No Sight Can Be More Autumnal
No sight can be more autumnal
than that of my garden
Tenanted by an autumnal person
weary of the world!
poem by Sugawara Takesue no Musume
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The autumnal princess...
One step further to the winter
Two steps further to the spring
The autumnal princess danced
On the silvery feathered wind
Like a lotus flower of pearl
She coverts the sleepy world
And soothes the mirrored stars
In reflective blue stone hearts
By piecing snowdrops of pearl
The oracle amethyst of her eye
Divides a world of brittle pleasure
An autumnal garden of treasure;
That within her lips of autumns gold
-is wrought to rest the woodlands fold
And on her pallid breast that humbles not
Shall be tarried a harvest moon forgot.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Sunny Afternoon
A branch rocks me in the deep blue.
In the frolicking, autumnal leaf-tangle
Moths flicker, intoxicated and crazy.
Ax blows resound in the floodplain.
My mouth bites into red berries
And light and shadows sway in the foliage.
For hours golden dust falls
Crackling in the brown ground.
The thrush laughs from the bushes
And frolicking and loudly the autumnal leaf-tangle
Strikes together above me -
Fruits detach bright and heavy.
poem by Georg Trakl
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The Old Lowe House, Staten Island
Another prospect pleased the builder's eye,
And Fashion tenanted (where Fashion wanes)
Here in the sorrowful suburban lanes
When first these gables rose against the sky.
Relic of a romantic taste gone by,
This stately monument alone remains,
Vacant, with lichened walls and window-panes
Blank as the windows of a skull. But I,
On evenings when autumnal winds have stirred
In the porch-vines, to this gray oracle
Have laid a wondering ear and oft-times heard,
As from the hollow of a stranded shell,
Old voices echoing (or my fancy erred)
Things indistinct, but not insensible.
poem by Alan Seeger
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Three Tulips For The Ultimate Fate Of The Universe
In the door frame
Your spinal column
Your immaculate neck
By nightfall
Your commuter train
Or in an airplane cockpit
An alabaster jar
At the imperial garden
You sit on the autumnal bench
Near a hummingbird
From the cheekbone
To the corners of your mouth
Until the clouds go by
You sigh
A smile
A sweet kiss on my right hand
(Music by Jeff Stonehouse) .
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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An Ode To The Detached Leaves
Ah! The blows of autumnal wind,
Cold and callous, have encroached at last,
They have made the leaves their victims.
Look! they fall like drops of rain,
Bearing no strength of their own.
They move with the gushes of wind,
Without their own consent,
They oscillate on the wings of some invisible agents,
Who possess the secret powers,
To dispose what one proposes.
I recall once they were attached hard,
To the branches and boughs of the shadowy trees;
And sap ran into their veins,
As blood runs into the human network;
And they fluttered resisting each coldhearted gust.
They were resolute to go through each ebb and flow,
Establishing firm relations to the nourishing limbs.
And Mother Nature came stealthily to give them wash,
At the moonlit nights with the drops of dew.
While they fluttered, they produced symphony,
Unknown even to the ancient master musicians;
And they whispered in mysterious sounds,
Only understood by the cuckoos or nightingales:
The singers and agents of the feral world.
Now they rustle with each move of the autumnal gusts,
Or crackle under the feet like too crispy dried petals;
And some float on the stagnant water with green surface.
Ah! 21st century is the dawn of autumnal winds,
The blows and fatal gusts have diverted the civilizations,
And they now move on the tracks of conflicts,
Human beings fall like leaves, waft along the blows,
Detaching themselves from the nourishing boughs
And shadowy branches of faith, love and tolerance.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Rashers of bacon—
sun has made an omelet
Autumnal breakfast
haiku by Mark Heathcote
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Reflecting water
Entwine memory pictures
In autumnal woods
haiku by Peter S. Quinn
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No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
quote by John Donne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.
quote by P.D. James
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autumn It Is
AUTUMN IT IS
Foot sinking into green carpet’s moss
Natural earthly tender cross
Autumnal soul of the forests
Lingering sounds up the crests
Open wide bird’s prison cage
Finally free it hurridly escapes
Trees foliage slowly undresses
leaves into mud get pressed
Follow the winding road
Away of hunting crowd
Listen to nature’s silence
Free of human’s guidance
Riverbed serpentine overflows
Hush hush sound of crows
Mist swallows surroundings
Swirls the breeze in bindings
Shadowy sceneries autumnal
Such a magnificent proposal
Yellow orange brown and prune
Turning into a painter’s colored tune
Autumn it is
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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A collage of dry leaves,
autumnal hues still alive;
fresh flowers fade, wilt.
haiku by Mamta Agarwal
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Valor is abraded
Soldier of oddities, autumnal fog
aborning valor, confer to overfly
recalling his home, in misty bog
counting raindrops, of a gray sky..
