Poem: Gold

I have mixed feelings about autumn. When I was a child, it used to be my favorite season. I’m not sure when it stopped, but it has to do with the beautiful colors coming and going so quickly. After the leaves have fallen and need to be raked up, it reminds me of the nature of winter, even if it’s not technically winter yet. And I’m not a huge fan of winter. For the most part, it’s simply cold and dull, and I’ve never lived in places with much snow, save Germany, and even then it wasn’t perpetual.

I wrote this poem from a poem prompt by Julia Garcia on her blog, Drops of Inspira. Her prompt for November was the color gold. As I was thinking about her prompt, I was reminded of Robert Frost’s poem, “Nothing Gold Can Stay,” and so this poem was born.

 

Gold

As the leaves faded
and sank beneath the depths
of the hill,
I wondered if winter
would not be more exciting
if we lived it
in black and white.

Until I remember the way
the deep blue ice
extends like a cavern
beneath the snow,
or the way the evergreens
remind me
of more than the sticky scent of pine.

When I feel my vision
fading to gray,
I close my eyes and turn my face
toward the golden sun.
Today I may not feel its warmth,
but I can still sense
the light.

 

***

 

Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? What colors do you typically associate with autumn?

Similar poems: The Smell of Earth, Copper Coated Autumn Leaves, and Pine Trees

Poem: Copper Coated Autumn Leaves

As I’ve mentioned before, we’ve recently moved into our new house. Recent as in November, but that’s still pretty close to now. Before all the leaves blew off the trees and buried our yard, I sat down before work one day, contemplating my surroundings, and came up with another poem.

Copper Coated Autumn Leaves

The deer come around here,

up where the trees shed

their copper coated autumn leaves

waiting for the oxidation of spring.

Here on the mountainside,

I can hear the wind whisper

to me

while the sirens below

struggle to break

the silence.

Listen.

Can you hear it?

The twit of the red-breasted

Eastern Bluebird as it perches on a post

—the maw of the doe as it calls to the herd

—the tock-tocking of the chipmunk

that I once mistook for a dripping gutter

—the indecipherable hum of the stars.

***

Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? What’s your favorite element about where you live?

Similar poems: At Night, Autumn, and Lost as a Leaf

Poem: Autumn

People often ask me why I enjoy biking to work so much, despite the change in the season. Within the last week, the temperature dropped, the rain became more frequent, and I can see my breath in the morning. But I relish it. Okay, I complain about the cold a bit. After I open the door, I often turn around and grab an extra scarf or a vest, but still. It’s the perfect biking weather. Summer is too hot. Winter is too cold. Spring and fall are just perfect.

The chill is just enough so that biking warms me up on the uphill bits, and the wind cools me down on the downhill ones. Every now and then, the sun comes out just long enough for me to take off my jacket, and the scattered clouds after the recent rain make for brilliant sunsets. The slugs come out, the fog lays over the fields, and the leaves are turning.

Sure, it’s not always pleasant. I tend to over-romanticize things in some of my writings. Fall—like life—is full of ups and downs. Hence, the following poem.

Autumn

Autumn sweeps in like crushed dreams—

filled with the scent of rotting apples,

the plight of a squished slug beneath my bike tire,

the wilting of the sunflowers, sagging in the field.

Death comes for us all—

but first, it sets the forest ablaze with reds and yellows

as the goldenrods fall like tiki torches,

and mums crackle and burst with purple and orange flames.

Wind trickles down and raindrops howl—

striking my face as I bike to work,

walk the dog, set foot out the door.

A book sits closed by the hearth—

ribbon wedged between the pages,

somewhere near chapter three,

waiting, just waiting for its reader to come home,

settle down with a mug of black tea,

and breathe in the damp musk of autumn.

***

Let’s chat! What’s your favorite season? What do you think of autumn? Do you see it as a bunch of cold, dark days or time for more tea and reading?

Similar poems: Biking to Work, Lost as a Leaf, and Shadows

Poem: Snowfell

No, I did not misspell snowfall. The title is Snowfell on purpose. I like the thought of a quaint little town in the mountains, slick with a layer of ice, covered in a layer of snow, and dusted with another layer of loose flakes. Where its citizens bundle up in fur coats, sporting long scarves and colorful berets. This place is, unfortunately, fictional. But I did draw from some elements of a European winter. And I can dream. 

