Deciduous Leaves
The xylem saps are heading south
like the majestic autumn sun,
deep down into their woody roots.
Soon deciduous leaves will die
and their exquisite lingering
dissolutions will manifest
tinctured, ephemeral beauty:
crimsons, oranges, yellows and greens
and all the subtle hues in between.
A sweet, earthy scent saturates
the cool, autumnal air we breathe.
Then one by one each leaf succumbs
to a gentle rain or zephyr
descending silently to earth.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Related quotes
Poppies
Unimaginable beauty:
I found myself walking alone
far removed from humanity
in a large meadow overgrown
with kaleidoscopic poppies:
oranges, blues, crimsons and yellows
each indiscriminately
commingled in this meadow
like an incongruous painting;
yet, in my eyes, a masterpiece:
A polychromatic blending
of hues quivering in the breeze
as I stood amidst the allure
of their stupefying grandeur.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Autumn Sunrise
Autumn Sunrise
By Lori Triggs
Copyrighted Nov.13,2008
Autumn is here, while the cold blankets the air,
the autumn leaves show their majestic yellows,
with oranges and outstanding browns.
They fall with mysteries of the weather changes,
while the wind becomes stronger,
The colors change on the plants
with flowers even trees blooms with color.
The autumn clouds roll in to blankets
in the skies with stillness and quiet,
the coolness in the mornings with the evenings
wants you to snuggle up in a warm blanket.
Autumn trees as colorful as you can see
that is blankets the land for its winter’s dream,
The animals lay asleep while the
butterflies and birds go south for the winter.
poem by Lori Triggs
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A Pleasant Autumn Day
A pleasant Autumn day of wind and sunshine
And yellow leaves depart their trees and fall
To Mother Earth who silently receives them
And wattlebirds on flowering gum trees call.
On this quiet side street of inner suburbia
The leaves are dying on the deciduous tree
But were i a poet I'd put my pen to paper
And write of the great beauty that i see.
For Nature's beauty can be found in strangest places
Far from the countryside it can be seen
Deciduous trees are golden brown in Autumn
And gums and wattles rich and evergreen.
And many urban people too love Mother Nature
And of workings of Nature there is much to know
They love to hear the birds sing in their gardens
And take pride in plants and trees they helped to grow
I respect those who respect Mother Nature
The damage done to her they try to mend
For Nature brings her beauty to all Seasons
And to every Nature lover I'm a friend.
In quiet side street in inner suburbia
Deciduous leaves to Mother Earth drift down
And wattlebirds are calling on the gum trees
And Mother Nature too lives in the town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poet Versus Painter
Kaleidoscopic leaf cover
shimmers in the September sun
casting shadowy and sunlit
shifting pools of darkness and light
on a multicolored graveyard.
Sweet decaying scents permeate
the early autumn environs
while yellow oxeye sunflowers
sway to an autumnal zephyr
that whispers enchanting verses
softly throughout the trees.
********
Never could a master artist
paint like a poet paints with words.
What subtle hues could he employ
to capture a whispering wind,
the sweetness of decaying leaves,
inconsistencies of shadows?
These intangibles are captured
with colors of imagery
that are discriminately mixed
and depicted where the painter
ruefully and completely fails,
affixed to inanimateness
whereas, the poet pens movement
and complexion into his work.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Yellows And Greens
THE YELLOWS AND GREENS
The Yellows and Greens
Who made these leaves?
Who made these skies?
Blue- White is too Beauty
And Gold Gold Vermillion-
Light Light
All this Life
This Happiness.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Awesomeness of Autumn
Sweet Autumn heralds summer season's past,
She can't conceal the changing of her leaves
Autumnal days will hasten winter's blast
Her sunny days will ripen harvet sheaves.
Artistic Autumn paints a myriad hues,
Red, orange, yellow, pink and brown and green
She - from her pallette - has the chance to choose
Collages that no artist ever dreamed.
