripening
                grasping at inherent things

I know it’s wrong,    so little worse
            than self-cherishing
                        my ugly curse

may I be free before the fall
        —    just one more week
                              to see it all
                                      correctly

Tags attachment, autumn, creative writing, discrimination, emptiness, enlightenment, fall, feeling, freedom, grasping, ignorance, loss, nature, poem, Poetry, reality, realization, seasons, seasons change, time

Poetry

seasonal grasping

The hum of cicadas is gone
replaced by rustling leaves
an overcooked sun slices
a chilled-wine breeze
cutting through and pressing
against me like a lusty body
celestial and far away, still
grazing skin with intimate familiarity

May the imputed I rely
upon this mere meat sack
only long enough to satisfy
the necessary attainments
then may I move on effortlessly
to the next nest, to abandon all
to abandon none

Tags 2025, autumn, changing seasons, cicadas summer, fall, I, me, meat body, mere imputation, my, sun