Monday 14 November 2016

A little bit of poetry to soothe the soul...

Every so often you come across someone who strikes a chord with you. This poet/author is one such person.

With his permission I have posted his lovely poem here.

This has come from a great writer friend of mine from 'across the pond'. It's about October - the magical month of my birth [of course it is]. Enjoy. xx

My Quarrel With October
Look up from the rich, black soil....
Fatigue never felt so good to me.
Look up from blinkered garden toil:

There is beauty and wonder in all I see.
Feel the soft warmth of the autumn sun.
Breathe in the crisp chill of October’s air.
Number life’s virtues when day is all done.

The majesty of October reigns everywhere.
Clouds sail past in a feathery sky.
The chill foreshadows the coming cold.
The woods serve up a feast for the eyes:

A leafy mantle of crimson, scarlet and gold.
The flowers of summer all bow their heads
To the mums, now crowned in purple and gold.
Spikes of royal lavender stand up in their stead.

The rhythms of autumn never seem to grow old.
See the blood red flush of the burning bush,
Twilight colors the sky violet and shades of red.
The palette of autumn has come on with a rush.

Nature’s beauty has made me drunk in the head.
Listen closely and one will hear
A wedge of wild geese on the wing,
And the serenade of the lark so near.

Have you ever heard a more beautiful thing?
The early crickets have come out to sing.
They rub their limbs to ward off the cold.
They long again for the warmth of spring.

No one told them the year had grown old.
Hear the rustle of the tasseled corn,
As restless and wavy as the open sea.
The wind gently sighs of winters forlorn.

All the while, autumn whispers goodbye to me.
I wipe rich, black earth from my hands.
The day has grown old at a quarter to five.
Autumn work draws forth the joys of a man.

Sweet October makes it feel good to be alive.
I stack a cord of wood from the pile.
The apple tree blushes red with her fruit:
There’ll be supper and apple pie in a while.

First I’ll light the fire and kick off my boots.
Thoughts of winter make a man sober:
I’d invite October to stay on, if I could.
Let this be my only quarrel with October:

There’s too little of her to last us for good.
There is beauty and splendor in all I see.
The senses reveal what mere words cannot say:
The splendor of autumn is far too lovely for me.

Has the world ever given us a more beautiful day?

Richard Merli
Copyright Richard Merli

As ever - Happy Reading! xx

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