Delay of Autumn

a free verse poem of the season

Image by Gerald Friedrich from Pixabay

Delay of Autumn

The Autumn wreath
with plastic apples
aged pine cones
resides in closeted bin

Temperatures dip
days shorten
signaling yellows,
deep reds, bursts of orange
the ushering in of
pumpkin — everything
not this year

the corn has been cut
husk-less stalks, sparse, dried
scatter the field in muted gold

this year the heat hangs long
the soils ache with thirst
the hickory tree drops her limbs
large, green ones
too brittle, they splinter
and fall away —
like bones breaking
that sound

poison ivy yellows, withers, dries
the greens fading to brown,
no vibrancy of Autumn,
summer lingers, decays

I’ll hang the wreath
another day.
When Autumn comes
will it be as a swift breath —

with Winter on her heels
raging in white?


Christina Ward 🌼 is a poet and nature writer from North Carolina, where this year it is in the upper 80s and low 90s at the end of September. We haven’t had rain for weeks.

Stay in touch! ~*~ Fiddleheads & Floss Poetry ~*~ Follow me on Twitter!

This poem was originally published by Weeds & Wildflowers publication of Medium.

Weeds & Wildflowers
https://medium.com/weeds-wildflowers/delay-of-autumn-33fcf363fd44

Nectar Dreams

a poem about the tiny creatures we often miss


Honey Bee (Unsplash.com)

Nectar Dreams

Walking sticks, June bugs,
Bumble bee, Wooly Bears
all came out to play
and when the streetlights 
at last were lit
the fireflies lit the way.
The June bugs, in droves,
in whispering swarms
slapped against our chests
emerald green-backed and shining,
the airborne jewels in summer vests.

Where have all the June bugs gone?
 
Wooly Bears sauntered by one-by-one
we didn’t touch them as they rolled
laborious slow and steady, with hiding
faces, these solitary mysteries unfold.

Oh Wooly Bear, please come 
out to play once more.

Walking sticks, box turtle, sage-shaded mantis
and the creepy-singing “whooo whooo whooo
that rose from the woods behind us
telling secrets that sailed out over the garden
plump with cucumber, tomato, corn stalks, melon.

Daddy Long legs often skittered by
climbing on spindly silent legs,
with tiny black dot bulbous eyes 
they crept on silent dregs.
Now, sadly gathered elsewhere
on distant dream, searching 
for more of their kind.

Perhaps the June-bugs hide there too
in this grassy hidden plane
where creatures gather 
to speak of when their numbers
had not yet begun to wane.
They worry over summers 
that no longer look the same,
of the children no longer twirling
in grass with magical dreams.
 
Bumble bee, I beg you, do not go away.
I plant my flowers one-by-one
enticing you to stay.
Our earth is not the same for you
but your plump colors light our way
I miss you singing nectar-dreams., oh please
Forgive us, we have lost our way.

Wooly Bear Caterpillar (https://cottagelife.com/outdoors/wild-profile-meet-the-woolly-bear-caterpillar/)



Walking Stick bug ( https://www.spirit-animals.com/stick-bug-symbolism/)

June Bug ( https://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/2016/jun/28/outdoors-summer-heat-magnolias-and-june-bugs/)

Thank you for reading Nectar Dreams, a poem inspired by my love for the tiny creatures and the joy they brought to my childhood. I hope you will read more of my poetry!

Seed to Earth–an Environmental Poem

a poem of life

sunflower field

https://unsplash.com/photos/pF_2lrjWiJE

Fruit trees drop them one, two, three…we twist some free.
Flesh-juice skinned; we wipe the sugary
dribble from our chins.

Time melts flesh from the fallen in weathered decay,
seed to earth to green in the flowering
seasonal swing of things
life continues still.

Pine trees drop them one, two three…
serotinous and resin-rich, pregnant with seed,
Flame sets them free!
Bud scales open petal-wide, exposing knobby core.

Life springs from ash, the earth peeled clean
blackened trunks rising like pillars of ghosts,
awaiting wing and chirp and beak.
Some birds prefer to nest in post-fire trees.

Time heals the scorched, the black, the white-ash grays
to leak green and leaf forth in the wake of flame
growth anew and spirit churning
Life continues, still.



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