When The Apple Trees Shake Loose – A Poem By Carol J Forrester #DVersePoets

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.

September Evening #DVersePoetic

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.

A Little Later Than Dusk #WeekendWritingPrompt

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

flickered out.

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Image by Giani Pralea from Pixabay

Autumn Quadrille

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.

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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.

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Nonsense Poem

We, the fallen

      e.

    s

  i

r

You, autumn hurricane

c

  a

    t

      c

        h        me

in tumble arms of coppered bronze

with fists of pawing, sweeping gold…

Turn me inside

turn me out

turn me all about.

I decided to write a bit of a nonsense poem. It’s really difficult to remember how to spell catch when your writing each letter on a different line…