Fall Song.
Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere
except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle
of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This
I try to remember when time's measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay - how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.
Mary Oliver
2 Comments:
It's a good poem, and all of the poems you post are good. But-- could you post more of your own poetry? Please please?
OK.
I don't write much these days. I mean in general, not just poetry. I suppose that's why I've been reluctant to share much of my own, and also why I don't do poetry open mics anymore. (Not that I'm unwilling to, I just haven't made it a priority.) It feels awkward to bring up old work when I haven't made anything new, like I'm coasting or something.
I guess the solution is to A) get over it and B) start creating some new stuff.
In the meantime, sharing some older pieces will be fine. Give me something to post, anyhow.
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