This Wednesday, September 23rd, is the official First Day of Autumn. And our thoughts turn to the sights, sounds, tastes and smells of this flamboyant season. I’m thinking apple cider and pumpkin pies, the cheers of a football crowd and visions of the many vibrant hues as the leaves change their colors before they fall and we rake them into piles and in some circumstances are able to burn them adding another aroma of familiar times.
What are your thoughts of Autumn? What do you look forward to (or what do you dread?) What memories does the season bring? And let’s remember the colors of Fall. The range from still green through the graduations of golds, amber, orange, crimson, bright red, umber and brown, with every shade in between. You can also choose a hue and making that the title of your piece, take the fall and write your poem!
The colors bring such thrills to me,
almost without number;
they foist high joys into my soul
that fears cannot encumber
and these sustain me through the days
as autumn fades to slumber.
The dying year smiles.in its prime
as amber turns to umber.
I’m with Debit…absolutely love the line “as amber turns to umber”. I’ll have to use that as a jumping-off point for a future poem when given the prompt of using another’s line. Gorgeous!
Beautiful — you’ve captured, well, how I remember Autumn when I lived in the North. (I don’t think the crickets and cicadas EVER shut up here in South Texas.)
She wasn’t a cheer
leader or even one
of the wanna-be’s on
the Pep Squad but
she never missed a
game and yelled when
the home team scored
like the cool girls
and wore the blue and
silver school colors
like the cool girls
her hair was long
and straight
like the cool girls
and it was years before
she realized she was
cooler than the cool girls
We were walking home
from a Halloween party.
Daryl scooped up stones
and threw them at a trailer truck that rumbled by.
Red lights flashed with screeching breaks.
A muscular truck driver leapt from the front,
grabbed Daryl by the collar,
slammed him against the side of the truck.
“It wasn’t me,” screeched Daryl,
scared out of his gourd.
“It was Bobby Johnson.”
The driver let Daryl go.
We walked home.
A little stunned.
Making jokes
about the infamous
bad boy,
imaginary
Bobby Johnson.
It’s a tranquil lake that licks the shoreline,
a gentle taste; longing for the familiar flavor
of a summer sent packing. Lacking much
in the way of seasoning, but anxious for the season
that approaches. It can be heard in soft sounds.
Not rambunctious and raucous; more tip-toey
and cautious. Secretive. Seductive. Luring
and alluring. Stirring the paint pot with
a broad brush, coloring the landscape to offer
a grand escape from the hum-drum.
Some certainly envision the splay of oranges and golds,
crimsons and whatever else nature holds for our viewing.
Autumn is brewing. Not with an extravagant entrance,
but with a warm nuzzle; a comfortable caress.
Hushed words expressing what a heart can feel.
Hear it in the whistle of wind. Listen to the rustle of the leaves.
See it in the palette of the Grand Master’s artful stroke.
Embrace the whispers, they are of a serene and assuring nature.
Walk gently on this earthly path,
the call of nature draws.
All things Autumnal presented
in tint and hue. Emblazoned
Equinox offering her heart;
her softening countenance.
Swiftly she moves, enhancing
every chance at her diminishing view.
Partner in life’s enchanted dance.
Weary traveler, walk gently.
Be wrapped in the warmth of her
season for no other reason
than to be your inspiration
for the duration of her passionate
embrace. Before her face turns cold,
take hold of her beauty. It is fleeting.
Sweet Autumn burns with an ember’s glow.
Before she goes, she will have your heart.
Do not hesitate to go with her. Walk gently.
Thanks, William…the pattern of the shadorma suits me, I suppose. Even when I string’em together for a longer poem. 🙂 When I’ve looked back at some of my first poems (I started writing poetry 5 years ago this winter), it’s interesting to see some of my longer “pre-shadorma” poems!
Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild 
PASSAGE
The colors bring such thrills to me,
almost without number;
they foist high joys into my soul
that fears cannot encumber
and these sustain me through the days
as autumn fades to slumber.
The dying year smiles.in its prime
as amber turns to umber.
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as amber turns to umber……… wonderful!
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Those colors are truly thrilling!
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Ah yes, “the dying year” says a lot. Nice William.
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I love this one. You capture the fall feeling.
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I’m with Debit…absolutely love the line “as amber turns to umber”. I’ll have to use that as a jumping-off point for a future poem when given the prompt of using another’s line. Gorgeous!
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LOL – just re-read that…should be: I’m with Debi…!
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Autumn is Here
Pick the last of the tomatoes
Those bulging ears of corn
Frosts wait to raid the garden
Early in the morn.
Blazing leaves of maple
Warm the growing chill
Shadows falling early
The cricket choir grows still.
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ahh, a perfect picture of the season
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Yes! “Frosts wait to raid the garden early in the morn” is the most pleasing line. Autumn is definitely here.
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Lovely.
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Lovely word picture.
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Beautiful — you’ve captured, well, how I remember Autumn when I lived in the North. (I don’t think the crickets and cicadas EVER shut up here in South Texas.)
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High School Cool
She wasn’t a cheer
leader or even one
of the wanna-be’s on
the Pep Squad but
she never missed a
game and yelled when
the home team scored
like the cool girls
and wore the blue and
silver school colors
like the cool girls
her hair was long
and straight
like the cool girls
and it was years before
she realized she was
cooler than the cool girls
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This is cool and cute simultaneously. Interesting take on the prompt. I like it.
