A Silly December Poem
It’s 60 today and the sun’s shining bright.
I guess that the seasons just can’t get it right.
A couple of flakes fell on Thanksgiving Day,
but autumn is lingering. Skies are not gray.
I wonder why Earth has its story mixed up.
The weather’s been weird, like cake in a cup.
So what of December? Where’s snow and the cold?
It might come like a lamb, not blatant or bold.
Happy Thanksgiving! Enjoy these last weeks of fall! The pictures below are from my Sunday walks in Central Park, enjoy!
Circles of cycles
move me farther from birth,
closer to death.
I do not acknowledge the latter.
Seasons teach me:
Infant blossoms in spring,
full bloom of youth, the summer,
a winding-down in fall, raking up excesses, lowered skies,
then frozen winter.
I know my season,
just as the clock ticks inexorably.
After so much rain
a day of proper autumn.
Sunshine and crisp cold.
Autumn colors in New Haven, Woodmont, Miford and Orange CT….
New Haven, CT
Woodmont, CT
(note the evacuation route sign )
Gorgeous colors in Milford, CT
Orange , CT
(known for PEZ company in the vicinity)
I should be there with friends to sell my book
but I woke tired, decided to stay home.
An autumn fair where lots of people look
at a variety, its background loam
for produce, jams and jellies, fall décor,
the mood is leaves and pumpkins, things of fall.
A crush of customers mills near the door.
I see an older woman with a shawl
drawn ’round her shoulders, proclamation cold
is on its way and we should stock our shelves.
A sudden wind might well appear with bold
breath bringing winter, leafless branches, elves.
A salad made of gold and yellow leaves
invites my senses. Odd-shaped gourds, and sheaves
of wheat, sweet grapes, squash, pumpkins, corn abound
in cornucopias, lush gifts from ground.
I love this time of year, it’s Autumn time,
with pumpkins in the fields for Halloween,
to leave out autumn would be such a crime
yet people seem to think it’s a has-been.
Why is there so much Christmas stuff about
when that season is still three months away?
Freshly Pressed has got a Christmas post out
and Christmas mug’s on 20 Lines today!
We’ve still another ten days left to go
before the ghouls and witches gives us frights
and then we have the fireworks and the show
of bonfire, Guy Fawkes and his noisy night.
And even then it’s seven weeks before
Christmas comes a-banging on our door.
I’m sick of seeing Christmas things about
It’s Halloween I keep wanting to shout out!
My rose is blooming:
it’s forgotten it’s autumn.
And now – so have I!
When the sky’s that blue -
almost forget it’s autumn
and winter’s coming.
From under the dogwood tree that my children climb,
a temporary escape from the light rain that is falling.
October days of pumpkin, leaf and gourd,
the queen of seasons tempts us toward the cold.
We feel the stranglehold of winter’s cord.
This month gives us its seasonal reward
with trees magnificent in red and gold,
October days of pumpkin, leaf and gourd.
But soon the vanquish of this smorgasbord
will come. Bare branches dictate: You will fold
into the stranglehold of winter’s cord.
Those branches etch their words in skies whose sword
emblazon just how soon we’ll be North Poled.
October days of pumpkin, leaf and gourd,
come close. I want to whisper: You have scored
a treasured status, and I have enrolled
you in my memories. No, winter’s cord
will not encompass me for I have stored
your jewels and cannot ever be outsold.
October days of pumpkin, leaf and gourd
trump somber stranglehold of winter’s cord.
Brilliant blooms of Autumn
Spray the horizon with
red, yellow and orange hues of sadness
Reflecting the final tiny shards of illumination
As daylight slowly weeps behind
The jagged skyline.
Misty rain calms the changing wind,
Bluffing the clarity of reality
Vivid angles curl in ambiguous circles
Lines of division swirl
Confusing the point of indecision
With a beginning or an end.
Saturated air chills from the inside out
Shivering and silent
Like a wild animal stalking prey
Unwilling to make a sound
Unable to prevent an inevitable freeze
Of apathy and fear.
Buried deep, beneath the layers
Crumpled and decayed with the turn of many seasons
A primal strength whimpers.
Depth can only muffle the scream.
Darkness can only dim the light.
Gaining courage
Boiling toward the surface
At once realizing and relinquishing the pain.
A beautiful Fall day, walking in a pioneer cemetery yielded some pleasant discoveries for SwittersB
I saw them, yes I did, those purple trees.
Purple? you say. Yes, in the slightest breeze
the multicolored leaves swayed back and forth,
a gentle rocking motion south to north.
I almost drove right off the busy road
when purple there among the yellow showed
its autumn face. The trees made up a bank
of Nature’s best, and from its cup I drank.
