I am never quite certain why this happens, but I set out to write a set of different poems and this thought of Autumn Frosts seems to emerge. It is not that the verse is unwelcome, nor that there is not potential with a lot of work to make something of them, but there are times when I wish to write about the desert, the sirocco, and the smiling faces waiting at the oasis… and still the subtundra calls out and beckons… so another Autumn Frost poem…the leaning grains of wheat dance swiftly
tumbling in burnt power upon the prairie winds
bowing determinedly in satisfaction
whilst silvery winter paints happily to the heavens
autumn life moves with honour
the sun now paints cool magenta patchwork
the horizon wide in cracks
and glory pours throughout
No comments:
Post a Comment