There’s a lot to moan about at the moment with incessant rain, gusting wind and long dark nights. But, there is also beauty, fun and the potential for profound thought, as these autumnal poems show us. Have a read – poetry is good for the soul!
Prickly Autumn Yearnings
by Vivien Eden
“Come let’s pick some chestnuts Andy!
Days as bright as this are scanty.
Tasting them is just the best thing,
Their sweet flavour’s to my liking.”
“Great idea, I’ll get my shoes on,
I’d like seeing some of Autumn,
And I prize to try new flavours
Conkers could be one I savour.”
“Don’t you ever eat a conker,
Not unless you are a plonker.
They’re called horse chestnuts don’t you know
Not people-chestnuts, you dodo.
Sweet chestnuts are the things we eat
Beneath their bristly spines a treat
So, make sure to bring gloves along
Your hands are rough but not so strong
That they’ll endure the spiky burrs
As we forage. Do you concur?
With bleeding hands, we shall return
And gorge ourselves, without concern.”
Oh to Autumn
by Mike Moss
The leaf falls.
‘Grandpa,’ he said. I turn around.
‘Why did that leaf fall to the ground?’
‘Aha,’ I say, ‘I know this one.
I think it wants some Autumn fun.’
‘Some fun? What do you mean?’
I smile and wink, ‘It’s very keen
to join that pile of leaves just here.’
‘I see,’ says he, ‘So with a smile,
I can shuffle through this leafy pile,
And kick them down the winding path
And then go home for my hot bath.’
‘Quite so,’ I say, ‘and look ‘e here,
I spy a conker, it’s that time of year.
Pick it up quick, we’ll attach a string
And have a go, at that bashing thing.’
As we shuffle back, kicking leaves asunder
We dodge sheet lightning, hear the thunder
Deluged in rain, we take damp shelter
Watch raindrops bounce, helter skelter
Russet brown, orange, yellow and gold
This is the season, so we’re told
Put clocks back, gain an hour,
Shiver and huddle around the fire
It’s of fireworks, witches and spooky things
And runs up to Christmas, wise men and kings.
For ‘tis Autumn
Red Earth
by Phil Appleton
Fallen leaves, the fallen dead,
The earth has turned the colour red.
Five Quinces
by Amanda Buchan
Five quinces in a scarlet bowl, Chrome Yellow.
We’ve had white bowls of crocus, blue of peaches
We’ve had pulsating, copulating Spring,
Seducing tight pink buds to Summer’s decorous spread.
There’s no decorum here in scarlet Autumn.
October’s trees are shameless, shaking out seed
Revealing leaf by leaf their naked limbs.
I revel in this seasonal surrender,
I welcome Autumn’s servant, here he comes;
Brown hands will proudly place the last gold quince
Upon the altar of the kitchen bench.
Winter arrives of course, black trees, white frost.
We’ll snuggle up in quilts with favourite books
We’ll fill a wooden bowl with hazel nuts
Autumn poem
by Robyn Kayes
Trees turn to glorious colours
Enchanting the eye as the sun loses
Its strength and the winds
Gather pace, bringing stormy rains.
Rush indoors to escape the damp,
Looking for warmth but only
Finding coldness till the heating
Turns on, and then relax with
Hot chocolate and a novel
Awaiting the return of family
From outings when their chatter
Will dispell the gloom
And brighten the day
The Beech Wood
by Valerie Benham
We weave our way up the hill
through the tunnel of trees
an orchestra of colour
deserves rapturous applause
with singing sunlight filtering through
We reach The Plain
the mouth of the wood
with its rustic hints of
life a while ago
We enter the wood
its beauty enthralls
The lemon yellows and peridot hues
replaced with a bronze and gold glow
Copper crisps lay under our feet
crunching and scrunching all the while
releasing an earthy scent
a heady mix of soil and moss
with the sweetness new grass
Screeds and screeds of fledgling trees
stand proud as far as the eyes can see
Gorgeous evergreens cannot
compete with the candy canvas of raspberry treats,
cherry glaze, burnt orange with
butterscotch, dandelion and pineapple too
copper and bronze leaf blow in the breeze
all held up by liquorice sticks with ease
Luscious light ferns cover the ground caressing
our limbs all the way down
An aura of spirits of from Saxon times
exists floating through the cool air
Deep into the wood and through we go
ancient roots sculpted deep into the ground
creating caves where children go
The shallow furrows in evidence
Knarled and knotted old bark carves a route over the ground
and menaces with creatures curled
under which the orchids, and special flowers grow
The low sun fights its way through the leaves
blinding us as we go
Distant sounds of children at play
squeals of laughter and joy
Dogs bark as birds of prey fly low
Couples hand in hand stroll through
taking a seat to ponder the view
We reach the ridge
To enjoy the view
of this special hill falling away with
with white mist skirting the fields below
a chill in the air surrounds
As the light transitions from sun to perfect peach moon
pure blue replaced with soft amber tones
We retreat back home
to enjoy a whisky or rum
or a marshmallow roasted on the spit
If you enjoyed our poetry here. you’ll certainly enjoy the beautiful Christmas poems and Short stories in our Christmas book – Windsor Christmas Tales!
Windsor Writers' Group 