Majestic Autimn heralds winter's charm,
Leaves fall, trees' silhouttes revealed
Wood piles replenished in the rustic farm
Exotic fungi in the woods concealed.
Is Autumn still - best season of the year?
YES, Autumn well deserves the bonfires' cheer!
(John Knight - September 2009)
poem by John Knight
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Autumn Breeze
Cool morning breeze
soft echos that whisper
a canvas of tinted hues
diamond shape decors
summer fans and sizzling
heat fade
for Autumn makes a subtle
entrance, more so than spring
the trees cry naked
falling leaves strivel
however, a generous season
a hope of harvest
and when preparation ensues,
to the harsher of nature's beauty
it is called to do its duty
completing the seasonal ring
let Autumn rejoice, a short while
for long, Ole' Man Winter
shall have his way
his words are not as kind
his laughter a sarcastic telltale
of what is to come
open the windows, feel the wind,
smell the whiff of Autumn breezes
as subtle as they may be...
poem by Jessica Hughes
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Signs of Autumn
The signs of autumn are upon us. Wow!
The Sun is heading south and harvesting
Is ready for a host of crops by now.
In early fall the days are warm as spring.
The leaves are turning yellow, some are red
And few are brown as yet. The oaken tree
Is dropping fruit and squirrels running ahead
Of other squirrels to claim a guarantee
Impending drops are won. The scent of leaves
Is carried by Septembers gentle breeze
Throughout the day bestirring memories
Of seasons past: A time of youth, who seized
The autumn moments with a measured scheme:
To laugh and play; to sing; to love and dream.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Parallels Of Mortality In Autumn.....
Something epic, looms
over the dismal gray cold
of Autumn's
overwhelming utter sadness
in the vanquished heart;
that slows summer's combustible pace
to a stillness,
mirrored in the pensive faces
of those
awed at all the Autumn dead
that lay leaved at their feet.
Something pale, plumes
above an Autumnal brush fire
doused,
by this mid November's rain;
vaporous gray clouds
pall bear this vestige
of the barren heart's
sloughed colors;
cobalt greens and cadmium yellows,
smoldering
to its bone white pallor of ash.
Something tragic, dooms
the foliage in the winter wood,
as our extremities, withdrawn
to the aftermath
of the parboiled earthen heart's
bare bronchial trees;
some sulfuric sediment, embering
in the sallow air
succumbs,
to the smoke of an old war
we wage until our heroic defeat.
Something grand, illumined
in the long shadowed distance
of a purple sky's
dark shrouded clouds;
some monumental quest
overwhelming in loneliness,
the naked heart's
stark terror of the id,
forebodes
this whole dark epic of man
plodding out of the awesome gray mist.
Something lingering, resumes
with a longing, like for those we grieve
planted deep
in the earth
of the mourning heart,
some embered remembrance
of them,
like leaves in their green age
grows
as fond prayers of fair days
on such sparse ones like these.
Something ominous, glooms
as the proud incongruous
crescent of the black crow,
perched upon a limb
in the sparse vermillion wood:
puce colored corpuscles of leaves
parallel grief
in the conquered heart's
coagulated wound
that eclipses
this metaphor of Autumn with a private loss.
Something final, consumes
this naked sensuality of Autumn
with all things that end
in sorrow,
breaking the spirit
of the giving heart's
commiserated sage
numbed by loss, to pray alone
beneath the white washed stars,
not knowing if God
is among that brutal cold.
Something bittersweet, blooms
in the slender sapling, tossed
to Autumn's embered war
of attrition,
some surviving magi
in the sojourned heart's
tender flesh wound
of compassion
learns, through the barren casualty
of life, lost
to the slow death of the year.
poem by John Tansey
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Seascape
Hues of cyanotic blue,
Intermeshing, as
Reds mutate into oranges and yellows,
Deep rose would become a sea of tranquility-
If I could rock myself to an eternal sleep, I could
Listen to the ocean’s waves as they lap against the sand, as
Small diamonds would scintillate in the sunlight.
