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
