WE CALL IT FALL

 

From our porch’s three seasons venue

The usual autumn views

But Erato prods

What’s new?

Wind rifling our trees

Being neighborly with our colors

The gravity of this situation

Does make me wonder

Is this why we call it “fall?”

 

Up the hill

Sunlight highlights the kill

Tall trees' rotting leaves

Obit

A color blast to remember

The end of October

And early November

 

Many songbirds will disappear

They sensed what looms

And will, as snowbirds do, warm their cheer

 

We do welcome

The hardy juncos

And other up-north visitors

With heated water

And stable food supplies

 

Their winter presence

We celebrate

 

With one caveat

Mr. and Mrs. Mouse

It can be dangerous

Inside our house

 

DRK

10/4/23

   OCTOBER LITANY

October’s winds, blowing in
Another winter

Practice now with leaves
Challenge the snow later

Stir me up and get me out

Snow blower and shovels ready?
    Lord help me prepare
Lawnmower?
    Lord, stow it where?
Paint or caulk?
    Lord, help me prepare
Windows, doors, weather stripping?
    Lord, help me secure
Snow tires?
    Lord, help me prepare

Gutters checked?
    Lord, keep them clear
Plants to bring in
     Lord, they’ll need some care

Windshield scraper, I left where?
    Lord, help me remember
The heated bird bath?
    Lord, it will soon be December
Firewood ordered?
    Lord, help me remember
Hoses put away?
    Lord, I could have done that in September



DRK
5/2/16

   OCTOBER BLIZZARD

Lacy locust leaves
Yellow October blizzard
Expectations swirl

DRK 10/19/15

  WATCHING THE FROST MELT ON MY NEIGHBOR’S ROOF


Sunshine lights our morning room,
enhancing colors, muted
after noon.

Across the street, facing west,
her house, next in line, for the October sun
to warm its roof.
By eight a toe-hold gained,
then a northward march
across the expanse of flat
frosted white.

One cup of coffee
and today’s work is done.
Her roof, returned to shingle tint.
Our room, again in shade.
The sun, arcing on,
risks being less
without one man’s regard.

DRK
Oct. 26, 2012

 

PEACHTREE

It's time to acknowledge the end of the show
The last yellow leaves
On our backyard birch
Flutter in the cold
Hanging on for dear life and
Their one chance
To experience snow

Autumn began with my favorite tree
A maple, but to me, a peach
Not the one you stand beneath
But the one you strain to reach
Young, light green with fuzz
And a tinge of red

A tinge that used to lead the way

My autumn omen 
For an evolving color blast

New every year

But not this time

A summer storm wrenched that tree

Not even a stump remains

Its early coloring, a sign it seems
Of disease

Across the street

Favorite number two

Taller

With a magnificent spray of orange

which segue's to black branches
And dead dangling leaves
To spook Halloween

The usual progression did occur

A hard freeze whooshed us through
Brilliant reds

And gorgeous oranges and yellows

On the trees 

 

And underneath for a day or two

Then, browned, piled and kicked around

They traveled with the wind from yard to yard

DRK

11/9/19

 

THE SOUND OF HARVEST

HINT:  NOT SILENCE

 

Did you hear it?

The clatter-whump of walnuts 

One minute, hidden up there

The next,

One hundred and forty-one

From tree to grass in seconds

Awesome

Carole counted as she raked, picked

And stored in a yard waste bin

Wait.  Twenty one more in the flower beds

 

The tree sighed in relief

Mission done, nuts on the ground

A gazillion leaves on the way

See you in the spring

 

DRK

9/20/23

 

 

GHOSTS IN THE QUAD

We                                                         

drift in unseen

to view vacant places

when others leave.

Podiums, distinguished chairs,

or various labs –

once our commands –

now, haunts,

hallowed campus spaces

through which we used to volley

lectures, handouts,                                  

and other old tools of the trade

at targets

claiming to seek betterment.                

Now we catch our wind,       

amazed at today’s ways

passing through

our faded substance.

                              

With no grindstones to nose,

we enjoy the pleasures

of gardens, bookstores, libraries,

old pathways and cafes, 

and scavenge for hints of the leavings,

we once thought useful –

enough to will to a future –

which now requests

money.      

DRK

7/29/09
7/7/16