On the Cusp
The trees have shed their gaudy cloaks
to bare the ground to season’s chill.
The only leaves aloft are oak;
one last painting atop the hill.
We see deer as venison now,
in the gloaming of the season.
Its time to mount that heavy plow
against depths of winter’s treason.
Prior to blue, we freeze in gray
as cold November rains cast a pall.
In front of stoves, the children play,
outside, orange men shoot holes in fall.
Stick season, it seems, has arrived,
and the skeletons have revived.
They sway atop gnarly spires
as if to grasp at stormy skies
or reach aloft for sun’s fire.
The wind strums their song with a sigh.
These sentinels, braced against North,
gird us against the icy wind
as first flakes of snow sally forth
as if hungry for those who’ve sinned.
Their blood recedes beneath cold ground
as if to dodge the icy grip
of wind that seethes in brittle crowns.
Ice marches south, but they’re equipped.
This cusp of time, between the two
makes seasons merge, and poets blue.
A contest entry
- Stick Season by ea.
1500 points, ended November 2, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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wow, Rob, you were rhyming...whats going on up there? my son, my son
silly fox with rabbit clothes
talking elvish to the gnomes
teehee
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There are a lot of good details that you can really sink your teeth into "stick season" with here, including hunter's oranges, snow flakes sallying forth, skeletons arriving.
I do expect my entrants to credit their photo sources, even if it is their own. Thank you.
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I may take another swing at this. I fumble so at forms. I do, however, have competition for "most arrogant" honors
. I do continue strive to write a decent sonnet. If I do, it will NOT resemble a hallmark card.
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A lovely piece love the smoothness and rhymes and the imagery is stunning. Well done.
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Gorgeous. Sheer poetry. 
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How the oaks do hold their leaves
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sticks, skeletons - the spooky season. Imagery is powerful, as well as emotional response evoked. I like the cadence too, somehow measured, funereal. It all fits together in tones of grey.
Best of luck in the contest.
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I can smell the wood smoke and feel the needle pricks of cold on my cheeks ... this is a spicy slice of good pumpkin pie!
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You make me wish for an autumn winter like you describe, not for its cold or sadness but for its beauty which you have described so beautifully and most of us whinge about. Beautifully soft from you C
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good title. it intrigued me...
I don't often like poems in this form; it evoked Poe for me. I really like it. Great tone, imagery and diction
The content and emotional reaction are powerful... and pleasant. groovy
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