Tag: leaves

Agile Posture

I’m 49

writing stories with the kids

poetry and long sermons,

soliloquy and rants,

starting late it seem.

The fall nights begin earlier

chilly dawns and sweaters

the cooling season with brisk winds

They do change you see

Fall winds, glistening rain sweat

the leaves of summer

drifting with the changed winds,

fall winds.

Whisper Autumn

While skies begin a stretch of cooler winds

body seeming to recognize limits

each stepping stone, virtual time rescinds

calculate further storm than time admits.


A child witness color – aging leaves

headstrong emotions tacked upon crackles

like a midnight fire sparks ember heaves

slow to respond yet beauty sheds shackles.


Perhaps a few more days together walks

a couple in a distance twinkling lights

certain ambience listens, cadenced clocks

strike hours, minutes, gathering delights.


Shadows interact well the wintry skies.

Spiritual songs sound sweet mating cries.

Morning Fall in Haiku

leaves Whisper loud

the breeze will carry our soul

no tear allowed


hazy morning sunrise

stream in quiet Whisper notice

good to be wise


simple flower fold

to time I Whisper grateful

will I be thought old


cover my release

when sky chills seasonal autumn

Whisper sweet my peace

Designed Day Dreams

snow covered trees

I remember that day,

it was 7th grade civics class

We had to draw the landscape

the colors turning. We could see.

When then we each with a notepad

began to venture into a faraway

retreat away, the sky brilliance

our guide toward a fantasy.


I was unable to recall later

that cold December morning

just how beautiful the leaves

were just weeks earlier, radiant

in the autumn sunlight.

Life was an easy walk

along pathways that

breathed the lovely

vestige of Nature’s remedy.


Winter skies are meant to

chill our heart and soul.

The trees hadn’t any designs

to seek desire’s passion.

Today the branches remained

stark and sleek, now barren,

holding only a key toward

sudden loss, the fallen summer.


A week earlier the branches held a fresh snow

At least he felt shelter in his new travel home.

Street Sounds on a Windy Afternoon



The breeze pours through fresh maples

spring is upon us, we gather fragrance.

Without their leaves and branch and root

the sounds would be lost in a cavern

Occasional noise interferes to remind us

we are in the city, a street cleaner sends

clouds of dust to tease the open convertible,

the owner reacts with little recourse.

Wait, while the light changes, the highway

ahead will sweep out the dust that irritates

eyes beyond sights of shallow smiles

and complex expressions telling the day

to each observer, before the honk, the engine

roars to nearly cradle a smaller compact

trying to get home to their vibrant landscape.


A thousand automobiles will pass through

trained lights and merged realities to go home.

While the action bumps and grinds a mechanic’s

dream, Earth; nature’s permanence will tease

the eyes that wish themselves laying about

on the green lush grass of a lovely afternoon.

What if the lights didn’t change and everything

stopped until the serenity of gazing about were

disrupted by taunting horns and slammed doors?

Would we in the human condition recognize

they haven’t a choice but to listen to our whines

as we try to recover from the injury of Man,

the purveyor of such disruptive tones in harmony.

A stalled engine gives opportunity to amend yet

instead self-guided concern creates a loud barrage.


We will come home in a reasonable amount of time

while the leaves on the trees sing breezy melodies.