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A Drop Of Happiness

Posted on October 18, 2015 Updated on October 10, 2015

From the grief ocean, I steal, a drop of happiness,
For every autumn, I get a lovely beautiful spring,
For human youth; the festive, to dance and sing,
We nature, within nature; keepeth blissful fitness,

When spring comes, nature with its beauty; greet,
Flower with hue sways and butterflies do flip flop,
Calm breeze’s sensational blush; a birth of hope,
Seasons love, mingles with whole color, they meet.

Know, a place in mind, away from the physical spring,
Hatching spring and brooding youth forever, a bliss,
Grief of the world; dry petals, away from hate, I kiss,
From the grief ocean, a drop of happiness, they bring.

There will not be a spring without autumn; no taste,
If no sorrow, what taste happiness will provide, say?
If no youth, why then heart will throb; gaily and gay?
Autumn prepares to decorate the heart with haste..

– Aftab Alam

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Mnemosyne

Posted on October 17, 2015 Updated on October 10, 2015

It ‘s autumn in the country I remember.

How warm a wind blew here about the ways!
And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber
During the long sun-sweetened summer-days.

It’s cold abroad the country I remember.

The swallows veering skimmed the golden grain
At midday with a wing aslant and limber;
And yellow cattle browsed upon the plain.

It ‘s empty down the country I remember.

I had a sister lovely in my sight:
Her hair was dark, her eyes were very sombre;
We sang together in the woods at night.

It ‘s lonely in the country I remember.

The babble of our children fills my ears,
And on our hearth I stare the perished ember
To flames that show all starry thro’ my tears.

It ‘s dark about the country I remember.

There are the mountains where I lived. The path
Is slushed with cattle-tracks and fallen timber,
The stumps are twisted by the tempests’ wrath.

But that I knew these places are my own,
I ‘d ask how came such wretchedness to cumber
The earth, and I to people it alone.

It rains across the country I remember.

– Trumbull Stickney

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Once Upon An Autumn Day

Posted on October 16, 2015 Updated on October 10, 2015

Once Upon an autumn day,
Colorful leaves began to fade
In the midst of a chilly, frosty air
As multitude of trees grew steadily bare.

Once upon an autumn day,
The whispering breeze was here to stay
Moving aimlessly through the countless trees
Scattering leaves with the greatest of ease.

Once upon an autumn day,
The leaves whirled freely in every way,
Until at last they came to rest
Finding a haven in which to nest.

Once upon an autumn day,
The trees were dormant, and the leaves lay
Waiting for the winter snow to fall
To quickly obscure them one and all.

– Joseph T Renaldi

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Autumn Valentine

Posted on October 15, 2015 Updated on October 10, 2015

In May my heart was breaking-
Oh, wide the wound, and deep!
And bitter it beat at waking,
And sore it split in sleep.

And when it came November,
I sought my heart, and sighed,
“Poor thing, do you remember?”
“What heart was that?” it cried.

– Dorothy Parker

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Three Pieces On The Smoke Of Autumn

Posted on October 15, 2015 Updated on October 10, 2015

SMOKE of autumn is on it all.
The streamers loosen and travel.
The red west is stopped with a gray haze.
They fill the ash trees, they wrap the oaks,
They make a long-tailed rider
In the pocket of the first, the earliest evening star.. . .
Three muskrats swim west on the Desplaines River.

There is a sheet of red ember glow on the river; it is dusk; and the muskrats one by one go on patrol routes west.

Around each slippery padding rat, a fan of ripples; in the silence of dusk a faint wash of ripples, the padding of the rats going west, in a dark and shivering river gold.

(A newspaper in my pocket says the Germans pierce the Italian line; I have letters from poets and sculptors in Greenwich Village; I have letters from an ambulance man in France and an I. W. W. man in Vladivostok.)

I lean on an ash and watch the lights fall, the red ember glow, and three muskrats swim west in a fan of ripples on a sheet of river gold.. . .
Better the blue silence and the gray west,
The autumn mist on the river,
And not any hate and not any love,
And not anything at all of the keen and the deep:
Only the peace of a dog head on a barn floor,
And the new corn shoveled in bushels
And the pumpkins brought from the corn rows,
Umber lights of the dark,
Umber lanterns of the loam dark.

Here a dog head dreams.
Not any hate, not any love.
Not anything but dreams.
Brother of dusk and umber.

– Carl Sandburg

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