Monday, October 13, 2014

A Song to Hasten Autumn [poem]

A Song to Hasten Autumn

Come, November.
Come, cold and bite.
Come, ghouls and soup.
Come, ghosts.
Barbwire that loops the fence
like a lady's curl around her finger
waits to see if snow will fall
this season and embarrass
every sharp edge with gentleness.
Leaves crinkle in their shame for dying,
geese have formed their skein like soldiers,
their heralding honks and laughter,
cover over your gardens,
scatter candies to the children, then
close your door against the first frost.


Well, there's not much of a story behind this one.

I'm writing for the 30/30 Project during my favorite month, October - the kick off to my favorite season, Fall, and I hadn't written a poem for Fall yet. Seems a travesty.

I woke up this morning thinking about the sunrise, and how beautiful it is every morning, I should make a point of getting up, going out and watching.

This morning, clouds hid the sunrise.

That sentence just above was intitially the first line to this poem (and was the impetus to me thinking about the sometimes cold, gray dreariness of Fall, and finally writing a Fall poem), but I edited it out because I couldn't make it connect to the rest of the poem, and it made my poem visually topsy turvy.

Yesterday I noticed barbwire on the fence marking the perimeter of the apartment complex's property. That was still with me this morning, and went into the poem.

The rest of it was me remembering last Winter, really. Fall slips so quickly into Winter - Winter licks Fall's heels.

I really like the way I personified the barbwire, and the leaves - the ideas of embarrassment, and shame over being sharp, over dying. To me, those are fresh ideas, and I'm proud of them.

Also, I used Google's search engine to look up "V formation geese make" and learned the word "skein." I knew there had to be a word for it.

I love words!

One change I made was replacing "hair" with "curl." For some reason, hair, meaning a collection of plural hairs, in this instance, feels/sounds like one single, weird hair in this line, even though hair is the right word, and hairs would've been even weirder/worse, so like I said I changed it to curl.

I wrote this poem on October 13, 2014 as part of Tupelo Press's 30/30 Project.  To get information, visit the 30/30 Project Page

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