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Fall and High School football just go together
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I love the way this poem was set up.
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Thanks much
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Nice!! (a familiar story, as I realized recently at my 30th high school reunion!)
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thanks – if we only knew then ………….
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THE GLORIOUS LIBERTY OF AUTUMN
The awesome spell of autumn is upon us
as we taste the glorious essence
of the timocracy of it’s hue.
The strewn colors of mother nature
restfully bleed; through battalions of trees,
who willingly lay down their leaves,
for the joy of the nation.
“Give me liberty or give me death”,
as they breath their last, into the freedom of soil.
No longer to toil or linger upon the tree.
But set free, released to roam in the earth.
Benjamin Thomas
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Ah, wonderful; especially, for me, “timocracy of its hue.”
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Benjamin – so nicely tied together in your word choices. And, like William, I loved “timocracy of its hue.”
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Bobby Johnson
We were walking home
from a Halloween party.
Daryl scooped up stones
and threw them at a trailer truck that rumbled by.
Red lights flashed with screeching breaks.
A muscular truck driver leapt from the front,
grabbed Daryl by the collar,
slammed him against the side of the truck.
“It wasn’t me,” screeched Daryl,
scared out of his gourd.
“It was Bobby Johnson.”
The driver let Daryl go.
We walked home.
A little stunned.
Making jokes
about the infamous
bad boy,
imaginary
Bobby Johnson.
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Hmmmm…. this sounds authentic to me.
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Yep. Names are changed to protect the not so innocent.
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Fun!! I love how the mention of “autumn” as a prompt brings to mind particular stories.
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Red Autumn
This autumn begins
overnight
Painted leaves
glorify the trees
When I return from a trip
yard sports scarlet stars.
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Yes, this is how it is; autumn seems to just suddenly be there. Wonderful.
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oooohh…..”scarlet stars” — love it!
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Thanks, Paula!
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WHISPERS
It’s a tranquil lake that licks the shoreline,
a gentle taste; longing for the familiar flavor
of a summer sent packing. Lacking much
in the way of seasoning, but anxious for the season
that approaches. It can be heard in soft sounds.
Not rambunctious and raucous; more tip-toey
and cautious. Secretive. Seductive. Luring
and alluring. Stirring the paint pot with
a broad brush, coloring the landscape to offer
a grand escape from the hum-drum.
Some certainly envision the splay of oranges and golds,
crimsons and whatever else nature holds for our viewing.
Autumn is brewing. Not with an extravagant entrance,
but with a warm nuzzle; a comfortable caress.
Hushed words expressing what a heart can feel.
Hear it in the whistle of wind. Listen to the rustle of the leaves.
See it in the palette of the Grand Master’s artful stroke.
Embrace the whispers, they are of a serene and assuring nature.
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In my opinion, no one does internal rhyming better than you. Loved this wistful homage to autumn!
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I agree with Paula’s comments, both of them.
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Autumn Leaves
Brisk breeze blows its chill
Energizing zeal
Swishing colorful, crisp leaves
Skittering along
Singing their fall song
Piling high up past the knees
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Loved the alliteration in this!!
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This is so nice, such gentle slant rhyming.
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[…] Rising – TAKING THE FALL – Thoughts on […]
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Techie troubles on the home-front…
https://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2015/09/22/first-tree-turning/
Thank you, for the inspiration!
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ooohh…Hannah…absolutely loved this. Your closing line, divine!
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Paula took the words right out of my pencil.
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WALK WITH AUTUMNAL GENTILITY
Walk gently on this earthly path,
the call of nature draws.
All things Autumnal presented
in tint and hue. Emblazoned
Equinox offering her heart;
her softening countenance.
Swiftly she moves, enhancing
every chance at her diminishing view.
Partner in life’s enchanted dance.
Weary traveler, walk gently.
Be wrapped in the warmth of her
season for no other reason
than to be your inspiration
for the duration of her passionate
embrace. Before her face turns cold,
take hold of her beauty. It is fleeting.
Sweet Autumn burns with an ember’s glow.
Before she goes, she will have your heart.
Do not hesitate to go with her. Walk gently.
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Such poignancy in this, Walt. Loved it.
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You should send this to the Pope; it’s a wonderful homily.
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[…] Shared at Phoenix Rising […]
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THIS YEAR’S AUTUMNAL EQUINOX
Autumn leaves
me feeling wistful,
wishing for
warm sunshine
and the fresh crisp air I knew
from my days of youth.
We knew the
days were shortening
and that the
snow would soon
fly through the skies; the colors
of fall would leave us.
This meant we
played while the sun shone,
we raked leaves
into piles
for fun and bonfires…we would
always want some more.
Living now
in the South, where leaves
remain green,
Autumn is
just another day on the
calendar to me.
2015-09-23
P. Wanken
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The queen of the shadorma comes again. Wonderful poems, wonderful sounds, wonderful memories. However, there are no green jays in the north.
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Thanks, William…the pattern of the shadorma suits me, I suppose. Even when I string’em together for a longer poem. 🙂 When I’ve looked back at some of my first poems (I started writing poetry 5 years ago this winter), it’s interesting to see some of my longer “pre-shadorma” poems!
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