When sweltering days
Have spread far from
The birth of June
And the days become inverted,
With the setback sun
That barely extends to Seven
And is still slowing--
Somewhere between here,
And the approach of winter, the
Green slips off the leafs
To reveal something between a broken brown
Or a glowing gold,
And these aging bodies
Will leave like the innocence of a child's unfolding smile
Blistered by the anguish of age,
Only to explore empty whims of wandering wind,
And paint the streets
With broken versions of themselves.
I watch time flirt with the weather
And wait with hands open,
Tiny bellflowers,
For the rain to explode
And hand off a new season.
Where the year goes
Is no longer a surprise to me:
But,
I am not the one changing my colors,
And Falling from trees;
I am not the fall explorer.
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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I never really know what to say in light of your poetry, yet I somehow manage to ramble on. I lovvveeee this! Such fluidity and unbelievable imagery! You are seriously a joy to read, I've been here a couple of times
Addictive.
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I'm picking up what you're throwing down abstract alice. This should have gone in the autumn poetry contest. Long live fall!!!
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excellent..love the thought there at the end. makes me feel like you're in one place...not taking a risk, something to that effect.
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that is exactly how I feel and what I was getting at.
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This was really good and very interesting. I enjoyed reading this. I would have too say that this is my favorite part:
And these aging bodies
Will leave like the innocence of a child's unfolding smile
Blistered by the anguish of age,
Only to explore empty whims of wandering wind,
And paint the streets
With broken versions of themselves.
But overall this was good! -
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thanks so much
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