We Have all Written Poems about September - and, yes, this is a poem about September

 Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

We Have all Written Poems about September

 

 

(Not applicable on that half the planet where September is a springtime month)

 

(Certain taxes and fees might apply)

 

(Offer void where prohibited)

 

(Some assembly required)

 

Everyone writes poetry about September

The cooling of the summer-sun-beaten earth

A few more hummingbirds with maps of Mexico

A first leaf skittering across the grassy lane

 

The sky looks a little different somehow

A fresh breeze rises with the gentle dawn

Sitting outside at dusk is comfortable now

Notebook and pen are easier to the hand

 

Everyone writes poetry about September

As every worker and dreamer ought to do

We Have All Written Poems about September - and, yes, this is a poem about September

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

We Have all Written Poems about September

 

 

(Not applicable on that half the planet where September is a springtime month)

 

(Certain taxes and fees might apply)

 

(Offer void where prohibited)

 

(Some assembly required)

 

Everyone writes poetry about September

The cooling of the summer-sun-beaten earth

A few more hummingbirds with maps of Mexico

A first leaf skittering across the grassy lane

 

The sky looks a little different somehow

A fresh breeze rises with the gentle dawn

Sitting outside at dusk is comfortable now

Notebook and pen are easier to the hand

 

Everyone writes poetry about September

As every worker and dreamer ought to do

For the First of September - poem (possibly a re-post)

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

September Twilight

The gasping summer heat withdraws at dusk
The hot winds still themselves, and now defer
To autumn’s promise and an easy truce
Sol slips behind the trees; the empty sky

Takes little note and fades among the stars
The summer grass is tired, but, bravely green,
Hosts cricket games for pouncing cats and dogs
Points cheered by choirs of cicadas and frogs

This is the thinking time. The book’s at rest
Unread, face down upon a lichened bench
While votive fire glows in its copper bowl
And dryads whisper in the gathering dusk

Ancestors seem to gather round, to mark
The changing seasons on their holy earth
And tho’ their tread no longer makes a sound
Their merry tales more remembered than heard

Their happy presence in the first-star-hour
Reminds us that whatever-was remains
And will remain until the calling of time

Another Inadequate Baptismal Metaphor - A Poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Another Inadequate Baptismal Metaphor

September rain is a baptism of sorts
Redeeming summer’s woods and fields from drought
From death, at least a little while, so they
May vest themselves in robes liturgical

For late October’s frost-time funeral mass
Is celebrated with true festal joy
As in cathedrals, forests of the heart
With autumn filtering down through leafy prayers

The green months then slip softly out of time -
September rain is a baptism of dreams

September at Last - Poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

September at Last

A dawn under clouds – September at last
No one longs for August, or misses it
The heat and humidity linger still
But the mythology of the calendar

Has drawn the summer’s metaphorical fangs
And grownups now anticipate cold fronts
Like children who know that Christmas will come
Although the season seems to be taking

Its own sweet time in bringing home its gifts
Of chilly mornings, and geese winging south