The brutal autumn wind
batters bloody leaves
whose once green ranks have thinned
a bony mother grieves
(her histrionic limbs
attack what she believes
is sky) but barely skims
the vastness of the space
through which this season swims
intractably keeping pace
to frigidly rescind
our fleeting chance for grace.
Are You Reading Me?
This one keenly juxtaposes the typical feel-good warmth of the most fall poems. Well done!
ReplyDeleteI so love this, especially "our fleeting chance for grace".
ReplyDeleteWow, all the vivid images that arrive~ I love it~
ReplyDeleteYou paint a much harsher picture of the season, as though winter had snuck like a killer in the night, then fled and hid out in January.
ReplyDeleteI loved your histrionic mother against the sky
ReplyDeleteOoohh...'batters bloody leaves.' Nicely done!
ReplyDeletenice imagery
ReplyDeleteHi, I'm glad everyone 'saw' my images, it's been a harsh year in my area and the landscape reflects it, hard not to write about it.
ReplyDelete