Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
Blue Storm
Blue September storm
Blowing down from the northeast
Hastening summer’s end
Showing posts with label Poems about September. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poems about September. Show all posts
Sunday, September 6, 2026
Blue Storm - a modest attempt at haiku
Thursday, September 12, 2024
We Have all Written Poems about September - and, yes, this is a poem about September
Lawrence Hall, HSG
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
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
Sunday, September 1, 2019
For the First of September - poem (possibly a re-post)
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
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
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
Saturday, October 24, 2015
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
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
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
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
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