Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category


O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow,

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know;

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away;

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost –

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.


~ Robert Frost


"Autumn Colours at St. Hubertus Estate Winery" by Hirsch Hubert

“Autumn Colours at St. Hubertus Estate Winery” by Hirsch Hubert

Read Full Post »

At the Violet Hour

The time is now propitious, as he guesses,

The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,

Endeavors to engage her in caresses

Which still are unreproved, if undesired.

Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;

Exploring hands encounter no defence;

His vanity requires no response,

And makes a welcome of indifference. 


She turns and looks a moment in the glass,

Hardly aware of her departed lover;

Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:

‘Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.’

When lovely woman stoops to folly and

Paces about her room again, alone,

She smooths her hair with automatic hand,

And puts a record on the gramophone.


~ From The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot, born on this day in 1888


"Hymne à la Femme" by Auguste Levêque, 1909

“Hymne à la Femme” by Auguste Levêque, 1909


Read Full Post »

A white, indifferent morning sky,

and a crow, hectoring from its nest

high in the hemlock, a nest as big

as a laundry basket…

                             In my childhood

I stood under a dripping oak,

while autumnal fog eddied around my feet,

waiting for the school bus

with a dread that took my breath away.


The damp dirt road gave off

this same complex organic scent.


I had the new books – words, numbers,

and operations with numbers I did not

comprehend – and crayons, unspoiled

by use, in a blue canvas satchel

with red leather straps.


Spruce, inadequate, and alien

I stood at the side of the road.

It was the only life I had.


~ From “Three Songs at the End of Summer” by Jane Kenyon


"A School Girl" by Myles Birket Foster, 1899

“A School Girl” by Myles Birket Foster, 1899

Read Full Post »

Doubled Mirrors

It is the dark of the moon.

Late at night, the end of summer,

The autumn constellations

Glow in the arid heaven.

The air smells of cattle, hay,

And dust. In the old orchard

The pears are ripe. The trees

Have sprouted from old rootstocks

And the fruit is inedible.

As I pass them I hear something

Rustling and grunting and turn

My light into the branches.

Two raccoons with acrid pear

Juice and saliva drooling

From their mouths stare back at me,

Their eyes deep sponges of light.

They know me and do not run

Away. Coming up the road

Through the black oak shadows, I

See ahead of me, glinting

Everywhere from the dusty

Gravel, tiny points of cold

Blue light, like the sparkle of

Iron snow. I suspect what it is,

And kneel to see. Under each

Pebble and oak leaf is a

Spider, her eyes shining at

Me with my reflected light

Across immeasurable distance.


~ Kenneth Rexroth


This eerie poem reminds me of my short fiction “Windmill Ridge,” which also evokes the transition from summer to fall and a sense of being watched. To read an excerpt, visit the page above.


Dave Hitchborne

Dave Hitchborne

Read Full Post »

The Crystal Gazer

I shall gather myself into myself again,

I shall take my scattered selves and make them one,

Fusing them into a polished crystal ball

Where I can see the moon and the flashing sun.


I shall sit like a sibyl, hour after hour intent,

Watching the future come and the present go,

And the little shifting pictures of people rushing

In restless self-importance to and fro.


                                      ~ Sara Teasdale


La Boule de Cristal (The Crystal Ball) by John William Waterhouse, 1902

La Boule de Cristal (The Crystal Ball) by John William Waterhouse, 1902

Read Full Post »


The leaf-watcher’s month,

if she can bear to


The year changing its mind,

voluble as an older bride


The year undergoing pears


September being also a floating classroom

for studying the great lakes



who gives anyone who asks


a guided tour of the year,

the month who keeps all year’s promises,


leaf by leaf


                    ~ Penelope Shuttle


"Maple Leaf" by Edward Edmondson, Jr., circa 1870

“Maple Leaf” by Edward Edmondson, Jr., circa 1870

Read Full Post »

Praised be the moon of books! that doth above

A world of men, the fallen Past behold,

And fill the spaces else so void and cold

To make a very heaven again thereof;

As when the sun is set behind a grove,

And faintly unto nether ether rolled,

All night his whiter image and his mould

Grows beautiful with looking on her love.


Thou therefore, moon of so divine a ray,

Lend to our steps both fortitude and light!

Feebly along a venerable way

They climb the infinite, or perish quite;

Nothing are days and deeds to such as they,

While in this liberal house thy face is bright.


                            ~ Louise Imogen Guiney


The Reading Room of the British Museum by Riccardo Cambiassi

The Reading Room of the British Museum by Riccardo Cambiassi

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 65 other followers

%d bloggers like this: