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