Song of Summer’s End

A melancholy cry chokes my throat,
a siren’s call of Summer’s turning.
Caramel smells fill my head-
fermented leaves, intoxicating and sweet.
The lime-yellow sky,
radiant dusk infused with aqua
is reiterated by rainbows of
glowing trees,
unfettered joy
surging skyward
burning slowly to sleep.

Moist, mild air balms my body-
a cocoon of coziness
soft and neat,
a temporary reprieve
before setting sun draws down a chill.

Two lovers mosey
while two others repose,
lost in reverie
forever brief.

As crickets whir and click and reel,
throaty squawks of geese
bid farewell, southward bound,
solicitous, free.

This fanfare of Fall
diminishes, somnolent, deep.
I succor its unguent dolor-
lullaby, coda
to summer’s green.

Technorati tags- poem, Autumn, Fall, summer’s end

Building

I like to build things.
houses of irony,
wings out of emptiness,
wealth with freedom,
freedom from desire,
passionate power
through humble fire.

I like to take things apart-
ego trips which hide a hurt child,
logic, with its webs of words
love, acid test for the heart
which burns to a fresh core,
TV, legal heroin-
(poetry now for why and WOW!)
Trix Cereal, to eat the just the marshmallows,
orchid flowers next to moth wings
because they both can fly in dreams,
light and dark shadows
which creep across the wall,
a new heartbeat, ba- dum, for each scene-
(purple crayons, into reds and blues, and violets, too),
purses, full of stories and things you need,
the layers of flavor in a slice of aged cheese,
the fruit hidden in a sip of wine
made from five different grapes,
from five lands far and wide-

as I listen to this ancient music,
this Bach, chugging across
the tracks of time,
rolling over my gaucherie
with wheedling words
loose and natural,
down these rocks,
purposeful, watchful,
timed entropy.

I build sand castles to watch
as the wind blows them away.

The quilt in the photo is from the Civil War era. The pattern is called Lemoyne Star, miniaturized to crib quilt scale. It comes from Kalamazoo, MI.

True Love, the Largest Spirit

A simple poem called True Love by Ron over at WonderingSoul, illuminates the idea of Great Spirit, or God, the ultimate freedom to love perfectly, to transcend our natural human limitations. For me, all poetic inspiration arises from the openly loving attitude of this mood.

True love is
neither physical,
nor romantic.
True love is
an acceptance
of all that is,
has been,
will be and
will not be.

This is the love of God, or Great Spirit of the Universe, or Gaia, or what ever name you give to the greatest spirit in your beliefs. This is the love I aspire to feel and to give, to share and to strive for.

Incandescent Nectar

Anybody read German? When Ralf and I lived together, he transtlated this poem of mine so we could print out cards for both our American and German friends. The photo is one i took of roses he gave me, which I thought looked stunning against the snow.

This poem was inspired by Rainer Maria Rilke’s Sonnets to Orpheus. His mystical style touched me deeply. I read a version which had the German and English side by side. So I picked up a little German, too.

Calling for Poetry Submissions

I’m way late in doing this. The event is this Saturday, November 18th. (but I’ll add submissions through Sunday night)

I’m hosting a Poetry Carnival for Ringing of the Bards, a site created by Billy the Blogging Poet for one purpose, as a hub to organize these carnivals.

So, please send me your poetry, show off to the world what’s in the back of your drawer, under your bed or posted up on your fridge, or something your cat wrote, or perhaps a. dream. you. have. of. a. poem. Haiku might be a good way to go. Send submissions to garnet at glitteringstew dot com. Please title it “Poetry Carnival” and make sure you include a link to the poem on your blog.