September 27, 2012

poem 344 of a poem a day for 2012

roaming the gloaming womb

late September
is leaning
drag weighting leaves
in the cling heavy moisture
of Autumn after the rain
it says to me
get ready
pack your things
tuft the thatch
with newspaper advertisements
soak them in loose wet clay
make then the sort of gray color
that the news is anyway

this morning is
a swan song ghost of Summer
tearing color into streaks
that are beginning to peak
in orange red and yellows
throughout the oaks and maples
these wonderfully old trees
with their bare sentinel arms
during Winter
remember too
we are waiting for the cold
to come along
so that we may rouse
the carol of a song
with a heady mead
in our glasses

and we know
that time passes
in a way that
when the light starts
to climb back from
where Summer ends
in the arms of Autumn
Spring can be born
under another
street corner
of Winter turned
toward a surprise
that begins
in our eyes
when close them
to make wish
in our cupped hands
we then lift
to the skies
to be on the wind
and beyond disguise



  1. This dances like leaves in the wind...well done poet x

  2. Mmm... Le tourbillon des saisons dans toute sa splendeur :)