There's a beauty in November, with a mildness not known before, and a stillness at twilight which happens more and more. For the world is getting warmer and the winter comes on late. Deeply coloured leaves cling to the trees because autumn won't abate. She stays around and fools the plants who rise early but at the cost of a swift overnight slaughter from an unexpected frost. Then this murder ceases and a warm calm descends, and living plants try once again as the climate makes amends. So, do I like this changing world when the natural order bids adieu? Having shorter winters with soft winds? Yes, I surely do.
Tag: Autumn
New Shed
Alone at last in my garden shed The beds are made the dog is fed In the quiet I await creative thought But comes there nothing, zilch, nought. It's not supposed to be like this I should exploit this place of bliss I take yet another sip of tea but Still no talent envelopes me. The grass is dew wet and wild birds sing Today is warm as if it's spring The flowers nod in the zephyr breeze With apples falling where they please. This is autumn at its best My favourite month - keep the rest Summers gone, it is no more Now squirrels seek their winter store. I try something employed by poets passed To glorify nature! The subject is vast So inspired by the beauty on display The words now flow - I've something to say!
An August Evening with Amy
What more could I ever want On an evening such as this A Blackwater River sun setting And the wind now light as a kiss. Spring here can be magical With the promise of summer to come But watery suns threatening autumn Are much preferred by some. Pause for a moment with the oars still And gaze at the lowering sun's glow We drift briefly on the slack water Then turn our bow to go. Such a simple joy to embrace Calm, quiet, and sublime We should do it much more often We just need to make the time. 30th August 2013
September Memories
As an onshore wind moves the trees
With the smell of seaweed on the breeze
Memories return just as they please.
Ah September!
Past holidays return with a leap
Spent here in Autumn when quite cheap
So exciting he couldn't sleep
In September.
A young boy not yet seven
Knee deep in mud soft and even
Thinks he's just arrived in Heaven
Great September.
This is the best place he ever saw
There's freedom here - no playground law
And he doesn't even know he's poor -
It's just September.
Years later and this man reflects
On life and love, wealth and sex
And why life now is so complex
Not September.
When he can walk this beach no more
And journeys to a higher shore
He will meet those pleasures gone before
Again September.
The river Blackwater in Essex is in my soul. I was taken to Mersea Island every Autumn when a child and still sail in the area now in my middle seventies. One bright Blackwater morning while walking on the foreshore this poem came to me.
A Gale in the Park
It stood for years, but now it is dead,
Lying over on one enormous side.
Branches spread out like lifeless arms
There's nowhere now for Squirrels to hide.
Dark grey is the trunk that lies there
With bright white flesh exposed like a sore
The moss green of the north facing bark
Is contrasted by the red rot of the core.
A rogue wind in the dark killed this tree.
A steady blow would only have it bent.
It withstood strong blows for years before,
But this time a Hurricane was sent.
Autumn had not yet collected its dues
For the leaves were still attached.
Nature should have let them fall as usual
Before it had the Tree dispatched.
As I See Things 