A winter frost stills
an ever changing pattern
of autumn’s fallen leaves
Tag: autumn
Parks & Recreation
empty autumn
crows roost
on leaf-littered
picnic tables
Two Old-Timers
a stately tree forsook
the youthful whimsies that shook
it strongly
in the autumn wind
and lived a hundred years
and more, by the shore
of the river where it was planted
until a gale came
that finally made it bend
into an embrace of water:
there they were content to spend
(two wizened, conspiring friends)
the rest of winter
Trajectories
I envy the leaf
drifting on the wind
without fear of
wrong turns
a brief, but gentle
trajectory
Look, but don’t touch
mincing on
mud-slung boots
a child dances around
a bed of fallen leaves:
orange fields
to be kept
and savored
Final Spell
A collaborative poem between me and Morgan from booknvolume written specifically for Halloween. Morgan was another early poet I met here on WordPress and her poetry contains a startling beauty few can capture. The poem below is also posted at her site. Please visit to explore more of Morgan’s offerings!

Willows Whisper in muted Tones
O’er the graveyard’s Hallow Groans,
While the Pale Moon Silently Sails
The Midnight Hour where Darkness Prevails.
Was that the Stir of Some Ghostly Spectre?
Here Upon this Unkempt Hectare
Do the Wails of Mournful Souls Resound
On this Night when They Roam, Unbound?
Shadows Ripple, Light Shifts and Bends,
Echoing Wails as the Witching Hour Ascends,
Ribbon of Moonlight upon the Darkling Road
Where Underworld Denizens Taunt and Goad.
Scrambling, Groping for a dimly Lit Path,
I Come Again Under a Spiritual Attack
And Cry and Plead for an Exit Most Needed
Before the Foul Ghouls will have Succeeded.
Ebon Night Resounding round
As the Earth moves with rumbling Sound,
Feel the Icy Grip of Mortal Fear
E’en as Glowing Matin draws Near.
With One Last Breath, I Cry to You
To Act with Caution and Beware of Fools
On Halloween, They’ve Caught Me at Last
Against Moonbeams, the Final Spell is Cast!
Ladybugs
round leaves along branches
turn red and become a busy
gathering of ladybugs
Harvest Moon
towards glass skyscrapers
a curious moon drifts down
orange reflection
What’s to be done?
the bare trees
stand around milling
bending to
and conferring with
one another
shaking their heads
at the foliage
at their feet
Not Yet, Pumpkins
Gold-faced or rosy-cheeked
Some last ripening apples
For the season’s late pickers