Autumn Leaves
Autumn Poems
Autumn is the season that signals alter for launching a gentler life, and it is the time for harvesting the fruits sown earlier in the year. The range of colors that are bound to fade and wither and the cooling climate have generally inspired poets.
Here are 5 poems on autumn by Joy Cagil:
Autumn (A haiku chain)
floating from the sky
scarlet leaves of bitterness
soon the harvest moon
some shrill geese in flight
the brook sluggish like the sap
gold turns sepia
horse chestnuts rolling
over vermilion piles
on the rusty lawn
with final farewells
a lonely heart breaking in
the bare arms of oaks
Ballad of the Wind
Amongst autumn leaves
rustling in thick frenzy,
the wind sees the apple
and rises
with a celestial song.
“Rosy lush lips touching fingertips
on emerald green the chosen palette
come gently sway, to mark the second,
with luxury of weightlessness.”
Shiny, untouched,
a pigment of impetuous joy,
awakening red, delicious,
floating to the wind’s tune,
welcoming,
the conceit of selection.
“Rosy lush lips touching fingertips
on emerald green the chosen palette
you gently fell, to mark the second;
did you believe the wind would catch you?
The color of dreams fading away,
when grass kneels to cushion the fall
to miss the harvest in a rotten mush,
but upon reflection, it’s worth it all.
More important than life is
the Bathroom vanitiesom vanities of a kiss,
if beauty is madness
when the wind blows.”
Autumn Rain
The autumn Rain
spread nail polish
more than the city
to glitter on
the sidewalks,
asking the flat world
to come alive
and shape up without
stocks and bonds.
But the targeted traffic was hectic
and the people were stacked dominoes.
In frizzled kiosks,
tabloids turned
to paper boats
and went a-sailing
in the gutters,
avoiding haphazard
feet in boots.
Since the site visitors was hectic
and the people had been stacked dominoes.
Then rain imposed authority
over the umbrellas
with the pitter patter feet of
poetry’s thrust
for a little change in
focus
to create a alter in
outcome.
Still the site visitors was hectic
and the folks were stacked dominoes.
On Crabapple Beach
Prior to Crabapple Beach rolls over
in its sleep to dream
of summer time people today
who’ll desert it again,
I scoop up the sand inside the arches
of my feet and wander
beneath the increasing moon,
unafraid of the beach bums,
the cool water,
or something else except
drowning
in the ocean in between
me and the world.
Accordingly, I peek
for clues of life inside
properly-lighted beach-property windows:
soup steaming on a stove,
white flowers in a coffee mug,
two lovers in an embrace,
slender volumes of verse
on a windowsill,
promising an eternity of easy joys
to souls with private pains.
And I recall a delicate moment
when, on a late autumn night,
on Crabapple Beach,
a little girl penned her 1st line of poetry,
her first newscast to the globe,
with a sigh, as if saying, “I do,”
to a lifelong marriage
of clumsily scribbled words from her spirit,
and she felt the earth move
beneath her feet,
just before overnight-gusts barreled via,
inserting icicles inside the sand.
Mute Autumn
They met in a dream
exactly where fireflies flicked in quick farewells
and farmers gathered lush harvests
under a fragile sun.
Even though rusting leaves wavered between color and reflection,
whispering rumors as they fell,
she warmed her hands by her heart’s fire,
watching him walk up the plank over the pond.
He, a migrating bird; she, a deep-rooted willow,
speechless, deliberating the fusion
of two separate species
in a distinctive world.
In straw-filled terraces,
never ever enough nerve to speak,
Delicious, Gala, Rome, Winesap,
Cortland, Jonathan, a windfall crop,
she held up the apples 1 by 1
and crushed them into glistening cider,
trying to charm him with her potion.
In that season of colorful shadows,
so adeptly developed was the illusion’s art,
the emotion so powerful, it intimidated the psyche.
Perhaps, she froze like the darkened pond,
too full of mystery;
maybe, he didn’t hear her silence.
But then, it was just a dream,
a dream that didn’t make allowances
for sleeping.
Cannonball Adderley feat. Miles Davis ” Autumn Leaves”
