wind, migrating from other climes,
bruising itself back-handed against
my windowpane, reminding me of rain
and easy breathing and the bliss and
vigor of shorter days, the hint of chill
and autumn promises in one dry leaf
blithely flying in, coming to rest

© 2017, poem and photograph, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

I wrote that poem last year on a lovely day with the promise of fall in the air and the reminder of how much I love autumn and rainy weather, which don’t come together here. Nonetheless, both are energizing.

How does the wind and the promise of rain and crunchy leaves underfoot make you feel? Tell us in prose or poem. If you feel comfortable, leave your work or a link to it in the comments section.  All works shared in response to this prompt will be featured on site next Tuesday.

ABOUT THE POET BY DAY

12 Comments

  4. Third response:

    Goose Summer

    When a plump late November goose
    down day, warm and dry,

    becomes over years
    a filmy substance

    a ballooned thread,
    fly fish cast into a void,

    a winter veil
    nets your face

    in the garden
    or down the lane,

    dew bling breath
    in stubbled glazed fields,

    a warm murmured spell of spiders
    among the ice.

    A strange movement
    of language from

    goose summer
    to gossamer,

    as if it has lost weight,
    a cloud into contrail,

    under plumage,
    thinned with the years,

    beggared
    into one word,

    to soft filaments,
    blown on a breeze,

    the decomposed dead,
    spider thread.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  5. My second response:

    An Abundance

    brought for the winter
    down from Summer’s high warmth.
    Abundance stored as welcome wealth
    rests ready for the darkening.

    Brought from hedgerows,
    woods an abundance of wild damsons,
    sloes, rosehips, elderberries,
    blackberries, hawthorn berries.
    Fruit is the seed carrier.

    What is this ghost of a leaf?
    Where is the pattern it makes?
    How does the pattern of a leaf
    become a ghost of its tree?

    It is the season of the open door.
    It is the reason of half day of light.
    It is the reason of half day of dark .

    We stand between days, colder,
    on that eve of halves
    when we go disguised
    from old ghosts, new ghosts
    cold door to warm door
    in hope of gifts and a smile.

    The Bearded Nut In A Hat

    Soon the wise bearded ones with hats
    and saw-toothed hands will fall
    for us to collect their wisdom
    in woven baskets.

    Filbert or cobnut,
    crack the hard exterior,
    strip the paper thin skin,
    nosh on the rich, sweet
    nutmeat of wisdom,
    that is head, heart
    and baby inside the womb.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  6. Hi Jamie,
    Here is my first response

    My Regreened Trees

    Leaves on a tree wear a green mask.
    Autumn as they die the mask falls
    And we see their true self
    Red, yellow or orange

    Without sunlight
    a tree can no longer mask a leaf.
    When it is too cold leaves turn brown.
    When a leaf dies we see it’s true self.

    The tree takes water from the graves
    Replenishes tree
    Replenishes with memory in water
    The tree is the dead
    Regreened leaves applaud life

    The regreened leaf is a hand
    Reattached to a limb
    Tree feeds the hands of its canopy
    Hears their clapping
    Shaking

    I hear the special hand clap
    of my late mother in the canopy
    Of the applauding trees
    And my hands want to clap too.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  7. My second response, Jamie.

    ::sweet oak::

    irregular, you came, your best clothes

    shining.

    never mind. the first tune hit the mind,

    patterns and mathematics.

    the kindness that is, mixes

    with dampened autumn air, and your woodsmoke.

    sweet oak.

    all that there is. here.

    sbm.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

  8. Thanks Jamie ~ my first response

    :: falling days ::

    songs come via friends,
    the books we read,
    the place we breathe,
    songs of the fading,of life
    **
    the words hit our hearts,
    and sink in to stay, to pledge
    another stage set,
    small life
    **
    driving the land, the songs,
    carry us along, to our place,
    the constant places,
    we think don’t change,

    **
    the song of love, spinning,
    dizzying, head and mind,
    words of the books,
    black and white
    **
    so the falling days,
    end today, winter waits,
    and the songs, and words,
    tunes are all to warm us,
    and hold us safe

    sbm

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

Thank you!