  Poetry
This week: New Season - New Suggestions Edited by: fyndorian
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Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.~~Hal Borland
A kestrel can and does hover in the dead calm of summer days, when there is not the faintest breath of wind. He will, and does, hover in the still, soft atmosphere of early autumn, when the gossamer falls in showers, coming straight down as if it were raining silk.~~Richard Jefferies
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.~~William Allingham
The autumn wind is a pirate. Blustering in from the sea with a rollicking song he sweeps along swaggering boisterously. His face is weather beaten, he wears a hooded sash with a silver hat about his head... The autumn wind is a Raider, pillaging just for fun.~~Steve Sabol
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For some reason, the change of seasons always sparks new writing energy in me. Autumn may not officially have begun, but 'my' seasons always start a tad off from the standard calendar. Labor Day, in the US, means school begins the next day. New school year, to me, has always meant 'Fall' just as school getting out, meant Summer. Winter was the day after Thanksgiving and Spring bloomed with the first crocus or the day the geese returned to the lake.
Summer's changed to being just okay (no longer does summer equate to days off!) and I always loved fall and the start of school. Fall meant winter hovered just over the horizon. Autumn meant apples, pumpkins, cider, new clothes and brand new, empty notebooks just waiting to be written in. Nothing was quite so fabulous as a stack of lined paper waiting to be 3-ringed bound!
The colors of Autumn, so distinct from those of Spring, seemed more layered, more vibrant and to have a depth that Spring never quite achieves. Autumn was my 'beginning' of the year, rather than the ending. New grades, schools, adventures, journeys sprang forth in September.
Last week, although I am not in school, I bought an armful of notebooks. Yes, they are less expensive right now, but that isn't why I bought them. Those new notebooks are like stories waiting to happen, a field of white awaiting words, poems about to erupt! They are odd ideas and snatched thoughts, particular phrases and unborn lines. Spring is when the seeds of fall may come to fruition, but Autumn is when I plant what may become the next book, a poetic journey or my next epic! |
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linnann says: I remember that old song, "and little lambs eat ivy'. lol I liked this newsletter, and I love your drawer...
purpleprincess writes: Hi Fyn. I couldn't help but laugh at all of the items in that drawer! Just last weekend I was in the basement cleaning out years of junk, and I came across stacks of pictures, notes, etc all pertaining to my writing. It's amazing how much we save. Sometimes the things we've saved may seem unnecessary until we come across them again and suddenly we gain inspiration from them. Life is so full of little things with big meaning behind them.
gabriellar45 adds: I love your junque drawer !! I hope you get loads of
positive feedback. I laughed out loud reading your pet
peeves. Bravo and warmest best, Gab
jerics says: Thank you. This is something I, like many of us poets, should read.
oldmonty contributes: Just comparing your items in the drawer with mine, many are the same. I have ten drawers that almost duplicate, guess I should start throwing much out.
agarn says: Hi Fyn,
Great Newsletter! One, I am sure, to which everyone can relate!
Must get into my 'junque' drawers one day. I am certain it is all GOOD junk.
I know I have a list of collective nouns somewhere eg a Crash of rhinos is one of my favs.
Thought for the day....if a group of crows is a Murder, is just one crow Attempted Murder?
Thanks for featuring my poem in this week's edition.
Going to sit back and enjoy the rest of your selections.
Cheers Meg
papadoc1 adds:Okay. Okay. Let me think. Clearly. Grant is not "buried" in Grants Tomb but is ENTOMBED in it. Along with his wife, Julia. EN-TOMB-ED. You are right. I looked that one up. "White" horses are PINK deep down below the hair, yes? No, I didnt look that one up so I am prepared, come what may! Finding all manner of items in your junque drawer actually made for a spectacular case of behavioral analysis of you both! I got final word of what they found: YOU are exactly like ME. Highly intelligent, loyal sensitive, coldly calculating. I know. I know.
Just the same, it's too bad you can't give that feather back to that Blue Jay. The fans up in Toronto truly wish to give that one back to some poor guy who doesn't feel so light in the spikes, you know? Nah, just kidding. That bird is LONG GONE!! 
Great NL by the way. Irregardless of what these other people think!!!
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Poetry: September 07, 2016 Issue [#7847]
