Autumn's Afterglow...

Over the weekend the halfway point of November

came and went...

and I am trying to content myself with a more

wintery pace of life,

reveling in the breath-stealing, burgeoning beauty

of each season/month.

. 'The inhabitants of the city suppose that the country landscape is pleasant only half the year. 

I please myself with the graces of the winter scenery, 

and believe that we are as much touched by it as the genial influences of summer! 

To the attentive eye each moment of the year has its own beauty, 

and in the same field it beholds every hour a picture which was never seen before 

and which shall never be seen again.'

Ralph  Waldo Emerson

Leaf laughter starts to fade but on the frosty air it seems

An afterglow of gold and jaded auburn tress still gleams

Infiltrating the heart with hues that form a tender swell

Of hope to quench lamenting rues where flaming frescos fell

Rafters, once rife with rustling hymns yield to the Maestro’s close

Like minstrels etched on welkin scrims, in majestic repose

Stark, still-life masterpieces fuel fresh and fervent awe

Where rough and tumble breezes release autumn’s last hurrah

Autumn rekindles days of yore as leaf-notes lilt and waft

Lost childhoods fondly found once more while laughing limbs are doffed

Where the heavens and earth compete, each apt to steal the show

In the fine-mingled bittersweet leaf-laughter’s afterglow

Something about the solitude of November ignites

A brooding ballad ‘neath subdued autumnal-hued highlights

Where no one but God can unfold each season’s ebb and flow

Of barren bough to green to gold to autumn’s afterglow

Janet Martin

November-Hushed

Garden-scapes are strangely quiet...

Sheared and shucked and tucked and tilled...

Hushed, the heaven-on-earth riot...

Of frames, fruit and flower-filled

Autumn's auburn awnings dwindled

Golden haloes dimmed and fell...

Autumn's auburn awnings dwindled

Golden haloes dimmed and fell

Earth, a hearth of embers kindled

With November-hushed farewell

Hushed, lush, lofty leaf-song rivers

Nature's funereal repose

Quickens sentimental shivers

From our heads down to our toes

Garden-scapes are strangely quiet

Sheared and shucked and tucked and tilled

Hushed, the heaven-on-earth riot

Of frames, fruit and flower-filled

Hushed, the carefree, barefoot banter

Of life-heady, laughing child

Heedless of Time's fixed decanter

Spilling where farewells run wild 

Like a heart learning love's lessons

Earth endures That Which Must Be

Time's cacophony of seasons

Age-old, still stuns you and me 

Where the bud bursting with treasure

Bears its bloom, withers and falls

Till the whole of nature's pleasure

Decks November's doleful/soulful halls

Hushed beneath a sheath of snowflakes

Hope and joy toll welkin bells

Comforting a world of heartaches

With November-hushed farewells   

  © Janet Martin

 

Hushed, the carefree, barefoot banter

Of life-heady, laughing child...

Like November (or Dancer's Dare)

How it tugs at tender heartstrings; November's bronze-brown-blue-grey...

Suddenly we are all children gazing wide-eyed...

...at the Creator's reminder of love's many-splendored hues

"look! it's raining, marveled the 2 1/2 year old little boy,

as we gazed agape at God's symbol of promise, that without rain, cannot be seen!

How it tugs at tender heartstrings; November's bronze-brown-blue-grey

How it woos Surrender's smarting as fall's fading ballads play

As the sassy zephyr swindles hues of scarlet-yellow-red

As a beloved Maestro dwindles leaf-montages overhead

How we wish time didn't hurry like the homeward trek of feet

Or like leaves that scuttle, scurry and cartwheel 'cross yard and street

How like lonely shepherds, shadows scale the slopes at eventide

How November's sheave-shorn meadows cast a quiet countryside

How the part that balks and reasons rocks the heart with poetry

How the quiescence of the seasons taunts Want's bent of vanity

How the rebel wind rants, reckless, where once rustling cornfields gleamed 

Akin to grief, raw and restless where once winsome Dreamer dreamed 

How the ache of farewells, meted in each fallen leaf, runs wild

Yet, beauty is not defeated; wonder is a laughing child 

Where the canvas of November showcases the Artist's law

Earth, a hearth of dying embers, kindles hearts with unplumbed awe 

Where the sweep of furrows, umber, slumber, green and gold bereft

Where no onlooker can number what remains of autumns left 

Where solitude of November stokes a haunting melody

Strains of 'Nothing stays forever' wafts across the bloom-doffed lea

Autumn's Anthem spills unbidden; how its lyrics lilt and swirl

Suddenly we are all children, universal boy and girl

Gazing wide-eyed, meeker, kinder, at November's stunning dues 

At the Creator's reminder of love's many-splendored hues 

How it tugs at tender heartstrings; sorrow in its finest form 

Hones a sense of hope where Parting, takes the world by golden storm

Loosed Leaf startles grief with gladness, tango of ten-thousand-(thousand) feet 

Dares the Dancer to brave sadness like November, Bittersweet 

© Janet Martin

Parting, takes the world by golden storm...

