It feels as if we are introducing you to Autumn. Slowly, and with care. Small hands, fingers fisted before bursting open like early fireworks. Breath-taking. Quite literally. Little face, big eyes, shadows for brows. All of these things change as the season steps in, lifts you from your bassinet, pinks your cheeks.
Look– at how much you’ve grown, at how the leaves have turned so quickly, these layers forming one over the other. Breath, and breeze, across your vocal chords. Outside a storm is cooing through the branches, changing notes, the strength of it lifting tree roots from their standings. When the winds settle, we sweep all the chaos beneath carpets, smooth the lines till they’re crisp. Pat you stomach. Tell you, that this fire is good.
The sky is beaten grey,
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the metallic sheen of swords
unsheathed and waiting.
It takes three minutes to brew black tea.
English breakfast, china mug,
steam lifting lazy from the spout
in a long, spiral stretch,
my own arms raised from the blanket
for the glass bottles stowed up top
just waiting for autumn and wind falls.
Summer has left the door outside open,
is drinking mulled wine on the patio,
leaving petals by her feet one by one.
Too focused on the sun’s slow set to notice
exchanging looks and Night’s arrival
its cloak across its shoulders slipping,
gold stars sewn like seeds on soil,
for Summer’s goose-pricked shoulders
brass tanned and shivering.
There were a few options for last night’s DVerse Poets ‘Poetics’ Prompt. I chose to write a poem by taking one of the lines provided (Summer is leaving too exchanging its gold for brass) and using each word as the starting word for each line of my own poem. The last two lines were the trickiest to finalise, but after a bit of playing around I managed to come up with a piece that I was happy enough to post.
Stung between garden fences
twilight coaxed you outside,
to the square of wilding lawn
uncut from summer’s end,
the coils of wood smoke
streaked with petrol
rising above an evening glow
of light behind closed panes
as one by one they too
The leaves turning always brings me home,
no matter where I am,
my mind came back to Shropshire,
the woods alight with copper
as mist rises on the fields
and the log burner is lit
for the first time since Spring.
I come home.
I’m looking forward to autumn already. While summer is lovely, we never really get much of it here in England, instead we make the most of autumn and all its wonderful excuses for knee high boots, fluffy socks and cuddly jumpers. [I may have bought all three in the last week.]
Today’s DVerse Poets Pub prompt is to write a quadrille using ‘leaves’ for your inspiration.
For me this means taking you to my parents’ farm in Shropshire, where the woods begin to shake off their leaves, the log burner gets started up, the whole house smells of wood smoke, and we pull out the winter duvets ready for the colder seasons.
Autumn really is my favourite season.