AUTUMN
leaves of gold and orange and crimson flame
across every roadway,
line canyons on upslopes and shimmer
in open meadow sunlight
bold and sharp color wraps round my yard
weaves through my hedges
cheers loudly along the riverside path
months before autumn sends forth its familiar shiver
robins weave their nests in sturdy crotches of naked limbs
to wait as spring awakens in ruffles of pale green chiffon
like the hesitating entry of young maidens
tittering and blushing at their first dance
then days and nights of stuffy rooms, while outside
scarlet roses clamor wildly up the trellis by the door
supple vines full with thumb-sized blackberries tug at sagging fences
honey bees buzz lazily
lavender and mint thicken the air with sweetness
in autumn comes the leavings –
of former selves, disillusioned lovers, shallow friends and weary elders –
lives once aflame with possibility and hope
fading and turning to rust at the doorstep
whisked along back alleys by chilly gusts of what is yet to be
yet while they linger
gray embers of remembrance
stir into crackling blazes that warm
winter nights of dreams
phyllis boernke © october 2013
O O O O O O
leaves of gold and orange and crimson flame
across every roadway,
line canyons on upslopes and shimmer
in open meadow sunlight
bold and sharp color wraps round my yard
weaves through my hedges
cheers loudly along the riverside path
months before autumn sends forth its familiar shiver
robins weave their nests in sturdy crotches of naked limbs
to wait as spring awakens in ruffles of pale green chiffon
like the hesitating entry of young maidens
tittering and blushing at their first dance
then days and nights of stuffy rooms, while outside
scarlet roses clamor wildly up the trellis by the door
supple vines full with thumb-sized blackberries tug at sagging fences
honey bees buzz lazily
lavender and mint thicken the air with sweetness
in autumn comes the leavings –
of former selves, disillusioned lovers, shallow friends and weary elders –
lives once aflame with possibility and hope
fading and turning to rust at the doorstep
whisked along back alleys by chilly gusts of what is yet to be
yet while they linger
gray embers of remembrance
stir into crackling blazes that warm
winter nights of dreams
phyllis boernke © october 2013
O O O O O O
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