Daring the Dancer to brave sadness

Moment-sum Momentum or Pleasure of Enough

I linger intentionally these days;

days that time flies through!

'oops! Sorry gramma!'

He kissed Baby Jesus and said 'nap' and put Him back to His mommy😘😍

...suddenly the momentum of moment-sums soft-rouse

A kinship with November’s sparser sweeps...

 and barren boughs...

I linger more; I cannot bear to hurry you because

You slip through hearts and fingers like autumn’s dying applause

Of wind-strummed leaf and harvest’s remnant sheaf, frost-brittle where

Not long ago you frolicked on spring meadows, green and fair

…and trembled in bud-bowers full of flowers to unfold

You tickled us with hours while turning the new year old

You leaped from fallow furrows, clothed earth in a gleaming gown

Before we sheared each field like sheep, and begged of you, ‘slow down’

Sometimes we mourn the way you steal the seasons you beget

Yet in your age-old ways you heal the very wounds you let

With rise and fall and ebb and flow of morn to eventide

You tame once hurried footsteps; bid us to regard each stride

…and so I linger more, while you run fearless fingers through

The tatters of a sigh, an autumn sky deep, denim-blue

Where suddenly the momentum of moment-sums soft-rouse

A kinship with November’s sparser sweeps and barren boughs

Dear Father Time, each season awes us with so much to love

And so I slow my pace to taste The Pleasure of Enough

And linger more to look and feel and learn what you would teach 

Before moment-momentum melds to reels beyond my reach

© Janet Martin

You leaped from fallow furrows, clothed earth in a gleaming gown

Before we sheared each field like sheep, and begged of you, ‘slow down’...

Our neighbor's dog is our dog too esp. when it comes to treats!

 He knows if he waits long enough

Mrs. Janet will, without fail, find a treat for him😅😂💓

and he is always eager to give me a big, wet, smelly farm-dog kiss of appreciation

(if I let him😝)

Like Nature's Rendition of The Last Post

 

Something about the early dark of November kindles nostalgia...

Sometimes, like an old song a bygone era reappears

To replay on a phantom stage fond scenes of yesteryears

To coax back into being what will never be again

Save in a book of memories we open now and then

If only to remind ourselves not to get lost too long

In the bittersweet ballad of an intangible song

Wafting upon the starkness of an Autumn eventide

After leaf-notes have fluttered from the treetops where they sighed

...all summer long, like a love song we took for granted till

Whispers were winnowed one by one and everything was still

Save a gripping rendition of the Last Post being played

For fallen leaves; and moments and the melodies they made

© Janet Martin

 

November Is The Poet's Bliss...

The poet's bliss is November...

Sentimental hues arouse...

Warmth from autumn’s waning embers...

Wafting from nigh-barren boughs...

Where the brittle corn rows shimmer

Weighed with final harvest-boon...

Where the revived pastures glimmer

Green as green as middle-June...

Where the heavy heavens splinter

With inklings of snowflake song...

Where the emptiness of gardens...

Lines canning shelves, row on row...

The poet's bliss is November

Sentimental hues arouse

Warmth from autumn’s waning embers

Wafting from nigh-barren boughs

Where the brittle corn rows shimmer

Weighed with final harvest-boon

Where the revived pastures glimmer

Green as green as middle-June

Where the heavy heavens splinter

With inklings of snowflake song

And the kiss of Old Man Winter

Starts to flirt with old and young

Where the emptiness of gardens

Lines canning shelves, row on row

And the chores that summer pardons

Are tackled with gusto now

The poet’s bliss is November

Something in its brooding bent

Fills the poet with the splendor

Of a heart, humbly content

© Janet Martin

The poet’s bliss is November

Something in its brooding bent

Fills the poet with the splendor

Of a heart, humbly content...

Psalm 69:30

I will praise God’s name in song

and exalt Him with thanksgiving.