Holly
Lisle's Vision
Autumn
in Poetry
By
Jennifer St. Clair Bush
Poetry Moderator
©2001,
Jennifer St. Clair Bush
Autumn
caught me unawares again this year. I blinked in April and when I opened my eyes
the summer was gone, a passing memory never to return. The trees have begun to
turn. Their leaves cast red and gold flames into the air when the wind blows,
reminding everyone that winter is coming soon, and with it, a new year.
I’m
not sure if autumn outshines any other season in poetry, but it does host its
share of unique occurrences: the harvest, Thanksgiving, Halloween, and the
changing of the weather, reminding us all that winter is right around the
corner. Autumn is quiet time for me, a chance to look back on my accomplishments
or failures of the past year. It gives me a chance to prepare for winter and the
coldness that comes with snow and ice.
To
me, autumn is the crunch of leaves under my feet when I walk down the street,
the chatter of squirrels as they gather food for the winter to come, the bright
splash of reds and golds that make my fingers itch for a camera. It is the
crispness in the air and the changing of my wardrobe. It is apple cider and
pumpkin pie. It is Thanksgiving, the yearly craft show and frost.
The
poetry of autumn is usually filled with familiar sights and sounds, but it can
also be filled with the smell of a loaf of freshly baked bread, spaghetti sauce
simmering on the stove and filling the entire house with the pungent scent of
tomatoes, herbs, and spices, or the familiar cry of trick-or-treaters as they
walk from door to door in their fantastical costumes.
When
you are writing autumn poetry, as with any other season, draw on your own
experiences of autumn and share what this season means to you. Your poetry will
not only have deeper meaning to both you and your readers, but it will also
strike a chord that will bridge whatever gaps you and your readers might
possess.
Lost
in my thoughts,
I
did not notice the passage of the seasons.
Summer
fled in the wake of spring’s fury,
And
autumn crept in unawares when my back was turned.
I
blinked, and the trees were in flame.
The
air grew cold against my wondering skin.
I
found forgotten money
in
the pocket of a jacket I needed to wash.
Perhaps
I should
dust
off that list of resolutions
while
I still have time.
The
New Year beckons on the horizon,
and
this year is fading fast.
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