Autumn born, full moon faced
and naked as a tree,
I grew to love each new Autumn
as if it were born from me;
love every leaf that bowed to earth,
soft as an infant’s tread;
the halo glow of xanthophyll,
carotene bronzed spear heads.
Umber, amber, goldenrod
and rust, so many hues;
a puzzle of fingers, stars and hearts
to keep the winds amused
and ripening apples, like nipples to suckle,
reminding me of Eve,
the first mother and scientist,
for whom, we must not grieve.
We must not weep for Autumn;
must not sob like collared doves.
She’s the mentor who has taught me
about ever verdant love;
the brazen Earth that howls at death;
the velvet Earth’s new antlers, raised;
the veil strewn Earth’s bare bark of truth.
Let the many hued Goddess be praised!
Ishtar, Isis, Astarte and Eve:
the many arms of naked trees
that dance to rain-drum and wind-drone
and bear new wisdom for me.
Comments
Verdana | September 2, 2012 - 12:56
Funny, I was born in autumn but you wouldn't have known it in the Caribbean ...
well-wisher | September 2, 2012 - 14:57
Oh yes, my father, a Hindu born in Comilla, often tells me about Monsoon season in India and about all the months, years and ages with Sanskrit names in the hindu calendar. Everywhere is different but I'm kind of glad to live in a place where the seasons are so different and distinctive from each other.
I wouldn't really like to live in California, for example, where its constantly Summer and they cover
their lawns with fake snow at Christmas.
I should probably refer to Autumn as British Autumn (Or perhaps Scottish Autumn or even East Ayrshire Autumn since Autumns different for people living in Urban Glasgow than it is for people living in Burns Country) but it's not as poetic as just writing Autumn.
skinner_jennifer | September 2, 2012 - 15:10
Although born in July, I still find I'm more at
home with Autumn, it's the magical mystery of this
time of the year, just like the mystery of your
poem, which again I really enjoyed JoHn.
I don't think it matters where we are in the world,
each season holds a different meaning for each one
of us, which will stay with us forever.
Oh how wonderful the experiences of life.
Jenny.
Jasper.The.Satyr. | September 3, 2012 - 14:46
I love this poem, probably one of the best I've read on this sight, the vocabulary is amazing, and you really get your point across well.