The following are disassembled pieces of poetry I have not completed, prose I will never develop further, imitation Bob Dylan lyrics, and other verbal spasms in response to the changing of seasons.
* * * * *
The tree in front of my house is dripping. Dripping into golden puddles, stirred by the wind. The rivers and streams and lakes of leaves reflect the sun back up, matching its hue and making the dingy yellow of my house sink further into its nondescript blandness. I wade through to my car. I have work, despite the beauty's flood. I turn on the wipers. The leaves leave lightly - caught in the crosscurrent of wipers and wind. I drive off into the storm of sun.
* * * * *
Last flames flicker, falling
like echoing embers, extinguished,
lighting, all aglow, amidst
land's fine first frost.
* * * * *
Season's Change (fall 2005)
1: We were on a walk, holding hands,
smiling, laughing, making plans.
A breeze swept through, and took my love,
summer's gone and autumn's on.
C: That's how the seasons change.
Oh, that's how the seasons change.
2. The grass it withers, the leaves they fall,
The cold reaches out and touches all.
My heart sinks down, summer love is gone
And with the wind, autumn's on.
3. Winter's ice is on its way,
Freezing my heart in its place:
broken, aching, summer love gone.
The wind is bringing autumn on.
