uncountable , brown collateral
- mulch of a future generation
and, every second, a dry cornflake floats
or plummets onto muddy autumn ground;
to be soaked and eaten by water, worms and
earth.
Whilst airborne, no longer fixed or allied
to a mother tree with her branch and fire;
deep, deep roots,
but, re-formed, sways away from her great
connection
(with soft-hard edges) into a new
collective.
Heading for chemical, mineral, damned decay
in a spinning fall from old body to new
body
at the turn of the season, heading
inevitably into
a turn of the year.
I loved this, so often I find seasonal poetry descending into sappy sentiment tired over worked you have to like because gosh dang it not likeing would be like kicking a kitten. this is fresh, you paint word pictures I haven't seen before and so perfectly capture that dark end of fall when the air turns raw and the leaf peepers have scurried home with their postcards.
ReplyDeleteJohn,
ReplyDeleteA very thematic poem, which is not only autumnal, but covers life itself.
Found you via Twitter and adding your Blog.
Eileen :)
beyondconfines.blogspot.co.uk
John,
ReplyDeleteYour poetic painting of fall flows flawlessly. Thank you for sharing. I am looking forward to reading more of your art.
Peace & Blessings,
Rennell