November-Frames

Stark silhouettes etched on backdrops of hasting dusk and tardy dawn...

 Joy-grief relief of gardens shucked, and turned and tucked beneath the sky...

(next year my make-shift grape-arbor needs a serious upgrade!!)😅

Still, stubbled sweeps of harvests reaped and gathered into bins and barns...

The morning-tide, a soundless sea that bathes the still-life lea with bronze...

Stark silhouettes etched on backdrops of hasting dusk and tardy dawn

Joy-grief relief of gardens shucked, and turned and tucked beneath the sky

The heart, a little like a cart by steads of fondest farewells drawn

The wind, a brisk custodian that whisks the brittle leaves awry

Still, stubbled sweeps of harvests reaped and gathered into bins and barns

The morning-tide, a soundless sea that bathes the still-life lea with bronze

The sudden, sweet tweet-tweet greeting as long-gone feathered friends return

The brooding tent of heavens bent with imminence of frosty fronds

The gaping gate where wonders wait to stun our gaze with grays and browns

Before the first soft snowflakes waft earthward from welkin worlds above

The beauty of spartan landscapes, of nature’s threadbare capes and gowns

Duty’s breath-stealing tasks, as thankfulness basks in God’s love

Brigadoon of November Noon, funereal fallow-hallowed hush

Fruit and root cellar shelves and floors festooned with toil and mercy’s toll

A heart-string unpreparedly snared on a crab-apple-dappled bush

The swing, bereft of barefoot child, a Masterpiece of Childhood’s Soul

Happiness dons kerchiefs and caps; laughter sounds small in fall’s ballroom

Each breath emits a puff of cloud, a bit like engines of a train

In ruddy cheeks and noses November’s kissable roses bloom

As leaves are raked and piled, and the child in each of us wakes again

Twilight’s twinkling front porch lights cheer work-weary streams of traffic home

Luxury is a cup of tea, a good book nook, and knitted shawl

And life is like the savoring of surprise flavours in a poem

Because November sometimes seems to be The Fairest of Them All

© Janet Martin

As we raked and heaped pile after pile of leaves at my parent's place

, we three children of yesterday (my brother, his wife and me)

 couldn't resist a a flying leap and romp because

something about leaf-piles wakes the child in us all.

A heart-string unpreparedly snared on a crab-apple-dappled bush...