Autumn, Blog, Poetry

Changing Seasons #Autumn πŸ‚

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

As the nights draw in summer is fading away and the cool Autumn days are here.  I was inspired by John Keats poem To Autumn which I posted last week for national poetry day.  For this week’s post, I’ve written a poem based on the autumn season.

Is it Autumn?

πŸ‚πŸ‚πŸ‚

The chill

Of the wind

Blows strongly 

Today

I’m wrapped up 

Warm and cosy

πŸ‚πŸ‚πŸ‚

I see 

A gold carpet

Leaves twirling 

Scattering 

Subtle tints glinting 

In subdued sunlight 

πŸ‚πŸ‚πŸ‚

Wild fruits 

Show vibrant hues

A stags 

Silhouette

Cuts in through 

Hazy morning mist 

πŸ‚πŸ‚πŸ‚

Forest fungi 

Begin slowly unfurling

Migrating birds

Circling

Through cool air

Flying far away

πŸ‚πŸ‚πŸ‚

It’s definitely 

Autumn 

Now!

By Spiral White 

Blog

Today is #NationalPoetryDay

Photo by David Bartus on Pexels.com

I’ve chosen to #ShareAPoem by John Keats called To Autumn or Ode to Autumn.
Autumn is one of my favourite seasons and Keats poem really captures the essence of the season in his famous first line.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness


Keats wrote it in September over 200 years ago when he was taking a walk in Winchester. It’s reflective tone is something I can relate to.  His vision is moving; especially if you consider that he was just 23 years old and never saw Autumn again in England as he moved away to Rome and died shortly after from tuberculosis.

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too –
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

If your interested in reading more about John Keats and his other poems, take a look at the Poetry Archive website https://poetryarchive.org/poet/john-keats/