Tag Archives: Autumn

a shadorma for autumn

blustery
billows cool and damp
ride the wind
frost the dawn
like a whisper summer fades
autumn blushes rouge

~kat

A Shadorma (3/5/3/3/7/5) is a fun short form. NO metering, no rhyming…just count syllables.


autumn dawning

autumn dawning

there’s a nip in the air
cricket-song muted
and the random trill
of winter birds breaks
the din, “i am still here”,
they seem to say,
my senses come to life
this time of year, not
in springtime, nor summer,
certainly not in sleepy winter,
but autumn, when sunlight
through the trees bends
into shades of gold,
chartreuse and amber,
warm on my full face
my skin tingling cool,
when the loam prepares
her nest to welcome home
leaves set free on the wind,
when the calendar meanders
slowly toward year’s end
urging me to loose my own
burdens for a brief spell,
survival, loss, longing,
to embrace moments of joy,
peace, contentment, love,
to breathe…
to bake bread for breaking
to make soup for sharing,
to don sweaters and socks,
to tuck my feet into
the crook of an oversized
chair, while sipping tea with
honey as the days grow shorter,
and the gloaming blooms vibrant
streams of crimson, “i am still
here”, i muse, “i am still here”

~kat

letting go

letting go

from a distance
letting go takes one’s breath
a symphony of amber, crimson,
gold, emerald summer flare
fading, cool winds of change
wooing us to dance like dervishes
to break free of all bounds, to ride
the gale with abandon, to flutter
softly to the earth, in afterglow
of ecstasy, to drink the dew, to sleep
letting go takes one’s breath
from a distance

when one draws near
there’s no denying truth
clarity, reality, convey a somber
view of brittle bones, age-dappled
skin, fragile veins, the cusp of
death, spring, summer, now autumn
fading, letting go, the grim final
hurrah that exposes our nakedness
letting go is not so pretty, we cling,
longing for a spring we’ll never see
there’s no denying truth
when one draws near

in the end
when all is said and done
when all that is left of us is dust
when the earth reclaims our mortal
shell, what stories will our brief life
tell, memories perhaps of greening,
vibrant, shading, dancing, dreaming,
kissed by sun, caressed in moon glow,
brief, a blip, we laughed, we loved,
we lived life full…oh how we loved!
when all is said and done
in the end

~kat

equinox

Equinox 

1-
the day and gloam meet
subtle wafts of musky air,
leaves, weary of summer heat
crisp, clinging tight where
parched sap chokes mid-limb, no life to spare

2-
pencils freshly sharp
notes of soft wood, shaved lead, tools
of learning the three R’s, art,
notebooks, college-ruled
students, masked, head anxiously to school

3-
pumpkin that and this,
ad nauseam, morning brew
concoctions promising bliss
at a price, it’s new
again, some wait all year, sad but true

4-
blink and time is gone
soft body, aching, graying,
dreams unrealized, nights long
and dark, days fading
winter coming soon, too soon, just saying

5-
another harvest
wisdom gleaned from books and tears
choose your poison, leave the rest
the death we most fear…
not living life full while we are here

~kat
A new form, to me at least, lured me from hiding…actually, forced me from what has become the chaos of surviving. I paired it with my own creation, the horatiodet. Ode to my favorite season. 

The cadralor is a poem of 5, unrelated, numbered stanzaic images, each of which can stand alone as a poem, is fewer than 10 lines, and ideally constrains all stanzas to the same number of lines. Imagery is crucial to cadralore: each stanza should be a whole, imagist poem, almost like a scene from a film, or a photograph. The fifth stanza acts as the crucible, alchemically pulling the unrelated stanzas together into a love poem. By “love poem,” we mean that your fifth stanza illuminates a gleaming thread that runs obliquely through the unrelated stanzas and answers the compelling question: “For what do you yearn?”
gogyoka

Horatiodet is a total of 5 lines, syllable count: 5-7-7-5-9 / rhyme scheme: ababb. In other words, it is a short Horatian Ode (only one stanza), a form based on the style of Horace, Quintus Horatius Flaccus (December 8, 65 BC – November 27, 8 BC), the leading Roman lyric poet.

homecoming

homecoming

soaking the treetops

aflame in red, amber, gold,

cool rain in autumn

cannot quench the fading leaves

but softs the loam to tend them

~kat


A Tanka for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday.


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