O Fall Glorious: Autumn Poems and Photographs

I was sitting in church today. At the front of the sanctuary where the worship band plays and the preacher preaches, there is floor to ceiling windows. Elm and Maples right outside turing colors. I loved it. Fall is my is my favorite season and I love to write about it. Here are a few poems I wrote last year about fall in my area.

A Sudden Nip in the Air

A sudden nip in the air

Days after the steaming

Summer heat,

Warns us that fall is here.

The elm on the highway,

Is the barometer for

The coming season.

It bursts forth with color,

At the first fall nip.

The maples

and other leafy trees

follow suit.

And soon the world

Is a work of art

Displayed for all to see.

To see the cascades of crimson,

Gold, and brown,

Brings to mind a symphony,

Playing to our souls.

What joy.

The final notes of the music,

The final strokes of the brush,

Crescendo with glory and passion,

And the last leaves of autumn,

Fall to their death in a wave of color,

Music, and glory.

Autumn Manifestations

The chilly breath of autumn

With wood smoke in the air.

Kaleidoscopes of leaves

Cascade in a blaze of fire.

Fog settles in the forest,

Dampness to my bones

October winds

Send leaves on a voyage

Over country roads

And neighborhoods.

Little children feet

Crunch and swish

On the leafy piles,

High they fly

On breeze of gleeful laughter.

Cool night, moon bright

Owls haunt the night.

Orbs of pumpkins

Gourds of squash

Cobs of colored corn,

Savory soups and stews

In crock pots simmer

Triggering hunger pangs.

Lonely, winsome, mysterious fall,

Grieving ‘cause winter comes soon.

One Last Hurrah

Trembling, quivering, leaves,

Bursting with crimson, and gold,

Give one last shutter and let go.

Twirling, swirling down

On the cool fall breeze.

A glorious free fall

To their final resting place.

On the loamy earth,

Lie the withering,

Once blazing, leaves,

Swooshing and whispering

Under my feet,

A thrilling sound against

a silent, autumn day.

Crisp is the air and the wind

On my face, nipping my skin,

Exhilarated, I gather my collar

And inhale deep within me.

I shutter as the leaves do,

and there I bask

in the glory of God’s creation.

The fall to winter transition

Has begun in a blaze of glory,

One last hurrah, if you will.

The dying leaves reminding us

That the dormancy of winter

Approaches. Drink, drink in fully,

the sights, sounds, and senses of autumn.

Haiku on Fall in the Pacific Northwest

Changing of the Guard

Fall's farewell march comes

with color and glory fine

Changing of the guard

Fall Mirrored

Scenic fall display

is mirrored on calm waters

Epically serene

Autumn Leaves

Crimson, gold, and brown,

Leaves falling to their death,

In glory they die.

Fall Winds Bluster

Fall winds bluster fierce

Ushering in leaves

From my neighbors yard.

Raindrops

Rain beads shimmy up

And across my car window.

Rain dance chorus line

Haunting White Moon

Haunting white moon glows

surrounded by erie mists

ominus orb glares.

© Lori Colbo 2011

These famous poets leave me in the dust when writing about Autumn. These are some of my favorites. Enjoy.

Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stevenson

In the other gardens
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!

Autumn in the Garden by Henry Van Dyke

When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark
Makes its mark
On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves
Over fallen leaves;
Then my olden garden, where the golden soil
Through the toil
Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep,
Whispers in its sleep.

'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox,
Where the box
Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks,
There's a voice that talks
Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here
Year by year,--
Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours,
Fading as the flowers.

Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief;
But relief
For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow
From the Long-Ago,
When I think of other lives that learned, like mine,
To resign,
And remember that the sadness of the fall
Comes alike to all.

What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs!
And what prayers
For the silent strength that nerves us to endure
Things we cannot cure!
Pacing up and down the garden where they paced,
I have traced
All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find
Comfort in my mind.

Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear:
Yet how near
Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face,
Of the human race!
Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart,
Not apart!
They who know the sorrows other lives have known
Never walk alone.

The name -- of it -- is "Autumn" --by Emily Dickinson

The name -- of it -- is "Autumn" --
The hue -- of it -- is Blood --
An Artery -- upon the Hill --
A Vein -- along the Road --

Great Globules -- in the Alleys --
And Oh, the Shower of Stain --
When Winds -- upset the Basin --
And spill the Scarlet Rain --

It sprinkles Bonnets -- far below --
It gathers ruddy Pools --
Then -- eddies like a Rose -- away --
Upon Vermilion Wheels --

Merry Autumn by Paul Laurence Dunbar

It's all a farce,—these tales they tell
About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o'er field and dell,
Because the year is dying.

Such principles are most absurd,—
I care not who first taught 'em;
There's nothing known to beast or bird
To make a solemn autumn.

In solemn times, when grief holds sway
With countenance distressing,
You'll note the more of black and gray
Will then be used in dressing.

Now purple tints are all around;
The sky is blue and mellow;
And e'en the grasses turn the ground
From modest green to yellow.

The seed burs all with laughter crack
On featherweed and jimson;
And leaves that should be dressed in black
Are all decked out in crimson.

A butterfly goes winging by;
A singing bird comes after;
And Nature, all from earth to sky,
Is bubbling o'er with laughter.

The ripples wimple on the rills,
Like sparkling little lasses;
The sunlight runs along the hills,
And laughs among the grasses.

The earth is just so full of fun
It really can't contain it;
And streams of mirth so freely run
The heavens seem to rain it.

Don't talk to me of solemn days
In autumn's time of splendor,
Because the sun shows fewer rays,
And these grow slant and slender.

Why, it's the climax of the year,—
The highest time of living!—
Till naturally its bursting cheer
Just melts into thanksgiving.

Haiku by famous poets

By Matsuo Basho

The winds of autumn
Blow: yet still green
The chestnut husks.

The beginning of autumn:
Sea and emerald paddy
Both the same green