How thoughtful Nature
to warm our eyes
before the year’s
glacéed demise.
What awesome palette,
it must be told,
that blends tomato
with marigold.
As home décor,
though bright and merry,
by that same Nature,
alas,
temporary.
Monthly Archives: September 2019
September 25.19
On a bland and barren slab of clay
something delicate and fine —
did it touch my path by accident
or was it by design?
A lot of things take on deeper meaning these days, dear reader. I am given much to think about. My grandchildren spent the night with me this past weekend; my fifteen-year-old granddaughter is now a vegetarian because of her convictions. I am trying to reduce plastic in my life. My own aging body tells me daily nothing is forever. A lone butterfly seems to block my way in angry silence. Just my imagination, right?
September 23.19
Little woolly overcoat
inching up my wall,
do you think you’re coming in
to cozy up for fall?
Yes, I know that winter comes
with autumn equinox,
but I can’t accommodate
your hundred shoes and socks.
As if the trees and the stores weren’t reminder enough, come now the woollies to tell us that summer sets and autumn rises. I wish for all of us, dear reader, a season to catch our collective breath in the colors and new air that will come. May the din of the absurd be muffled, if only for a while.
September 21.19
Quo vadis?
In pools of shade
in flutters of green wings
in columned seclusion
the question:
where are you going?
The hard grey path
inquires.
You do not escape
life questions
in the woods.
Thanks yet again to photographer S.W. Berg.
September 20.19
Winter comes
in scarlet blushes
leaf by leaf
not in rushes.
Every day
each tardy dawn
takes more time
to stretch and yawn.
By slow degrees
the summer sizzle
wanes to frost
and chilly drizzle.
And so does Nature
try to warn
with color like
a honking horn.
More thanks to photographer S. W. Berg.
September 18.19
Watching cheese age
my idea of fast track
so I sit ruminating
as it watches me back.
More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.
September 15.19
September night
thick-aired, damp,
heavy with weight of day,
slow as prayer
raises the moon
ruddy gold
soon ice white
but,
for this brief Now
of autumn rite,
glowing fermata
over a thousand crickets
piping.
September 14.19
I cannot think a thought
pen a treatise or a ballad
explaining mystic morph
from yellow frill to salad.
September 11.19
Death sets a table
for Loneliness,
snuffs the light of expecting,
feasts on emptiness.
And yet
the planting
defiant
makes the earth take seed.
We must think of both.
9/11
With more thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.
September 10.19
Amid the dense green
of new autumn
Old Sol shines
in summer’s late petal
Midas-touching the leaves
round about
while seed feathers
tickle cloud tummies.
Many more thanks to photographer S. W. Berg.
Oddments 