Autumn has definitely arrived in Devon, it should have, you cry, it's November! Well, yes it is, but it's been unseasonably warm recently. Here's a poem about the season.
AUTUMN
The leaves were leaving
right angles in the wind
bright curled crisp
they fly from the branch
Then circle as if unsure
of what to make of this word freedom
only to fall
heavier than the thought
Briefly they will jewel the pavement
Nothing to say about this poem really. This next one is another in the long line of poems about writing poems.
It comes down to the poem shouting at you
oi! over here!
As it mimes a metaphor
that you only half appreciate
You are just the hapless scribe
whose hands are full
Recording every word
as best you can
Again it is just a little observation. I think I am in a period of writing miniatures. Small, self contained facets of lived experience. I hope they chime with you.
Here's Ben Webster and Oscar Peterson.
Until next time.
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