Valor is abraded, functions a log,
his red diluted, in drizzle complies
Maiden of oddities, autumnal rain,
recalls his dark uniform, and rank,
he smiled departing, in dark train,
acclaiming prowess, his eyes sunk..
Rain drops fall from skies above,
adorning a smile, clouds to assay,
he stares in solitude, a courtly love,
her sweet glance, upon their quay..
Friendly raindrops. of a gray sky,
form splendid, in clouds ascends,
staring at cumulus, a mizzle nigh,
sweetly waving, amid his friends..
Honor is abraded, beckons away,
his crimson diluted, in rain amends.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Autumn In Bright
Cast in autumnal glow
all muted colours
faded reds and burnished golds
leaves
soft as the fading light
drifting to black.
poem by Vince Gullaci
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Hour of Grief
Blackish the step follows the gleaming moon
In the autumnal garden,
The immense night sinks by the freezing wall.
O, the thorny hour of grief.
Silverly the candlestick of the lonely one flickers in the dusking room,
Dying away, when that one thinks a darkness
And bends the stony head over the perishable,
Drunk from wine and nightly harmonies.
The ear always follows
The soft lament of the blackbird in the hazel bushes.
Dark rosary hour. Who are you
Lonesome flute,
Forehead, bent over sinister times freezing.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Fragment: The Vine-Shroud
Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow
Beneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee;
For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below
The rotting bones of dead antiquity.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Alankar(Decor) -67
Autumnal Sport(Equinox) -Kyrielle sonnet poem
a 14 line poem-3 quatrains and a couplet
syllabic,8 syllables per line.
rhyme scheme AabB ccbB ddbB AB or AbaB cbcB dbdB AB.
composed with a refrain in the last line of each stanza.
L1 is repeated as L13 and L4 is repeated as L8, L12 and L14.
composed with no prescribed pivot however those that I have read usually pivot between the 2nd and 3rd quatrains.
Autumnal Sport(Equinox)
His play has begun and he moves
Knowing of time to play her moves
They are apart in playing mood
Hide and seek in set somewhat good
Azure is hidden, the sun too
Hiding, the passing clouds to do
Clement earth is pleased in good mood
Hide and seek in set somewhat good
Their diction of laughing applause
Flora, fauna drizzle while toss
Them the guiding winds in sound mood
Hide and seek in set somewhat good
His play has begun and he moves
Hide and seek in set somewhat good
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Elegy On The Garden Flat
Spiders like you've never eaten,
born in the night, in out of the rain.
That's the inevitable souvenir
of a year spent hunched beneath
new webs, spent stiffening shoulders
at the minute threshold of a tense cavity
- the freshly acquired taste for arachnids.
(A moment's silence
as we remember the day
we flushed the wiped-up trails away.)
We never found out where they came in
or, indeed, where they went out. And if.
You swore you heard crunching in the carpet.
*
Leaves died, and after them, the trees. And
when the rain came, the autumnal drains
would drown at our doorstep. Nature had
a habit of being intimate, to the extent of
being intrusive.
And as for the garden flat -
each saturated twist of leg
and grounded wet wing
would go there to die.
poem by Liam Wilkinson
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Talking to yourself blues.
The phone`s not going
To ring you know!
The clock ticks your life away.
On a sunny autumnal day in the country.
Damn!
How i wish,
I had that book of addresses
To console myself
Of friendlier days.
But that phone`s not going to ring oh!
I`ve got to go out
And bring about.
Some changes without
To within.
poem by Peter Vealey
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September Stream
Fallen to the wash
Dead leaves in September
There only to float away
A sign of seasons change
Autumnal picture postcard
In the landscape which we walk
Pathways losing shade and shelter
Bare branches rise above
Flower heads falling away
Leaving bowed stems
Tall grass and broken sticks
Leaves blown to the water
To be washed away
The world in all its movement
The world amid its change
The cycle of everything
Now seen in the dying leaves
Falling and taken away
In a September stream
poem by Matthew Holloway
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