I thought this was a good time for a look back. Autumn has taken hold full force here on Bramlett Mountain, with the leaves blushing orange, gold, and crimson and the trees letting them go to ride the wind. The hummingbirds have set flight to the tropics. The days are growing shorter and the mornings are dusted lightly with frost.
As I reflected on the past several months of poems that made it to the page despite my too busy life, I was struck by how moved I was to read the words again. It’s been an unsettling time for the world at large, and in my own corner of it, having let go yet another life-long companion to the rainbow. Four sweet souls this year. Gone. I don’t know that I have fully grieved for each of them as their departures came too soon…always too soon…before I could catch my breath, another and another.
Because of all this, it seems my writing is tinged with melancholy. And yet joy has a way of breaking through even in the darkest of times. Nature reminds us it’s time to let go, to slow down, to rest. I’m listening. How ripe am I for resting, for breathing deeply…for letting go!
A ReVerse Poem - Sunday, October 16, 2022
despair is like a tidal wave there is not much that can be said your dreams are clinging on the brink the wind rushed trees, the sky, dark gray there’s a special place in hell for you, just beyond the veil, while we weep joy breaks through of resilience, audacity, of life.. as most lives go, pendulums swing as the world grows darker by the day the bitter and the sweet you will wonder where time’s gone, to embrace moments of joy, how odd it feels like a whisper summer fades fall leaves, gone with the wind
A ReVerse poem (a practice I started many years ago) is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time.
take care, what you wish for little tree; don’t rush to blush amidst midsummer’s balmy haze, for summer comes but once a season; take your cue from elder trees, their lavish manes of sparkling emerald, chartreuse and sage, wisdom comes from weathering life’s cycles, grace and age, and autumn, with her cool dawn snap will be here soon enough you’ll see; so entertain the breeze and dance, while dusk holds back the shade of night, your dreams will keep, they’re never late, but lie in wait until the time is right…oh little tree stay green, let your sprouting limbs grow strong stretch your roots into the loam that holds the memories of home in just a blink your innocence will be laid bare, as winter’s snow becomes your hair, the night will wrap you tight and long and you will wonder where time’s gone, and think about the summers passed, while drifting off to sleep
stop trying to please and take some time for you to smell spring’s sweetness in the moments after the rain roses misted, dressed in red
NaPoWriMo2022 -Day 6 Prompt: write a variation of an acrostic poem. But rather than spelling out a word with the first letters of each line, I’d like you to write a poem that reproduces a phrase with the first words of each line.
i’ve been watching the great oak in my yard for several years now… she doesn’t play by the rules of autumn, clinging tightly to faded, parched leaves against the fiercest of tempests, through ice and heavy lobs of wet snow, though her branches may bend to almost breaking, she holds fast i don’t know what to think of such a tree, is it vanity, stubbornness, a lapse of memory? for as sure as summer drifts to autumn and autumn to winter, spring will come as the sun grows warm and days grow long, life will begin to surge through her veins causing buds to burst, at long last setting their departed siblings free to ride the wind, to taste the earthen loam, to rest, to rest in peace in a sea of greening
i’ve been known to be stubborn, to cling too tightly to things not meant for me, to useless longing for what once was, my memory forgetful of the struggles of those glorified once upon a times, and time again i have been known to stand full-faced against a tempest, convinced i held on and on for virtue’s sake, believing martyrdom raised me up, oh there it is, the vanity, how loathsome to be a tree that can’t let go when letting go is one’s very destiny… letting go to ride the wind, to fall to pieces, to trust the seasons, to know that whatever is left of me is all i need and here, now is where i’m meant to be
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