Variations of greens and yellows would blend with one another, as
Water snakes and anemones would mingle with the
Flora of the sea-
I could hear the roaring of the ocean’s waves on
Moonlit days before sunrise upon awakening, as
I had lost myself within a sea of dreams-
Hues of cyanotic blues,
Deep rose as a tranquil sea could be, coral –red,
Sea grass, viridian in hue,
Sways with the rhythm of the rising tide,
Lost, I am in this myriad of dreams,
Reaching out trying to grasp that moment in reality
That has just slipped through my fingertips,
I would ride bare back upon a sea horse,
Destined to live forever…
The ocean expands parallel to the universe, never ending.
As a storm at sea abates,
I have found some peace of mind in this reflective moment.
Reds mutate to shades of orange to a dusty rose,
Lost in thoughts and reverie, I am
Carried away by the ocean’s waves.
Stardust has settled gently over the horizon- as far as
I can see, and
Upon this very tranquil night,
I see this world through a kaleidoscope;
Chips of broken glass reflecting greens and yellows,
Mauves and violets-
Enveloping all I can for miles and miles where the
Forever expanding ocean would finally meet with the sky-
I would want to live forever on this never abating journey-
Where I have finally escaped reality.
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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A Fresh Flower Blue
It's a fresh flower blue.
I wrap it in a sheet.
I love its scent, it's hues.
It sips the mist, the dew
and leaves an odor, treat
It's a fresh flower blue.
Its pets, the bees and crew
they meet, they greet, they eat.
I love its scent, its hues.
From dawn to dusk they woo
and bask in rain or heat.
It's a fresh flower blue.
There's a flower for you
There's one for me. A treat!
I love its scent, its hues.
The day I say adieu
I send you one so sweet.
It's a fresh flower blue
I love its scent, its hue.
poem by Agatha Lai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Parallels Of Mortality In Autumn...
PARALLELS OF MORTALITY IN AUTUMN
Something epic, looms
over the dismal gray cold
of Autumn's
overwhelming utter sadness
in the vanquished heart;
that slows summer's combustible pace
to a stillness,
mirrored in the pensive faces
of those
awed at all the Autumn dead
that lay leaved at their feet.
Something pale, plumes
above an Autumnal brush fire
doused,
by this mid November's rain;
vaporous gray clouds
pall bear this vestige
of the barren heart's
sloughed colors;
cobalt greens and cadmium yellows,
smoldering
to its bone white pallor of ash.
Something tragic, dooms
the foliage in the winter wood,
as our extremities, withdrawn
to the aftermath
of the parboiled earthen heart's
bare bronchial trees;
some sulfuric sediment, embering
in the sallow air
succumbs,
to the smoke of an old war
we wage until our heroic defeat.
Something grand, illumined
in the long shadowed distance
of a purple sky's
dark shrouded clouds;
some monumental quest
overwhelming in loneliness,
the naked heart's
stark terror of the id,
forebodes
this whole dark epic of man
plodding out of the awesome gray mist.
Something lingering, resumes
with a longing, like for those we grieve
planted deep
in the earth
of the mourning heart,
some embered remembrance
of them,
like leaves in their green age
grows
as fond prayers of fair days
on such sparse ones like these.
Something ominous, glooms
as the proud incongruous
crescent of the black crow,
perched upon a limb
in the sparse vermillion wood:
puce colored corpuscles of leaves
parallel grief
in the conquered heart's
coagulated wound
that eclipses
this metaphor of Autumn with a private loss.
Something final, consumes
this naked sensuality of Autumn
with all things that end
in sorrow,
breaking the spirit
of the giving heart's
commiserated sage
numbed by loss, to pray alone
beneath the white washed stars,
not knowing if God
is among that brutal cold.
Something bittersweet, blooms
in the slender sapling, tossed
to Autumn's embered war
of attrition,
some surviving magi
in the sojourned heart's
tender flesh wound
of compassion
learns, through the barren casualty
of life, lost
to the slow death of the year.
