Fred Everett Maus: Yellow
In the days after, we did not weep in each other’s
presence, nor hold each other, nor say much
about our feelings. It was how we had always been.
Paul Christensen: The Leaden Hat of Fall
Once in a while the tufted sky would break open into dazzling radiance. I would often look up from my reading to behold a waterfall of fiery light, as if the Golden Fleece were hanging in a waterfall shedding all its precious minerals into the valley below.
Sally Bliumis-Dunn: Ode to Autumn
this is where I can
still see you
in these gray branches
Paul Christensen: Where Summer Ends
My village lies there in all its stony composure under the first thunderstorm of fall. It meant cold weather was coming, creeping in like a procession of ghosts under the rumbling sky.
Peter Blair: Variegation
After rain dries,
the shadows of leaves
star the white cement
Bertha Rogers: What Want Brings
Gray rain seeps through the fall
of played-out clouds, loops among hills,
ragged mountains; flexes and thins cut, contoured fields.
Arlene Weiner: November
He tears off summer’s dress,
exposes trunk and limb, threatens
worse coming. Yet he brings gifts…
T.E. Hulme: Autumn
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
Joseph Fasano: The Figure
You rise. You turn back to the room and repeat what you know:
The earth is not a home. The night is not an empty bridle…
Elizabeth Romero: Carrying a Sign
Leaves on the wind circle in the air Like emissaries from another world Frantic warnings No one heeds them, they Push toward their usual destinations With their everyday faces … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: After the Equinox
It’s fall here in southern France. The tourists have thinned out to a trickle of rubbernecks aiming their smart phones at almost anything green or shaggy with vines. They hardly … Continue reading
Christina Rossetti: From Sunset to Star Rise
Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, A silly sheep benighted from the fold, A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. … Continue reading
Billy Clem: Autumn
Attending late flowers, I inhale low pressure. Four o’clocks trumpet their final purples and sumacs give a sudden red beat before they cut and bleed. Tall and brazen pink, surprise … Continue reading
John Samuel Tieman: Autumn
a withered branch a bird looking for some rest an autumn sunset even the stones in the stream seem tired of the old sun — still it’s strange – autumn … Continue reading
Vox Populi 