The dark comes quickly on.
Leaves fall in the park.
And I remember that early September
Has come, bringing Autumn.
And summer has gone.
But I can not repent
Of autumn’s sweet scent
Or grieve over fallen leaves
For she is beauty.
These fallen leaves
Blown by Autumn breeze
Call to me
And say, “be free”
The wild wind
Blows strong and free.
While these leaves
Blow hither and thither
In the breeze.
I would rather be
The eternal wind.
But if I could fly
Like these Autumn leaves.
I might, for a while
Feel I was free.
These fallen leaves
On the cold January ground
Send a message profound.
I am bound
To be as these leaves
And fertilize the ground.
In honour of December, I am posting a poem from my collection More Poetic Meanderings, entitled In Early December:
“In early December
November’s leaves still adorn
The woodland lawn.
Man’s pattern is made
In light and shade
And the gardener’s rake
Rakes all leaves”.
More Poetic Meanderings is available in Kindle and paperback from Amazon and can be found here, https://www.amazon.co.uk/More-Poetic-Meanderings-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B0BZT9G139/
You can access a recording of me reading More Poetic Meanderings on Soundcloud here, https://soundcloud.com/kevin-stephen-morris/poet-kevin-morris-reading-from-his-collection-more-poetic-meanderings-part-1
It will be minus 3 tonight.
The light
Dies fast in winter.
There is a splinter
Of ice in my heart
With which I make art.
True, sometimes the sun breaks through.
But for now I rhyme
Of wintertime.
Spring will bring birdsong
But winter’s splinter is forever part
Of my poet’s heart.
Though birdsong does not last long
It may live on
When I am gone
In a rhyme of my wintertime.
On an autumn day
I heard the sound
Of children at play.
My brown
Has gone grey.
Leaves fall
And the ground
Takes all
Our leaves away.
Why do I
Obsess over fallen leaves?
Should I lie
And try to pretend
There is no end?
Trees do not grieve
For fallen leaves.
Nor will I,
For all must die.
Yet I see
A poignant beauty
In these bare trees
And Autumn leaves.
In her rush
A young woman’s heels
Cruelly crush leaves.
The ageing poet sees
Autumn has come.
He feels girl’s heels
Carelessly kick away
The once green leaves
Of his May.
These autumn leaves
Remind me
Of my mortality.
Winter’s knife
Chops down life.
And trees
In spring bring
Forth leaves
And I recall
We all
Are of earth
And turf.
Sometimes my belief
Is that grief
Conquers all.
Then I recall
The air
In late August
Carrying hay
And coming Autumn.
Such sweet air
Carries no despair.