January 4, '92 John Thomas Tansey
Copyright ©2007 John Thomas Tansey
poem by John Tansey
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A New leaf
There’s a new leaf upon the Tree
A thousand, thousand have been before
In the life of this great tree
Yet, the Tree rejoices, and is glad
For there is a New Leaf upon the tree
The roots are deep, and hidden
Tis one tree from root to branch
And lives in and through each leaf
The hearts’ smile resurrected
Through the New leaf upon the tree
Like the stars of heaven
New leaves have been many
And so they all are One
For they all share the same root
Bless the New leaf upon the tree
Perfection in the Blessing
Joy released in tears of love
The strength in life will comfort
From root to God above
A New leaf upon the tree
Beauty, Truth, and life
Complete from root to branch
When life’s cycle turns
Leaves fall to nourish roots
And behold, a New leaf upon the tree
poem by Adrian Wait
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Heading South
Orbison/dees
I want to talk to folks back home again, to walk along a lonely country lane
To spend some time with that woman of mine, heading south, heading south
Things look bright and I feel alright yeah Im heading south
Heading south to see the sun go down on camp fire light,to join the singing at night
Heading south to cotton rows and honeysuckle bloom
Under the cumberland moon heading south, heading south
Give me room to travel on my way to a place where dreams all fade away
Where the river flows and tobacco grows heading south heading south
Cause the sun is hot and people love a lot yeah Im heading south
Heading south to see the sun go down on camp fire light, to join the singing at night
Heading south to cotton rows and honeysuckle bloom under the cumberland moon
Heading south, heading south
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forever Autumn
The summer sun is fading
As the year grows old
And darker days are drawing near.
The winter winds will be much colder
Now you're not here.
I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky
And one by one they disappear.
I wish that I was flying with them
Now you're not here.
Like the sun through the trees you came to love me
Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away.
Through autumns golden gown we used to kick our way
You always loved this time of year.
Those fallen leaves lay undisturbed now
Cause you're not here.
Cause you're not here.
Cause you're not here.
Like the sun through the trees you came to love me.
Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away.
A gentle rain pours softly on my weary eyes.
As if to hide a lonely tear.
My life will be forever autumn
Cause you're not here.
Cause you're not here.
Cause you're not here.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Second Spring
The dew indiscriminately
wept for all things living and dead
on this early autumn morning.
Its cold droplets caressed the leaves
while lingering sap-starved leaf stems
clung precariously above
and each dying leaf shed teardrops
for and onto their fallen kind.
One by one they released their hold
falling silently, gracefully
in their final unique fashion:
Some swayed. Others pirouetted;
and many more, somersaulting
into their final resting place.
Sunbeams from an October star
spilt rippling puddles of warm light
on their multicolored remains
amid the vibrant wildflowers.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Albert Camus
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Greens Of These Trees These Leaves
THE GREENS OF THESE TREES THESE LEAVES
The greens of these trees these leaves
The many shades of green-
Olive green and deep dark green and yellow green
And greens I see but have no name for-
So many shades of light and beauty in green
And I with my eyes loving them all
And delighted and made happy by them all-
Wondering why and how God's world
Has so so much Beauty
Just in green alone -
And being deep in happiness
At being alive
And loving them more
In regretting why and how
I will not one day soon
be able to see them again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Since That Is Nature's Way
By their deciduous mother tree on the grass they do lay
The brown leaves of the Autumn have gone to decay
The magpie is piping in the dawn cool and gray
And life it goes on since that is Nature's way
Like her Seasons her life forms to Nature come and go
Yet so little of her ways we can claim to know
I marvel at the wonders in Nature I see
But Nature remains as a mystery to me
The beauty in Nature is ours to enjoy
I first fell in love with her as a young boy
And though the father of time mercy for us don't show
My wonderment of her only seems to grow
The brown leaves of Autumn lay near their mother tree
And the fate that befell them is also for me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Only On This Day...
For: J.L.
It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.
Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?
Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.
Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.
Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.
Days Like This...Remind Me Of You
It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.
Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?
Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.
Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.
Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.