November

hear the shivers
in the birches
the hiss of the fallen
watch the dance of the nearly naked
in the hustle rustle
of the morning music
Even the modesty of the oaks
has given up her tattered brown dress
to the siren call of the wind song
the return
of long lost friends
as they remember the feeders and the corn.
The frost on their feet but a trifle
they huddle together and eat
squeeze the last
of the mild
from the mornings
and in the chill of an early fall
wrap warmly around the coming season
the quiet morning
avian company
and tea

So This is Fall

She walks
Step quick
Clad in her autumn’s best
burgundy turtleneck sweter
Blue scarf
Crean chrocheted hat
with holes
don’t want to over do too soon
Navy wool pants
Gloves
She walks
Through the morning streets
clad for the season
if not the weather
Autumn
not fall
nothing falls
In central Texas
74 degrees shows
on the digital read
just past
her “it’s chilly” gate
Ah
the sights
the smells and taste
of autumn
where autumn never truly comes.

Here In My Autum

Here

I am comfortable here

here in the autumn of my youth

I am here

My hair

It changes now

in my autumn

I watch as it dries

changing color

falling out slowly

yet managing to save a few

straggling remainers.

The bloom of spring

and the heat of summer

have crept away

the warmth of my days

give way to the chill

that creeps into my soul

in the frost of a lonely night

yet warms again

as the sun creeps in

I cling to the knowledge

that

as the seasons pass

and one beauty merges

with the next

that I am here

and I am growing

and even if you cannot see

the blood in my veins

as the sap

still runs

and all I need

I find.

 

(Contest entry on Allpoetry.com)