Autumn (a Poem)

fall

Apples, red and green, spilling from the trees.

Pulling pumpkins from the garden, everything’s deceased.

Spices wafting up from pie, cobblers dripping oats,

fruity cider with cinnamon, hot drinks begin to flow.

Football games outdoors require hoods and fleece.

Watch the breath mist out, squeezing hands up long sleeves.

Smoke billows from houses as fireplaces are lit,

pulling blankets out while checking slippers’ fit.

Trees of sugar maple, birch, elm, ash and oak

reveal their fading colors – red, orange, maroon and gold.

Leaves crunch underfoot, frost glitters across the lawn.

Berries pop from hid’n branches during fall’s crisp morning dawn.

So many sounds, smells, tastes and touches of the season,

it rolls on by too quick then its winter and we’re freezin’.

Books

books

The sweet leather smell, brings dreams to my mind

of treasures and islands, and love so divine.

Remembering Austen, Bronte, Dickens, Carroll and Suess

Their words were so focused, their stories, bits of truth.

Society lies. Current styles are just snippets in time.

Ugly, silly, dark stormy nights, humanity grieves and repeats the lies.

Over and over, here we go again, recycling fashions, battling wars,

someone gets dead, someone gets more, but wealth is not the all of import.

The ingredients for good story are love, money and/or lack of these.

The writer writes with flourish, as protagonist falls to their knees.

A hero arises, be it male or female, a villain’s destroyed, by an unknown skill.

Words flow onto pages, be it computer, typewriter or paper and quill.

Give me my books for I cannot deny, I’m addicted to story,

Reading, writing and applying those words to my life.

 

“This Land is Your Land” etc.

I recently did a writing exercise in my writers’ group that called for us to add verses to the song by Woodie Guthrie. Here’s my additions to the age old song – remember to sing as it’s just a bit of fun:

Riding down river, tubing Mississippi

The golden sunlight peeked through the leaves

It shined warmly upon my face

This land was made for you and me.

 

Crashing to the side of the riverbank

My tube caught a hole, and I almost sank

I stood in the mud praising God for life

This land was made for you and me.

 

The ranger found me, all wet and muddy

His blue eyes sparkled, his muscles studly

He gave me a ride, back down the mountain

This land was made for you and me.

 

Now he loves me, and I am getting

(Oh that sweet ranger), a country wedding

I’ll be so pretty in my tubing swimsuit,

This land was made for you and me.