Resident of Lemuria

Oh Autumn, Sweet Autumn

If I said that I could not be in love with you.
It cannot be true.
Just that my heart knows how soon you must go,

If I cherish too much now,
Your sweet sunlit kiss.
It will be too much to miss, when
In cloud full November days, you have gone away.
All will have turned cold and gray.

Then I will light the lamp upon the sill.
And see you in my minds eye still.
Ironweed in haunting hues of violet,
against yellow goldenrod on hill.
Crimson stands of euonymus, beside reflecting leaves of cherries.
Maples bursting into flames of red,
Beside Oaks who have chosen orange instead.

Oh Autumn, sweet Autumn,
Embrace me, embrace me now.
I will cherish too much,
Your sweet sunlit kiss!
For love like this is just too much to miss.

Come lets dance in swirling golden showers,
And know the joy of late September flowers.
Orange pumpkins smiling ,as our whole world fills up
with the Incense of leaves.

by Trendle Ellwood

Peaches

In the darkened basement
Patience waits ‘til spring
In glass upon the casement
Sealed with a golden ring
Sweet, thick summer’s sacrifice
Pared and sugar jelled
Simmered soft with curing spice
The seasons slowly meld
When the ground is white with snow
And shadows freeze the dial
Here they’ll wait; row on row
Succulent sunshine in each smile

by Edwina Peterson Cross

The crisp sting of winter's coming
struck, breaking soft bodies
huddling in the indigo light.
Dionysus was stabbed,
Persephone reminded Demeter
of her impending journey,
the spoke of age and sorrow draws near.

Jack was impatient this year,
The tall spirits have not yet presented
their glorious procession.

A silent storm comes,
without wind.
The waters form their shelter,
the earth stores its seeds,
the world prepares, to wait it out and rest.

Soon, the ancient watchers
will offer their venerated attire,
woven for the harvest reverie,
to their young wards,
slow their beating flow,
stand stoically and steadfast,
and see who have fallenwhen the long storm abates.

-Josh Parkinson, 9.2003

in the middle of the night i wake
and go outside with a cigarette.
my dogs barely stir, shift into
deeper breathing, the warm spot
i've left behind: they're used to this
sort of thing.

The night is not
a jasmine-scented caress,
Summer's slipped away without
so much as a
by-your-leave (or was i just
being inattentive again?)
bare black branches
against a chilly sky, the moon
unforgiving: Winter is coming

a tendril of smoke drifts
toward Orion, impassive
overhead. the last
of the dream images flee,
but i don't pursue: i'm having it
out
with myself...
i'm lonely

(i desperately want
to be radiant and self-possessed
in my solitude, but the cold truth is,
i resent It.)

and Winter is coming

tomorrow morning in the fading
sun i'll remember
to check my supplies:
wooly socks
hot cider spice
stories to share

i'll remember my my dreams
and i'll smile

but tonight
all i know
is: Winter
is coming

by Lisa Phoenix

The frost covers the ground
and autumn shows her first colors few
as sun breaks through and the fog lifts
crystals sparkles turns to dew.
Coffee warms my hands
on the bench in the mountain sun
and church bells echo across the valley
calling Sunday worshiper to come.
The honking of long necked geese
draws my attention to the northern sky
and instead of a V that I expect to see
a long line stretches across the sky.
Though my eyes always follow with pleasure
the flight of the birds I do love
but my heart leaps at the unexpected vision
that today shines in the sky above.
They look like neon lights in their bodies
are turned on in the morning sun
a totally unbelievable sight with no one to share
or to marvel with when this miracle is done.
As the line travels east I call out-
"Oh please come back, do not go"
Then as thought they had heard , they immediately break
and scatter in the brilliant suns glow..
As they turn, and circle above my head
the miracle is not over on this flight.
Changing direction their heads turn to a golden glow
and the tip of their wings flood in coral light.
And I cry out in awe to the God of my heart
that allows me to be present to see
The wonder of life, and light, and love
Thank you God for letting me BE.

by Jane Tilton

A hint of autumn’s in the air
Cool and brisk and skies so fair
Squirrels scamper through the county
Gathering nuts for winter’s bounty

Leaves drift down from trees so high
They seem to float down from the sky
Oranges, Reds and golden hues
Dancing, prancing in morning dew

Jack Frost bares his glistening face
Glimmering in our earths embrace
He glazes pumpkins and winter squash
Whispering “Winter’s on its way, by gosh!”

When fall is in the air and leaves are falling everywhere,
when streets and sidewalks are covered
in red and brown, rust and gold --
That's when the mischievous me
is tempted
to skip about and hear the rustling
beneath my feet.
But worse, I have the urge to run into that pile
so recently and neatly raked
and scatter them
and toss them high
so they can flutter down again
and I can laugh again
the way I used to do
when fall was in the air.

Vi Jones (c) October 14, 2003

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