November 6, 2011 9:54 PM
Leona Choy: Poems for autumn
Any poetry lovers out there? I am so privileged to present these poems from my friend, author Leona Choy from a collection she is preparing to be titled:
LATTER RAIN: Wordsmithing verse late-in-the-season (Copyright 2011)
What you need to know is that Leona, at 85, is in the autumn of her own life and so her observations are rich with experience and wisdom and a peace that can only come when life finally slows down enough so you can see what really matters.
We all need guides and mentors to light our path. Leona is mine. We get together for lunch every so often, as I drive over the Shenandoah Mountains she references in these poems to spend some stolen hours with a woman who knows so much more than I.
Enjoy!
AUTUMN is a wet, crunching bite
of a Shenandoah Valley orchard apple
a plump pumpkin time
a snuggle-under-covers season
a time for raking leaves
winding up the garden hose
pulling up dry plants
a porch furniture storing time
a moth-balled sweater
retrieved from the cedar closet
with last year's woolen gloves.
AUTUMN is a cushion
a subdued, leaf-fire-scented buffer
between the swelter of summer
and the wail of frigid winter:
my favorite interlude
this seasonal spectacular!
AUTUMN arrives with composure
and quiet earnestness
unlike the sudden burst of spring.
It signals flocks southward
elbowing harvesters
to hurry with their bounty tasks
before the latter rains.
AUTUMN causes football fever
in restless males: spectators and team.
It sets off ghostly squeals and costume madness
in the young for Halloween
while Thanksgiving menus and fall fashions
tantalize the female mind.
AUTUMN taps summer on the shoulder
nudges it out of the way
and displaces the sultry day
with crispy-cool jacket weather.
Welcome AUTUMN!
I eagerly trade
deep-breathing frosty morning walks
for sluggish dullness that stalks
humid hot July which I
only tolerate because
I anticipate AUTUMN.
The painted leaf, the falling leaf
evoke a tension in my emotions
between joy and grief:
regret for what I haven't done
at blaze of summer sun
and gratitude for living
to this moment of harvest
in relationships and nature.
The wardrobe of the seasons
would be incomplete and out-of-style
without the flashy scarf and golden cap
of AUTUMN and her smile!
P.S. Thanks, God, for not bargain shopping
but going first-class
when You thought up AUTUMN!
*******
Autumn's Pomposity
Please stay--just one more day--
it's a long time 'til spring!
The lash of latter rains
conspire with whipping winds
to chase her off stage
but autumn splendor lingers
reluctant to retreat
without a final flourish.
Eager to please
autumn struts proudly
on mountain and meadow
pompously waving
her leafy scarlet scarves
like victory banners
defying frost and fading foliage
laughing with careless abandon
stunning my summer senses
with her breathtaking beauty.
Stay, autumn--just one more day
before winter disrobes you
to naked, shivering branches
reaching for mercy to the melancholy sky
while chilly gusts sting
your flushed face.
******
Blue Line Reverie
Crispy, frosty mornings cycle again
in a season of reflection, pensive nostalgia
granting me permission
to stroll the back roads of my mind
while wading ankle-deep in the paint-splashed carpet
kicking up waves of oak and hickory leaves
inhaling the musty mulch beneath my feet
while munching the wet crunch
and tart taste of a freshly picked Jonathan.
Here I can smell peace, forget schedules
concentrate on important things
like scampering squirrels
scurrying to stash acorns for winter larder.
I filter out all but the traffic noise
of wing-flapping, honking geese
heading South in the fast lane
while I take the exit ramp
to a blue line country lane
deliberately dragging my feet
trying to slow down my speeding life
that always seems to be
running a marathon ahead of me.
*******
OCTOBER IN TRANSIT
Temperamental days
bluffing me, mocking me
with teasing, wistful
coquettish ways:
Late October.
Lingering memories
of high July
blazing sun
and summer fun
are tossed on the run
but mixed with
frosty ecstasies.
Reminiscing time
that casts a chill
as winter steals
with cold appeals
slipping finally
into November's prime.
********
God outdid Himself again!
First He daubed His ruby brush
only on emerald maple tops
teasing them to shyly blush
then rouged their hues
with bolder strokes of scarlet bright
against the autumn cerulean blue
applying saffron-yellow
to catch the lingering rays
before the season's early wrap
of a frigid starry night.
Suddenly this morning
all nature flamed aglow!
God must have tripped on a mountain
and dropped His palette below:
blazing gold and crimson
splashed on bush and tree
blotching lanes and lawns
spattering his paint recklessly.
Can a painter capture on canvas
such Divine display?
Or I, with feeble words of verse
His magnificence portray?
Creator-Artist-God
is without a peer
each year He paints
an original masterpiece
better than the last!
*******
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