The Fall

Imagine all the leaves on trees,
Are persons waving in the breeze
Of spring and summer—soon to fall,
They live in harmony with all.

Through sun and rain they float on air,
Extend to others, kindness—care;
They open themselves to shelter wings,
Without complaint or any strings.

Come autumn and our dear ones drop;
The wild-eyed winds each stripling, strop,
Then we step up to rake them in—
Souls of the Dead, unstained by sin.

We toss them on their funeral pyre,
To watch their flames dance ever higher,
Float up to Heaven’s Gate, unbarred,
And rightly claim their just reward.

Kathleen Mortensen © 2008

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Autumnal Apologia

Don’t write of every one that falls, from branch at Autumn-time;
Resist those vibrant colours gone to rust and gold, from lime.
No need to mark the pull of breeze that tugs from tender tree;
Better men than we, have said it all, so leave it be.

Don’t speak of sugared-maples, in their burning-glory daze;
Of lazy oaks, slow-turning acorns’ minions to a blaze,
Of dogwood’s purple palmates; birches, high, of honeyed hue;
Abundant odes of homage have been writ to pay their due.

And yet, the flutter, floating free, that carries each one down,
The dance of profuse partners, tumbling, tripping top to crown,
Can turn the head unfailingly, the pen to page, so fleet,
Each instance when a leaf descends to earth, its end to meet.

So we’ll forgive the impulse, once again, to talk of this:
Nature’s shedding season, bedding down for winter’s kiss.

Kat Mortensen©2010

The Poetry Bus – Meeting of Minds

Argent is driving the bus this week and the challenge is to write a piece about meetings.  (Please click on the link for all Poetry Bus riders.)

My initial impulse in response, was to attempt to pull together my reading of “Ulysses” with the Poetry Bus and I was almost there, but it still needs much work to pull it off.

This morning, I was looking out the kitchen window of my apartment as I buttered my toast and was moved to grab my pen and a pad of paper.  I hope you like the result.  The “meeting” is subtle, but I’m sure you’ll appreciate it.

 

AUTUMNAL  APOLOGIA

Don’t write of every one that falls from branch at Autumn-time;
Resist those vibrant colours gone to rust and gold, from lime.
No need to mark the pull of breeze that tugs from tender tree;
Better men than we, have said it all, so leave it be.

Don’t speak of sugared-maples, in their burning-glory daze;
Of lazy oaks, slow-turning acorns’ minions to a blaze,
Of dogwood’s purple palmates; birches, high, of honeyed hue;
Abundant odes of homage have been writ to pay their due,

And yet, the flutter, floating—free, that carries each one down—
The dance of profuse partners, tumbling, tripping top to crown,
Can turn the head unfailingly; the pen to page, so fleet;
Each instance when a leaf descends to earth, its end to meet.

So, we’ll forgive the impulse once again to talk of this:
Nature’s shedding season, bedding down for winter’s kiss.

Kat Mortensen©2010 
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Haiku #21 – Autumn

Haiku: A Japanese lyric verse form having three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables, traditionally invoking an aspect of nature or the seasons.
Senryu: a poem that is written in a similar form and emphasizes irony, satire, humor, and human foibles…
Haiga: a style of Japanese painting based on the aesthetics of haikai, and usually including a haiku. Today, haiga artists combine haiku with paintings, photographs and other art.
(So says Wikipedia.)

Photo by Kat

Sloughing spiraea
Gilt leaves twinkle to earth—
Glittering galaxy.

Kat Mortensen©2009

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Haiku #19 – Autumn

Haiku: A Japanese lyric verse form having three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables, traditionally invoking an aspect of nature or the seasons.
Senryu: a poem that is written in a similar form and emphasizes irony, satire, humor, and human foibles…

Haiga: a style of Japanese painting based on the aesthetics of haikai, and usually including a haiku. Today, haiga artists combine haiku with paintings, photographs and other art.
(So says Wikipedia.)



Photo by Kat

Respite from the pile
Leaves daunt their adversary—
No rake’s progress.

Kat Mortensen©2009

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