Based off the latest snowfall in my own little town, the following poem features an early winter. 

Snowfell

The crunch of snow underboot
is quite unlike the rub of
some cotton ball, though they both
send a shiver down my spine.

Her aroma tickles my
nose, her pale flakes make me sneeze;
some breeze whirls the strays like grains
of sand on this lived in land.

Mistletoe hangs green on these
bare branches now cradling
white blankets, green parasites,
like some love is born of death.

Fog fills lungs, bitter iron
touches my tongue, eyes water,
souls soak, sweat freezes, smoke blows
on this here autumn morning.

***

I’m also running a giveaway for my novelette series. So be sure to add it on Goodreads and enter to win one of three free signed copies of Last of the Memory Keepers series!  (Offer ends Dec. 8, 2017.)

Let’s chat! What’s autumn like in your hometown? How about winter? What’s your favorite thing about snow? 

Similar poems: Weird Winter Weather, In Season, and The Crow and the Heron

Poem: Lost as a Leaf

Do you ever feel like you’re stuck in a loop? Like your routine stays the same day after day while everybody else seems to be passing you by? Maybe you’re a student who feels like you’ll never be done turning in homework. Maybe you have a job and life seems like it’s the same from one day to the next. 

Sometimes I get such feelings.

I can’t say my life has ever been normal let alone boring. I haven’t lived in the same house for more than three years. But I still find similar routines popping up while it seems like most of my friends are progressing. Friends of mine have gotten engaged. Others have gotten married. Some of my friends have even gotten their dream jobs. And here I am still in school.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not complaining. It’s just the way my life is for now. I’m in that loop of uncertainty. I keep finding myself confronted by that pestering question “What happens next?” Perhaps it’s a question that will never leave me, and that’s all right. I’m learning to live with the uncertainty. The following poem is a mix of life’s uncertainty mixed with inspiration from autumn imagery.

Here’s to the soon-to-be and recent graduates looking for a job. Here’s to the high schoolers wondering whether or not they want to go to college. Here’s to those confronted with a career change. Here’s to the Lost.

If you find yourself asking “What Now?”, this poem is for you.

[Lost as a leaf]

Lost as a leaf in the rivulet

scattered from schools of branches—

first sprung from seeds of imagination,

then grown in the hills of the mind

until creativity drifts down

                        down

            down

down to the stream,

caught in the current

spun round in the whirlpool,

in the gorge while the rest of the leaves

pass by—

in shades of orange,

in lights of gray—

from dust to dust,

lest you take hold,

shall fade away.

***

Let’s chat! What season inspires you the most? Do you ever find yourself facing uncertainties in your life? What kind?

Similar poems: Magpie, Pile of Words, and Shadows

Shadows: A Poem

I get inspiration from the strangest places, and my writing never comes out exactly like I initially thought it would. Not that it’s a bad thing. When I first started classes at the University of Nottingham, my aunt remarked that the place was so beautiful I’d surely find inspiration to write. And I did. But my writing wasn’t the poems or the stories I expected.

In my time there, I wrote maybe two poems about Nottingham itself, and my poem “Puddle” was inspired off one of the first times I rode my bike past a puddle. Not that the poem has anything to do with biking. And the setting could be anywhere.

The same could be said for the following poem. I wrote it based of an observation I made while watching a seagull glide above the morning shade I was standing in. The setting I’ll leave up to you. Just as the words take off on their own the minute I put my fingers to the keyboard, may your imagination take flight.

Shadows

I’m in over my head in darkness,

standing in shadows of the box-shaped buildings,

like I’m in a deep, gray ravine beneath the waters

with the seagulls gliding overhead,

their underbellies alight against the blue,

like they’re gliding on light.

I’m up to my shoulders in shadows,

the shade spilling like a waterfall,

filling my lungs with a cold breath

and sprinkling my face with a chill

that I wipe off with my scarf.

I’m up to my knees in shadows,

the sunlight taunting me now,

for my toes are still cold within my boots,

but I’ve had to peel my sweater off

as I wade across darkened cobblestones.

I’m standing in shadows,

the darkness melted at my feet, never fully gone.

Standing in a bath of sunshine isn’t quick,

like jumping into freshwater.

It’s slow, gradual, like friendship, like love,

but one shard of a cloud, then goosebumps will crawl up my arms.

***

Let’s chat! Where is the poem set in your mind? What sort of things or places inspiration you?