DAILY Liquid amber light,
Fallen from trees
Too full to hold
Indian Yellow- Cad Red- Burnt Sienna,
Quivers the air,
Drawn from a sky
Tumbling up from the ground
Exuberance imploding
Leaving life layer upon layer.
Some remain.
I remain
Wondering
Will my death to be thus?
A last leaf with jewel encrusted seams
sewn delicately to my branch
In hand over hand stitching,
Exquisite silken luxe
Heavy toward dying,
Wrestling October winds
In last will to glory,
Fulsome as the Carmine raiment
Of a Three-Tailed Pasha
Readied for his funeral procession.
.
Hi Sam .. I can’t tell if this will really work since I cannot see the entire layout. Let me know. I shall try another approach.
Steve
Dying Leafs
Liquid amber light
My ass he says
As raking those damn things
Begin
Falling from trees abound
Too many to count
Plastic bags
Too full to hold
Bluging with them damn
Dead things he mutters
Beneath his impatient breath
Tumbling up from the ground
His weakened from age
Lower back exploding
Raking … racking
As if a metronome is setting
His pace
Pain … increasing
Lower backpain
And the horizon across the yard
Unyielding
Unrelenting
Unforgiving
He secretely curses them
Amber leafs
But keeps the pace
Stalwart and driven to
At least get to the end of the driveway
Before night fall
Then tomorrow
There is always that
Damn tomorrow
But for now to bed and rest
A bed of amber leafs awaits
Samantha, you have painted a beautiful picture with your words. Yes, we are all blessed that you continue to share yourself with all of us.
Hi Samantha. Only you can capture the essence of fall in a few brief lines. One of the many reasons that all who are lucky enough to know you, simply adore you. I’m so blessed to have you in my life!
Keep pouring yourself all over the world it makes it a better place to be.
Capturing essence is difficult. Can’t begin to express the ‘beauty-credit these days deserve, but I love trying. I love that word-smith-ing process creating greater and greater consciousness, before the parade passes me by. Thank you.
You have captured the dying beauty of autumn…the irony of nature’s glorious death in New England…
Glad you like the irony of a glorious death. It was interesting, as I worked with the words, the vision of my death as this light-filled, colorful, whirling event kept appearing. I liked it, and now I choose that as my ending process.