Way of Autumn.

 

Can you hear it?
The rustle that
removes one colour
from the summer leaves
before whispering it away,
shivering only a little,
across the oceans.
Making way for another,
the amber hues of autumn,
the fiery emblems
of all things fallen,
waiting, too,
to be swept away,
so that change
can be what she is
(so that we can be
what we are)
and have her way
with things.
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My Street Japan. Day 31.

My Street Japan. DAY 31. Tammy T. Stone

My Street Japan. DAY 31. Tammy T. Stone

Fiery fall …

… and an arrow pointing to winter?

The ebb of life is such a beautiful, vivacious thing. May we all live each day with this kind of fire!

Poem: Of Things That Pass

Me in a Tree, in India

Me in a Tree, in India

Of Things That Pass

I fall before you, big wind.

I am tired, and need a tree to sit under,

I have been waiting such a long time.

If I can’t live there, yet,

on the horizon’s far side, I would

like at least to turn my eyes

upward to the sky’s streaky,

crimson dreams.

I want to feel beauty’s skin

on my skin, a life’s sum of the simplest

things, the wild belly laughs of

youth, hair all messed up

from wild play on a fearless day.

I didn’t know what I had,

I didn’t have the capacity for

acknowledgement.

I have searched long and deep,

entwining with life’s decorations,

flirting with emptiness,

that beguiling, sinewy story

that never runs out,

the way I will run out.

I want to start with beauty,

Of things that pass,

wheels of merriment

topping the world.

It’s time to build the magic

together, even as I crawl low

to the ground, the sun long set,

where I can fall into

Earth’s green embrace,

Soaked after rain, a universe of

Scents, textures and hope.

This poem was first published in Women’s Spiritual Poetry, Journey to the Heart, here.