dry leaves skitter
past the temple censer,
colored by lantern.
Autumn Night [Haiku]
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Tag Archives: Autumn
“Aftermath” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]
When the summer fields are mown,
When the birds are fledged and flown,
And the dry leaves strew the path;
With the falling of the snow,
With the cawing of the crow,
Once again the fields we mow
And gather in the aftermath.
Not the sweet, new grass with flowers
Is this harvesting of ours;
Not the upland clover bloom;
But the rowen mixed with weeds,
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,
Where the poppy drops its seeds
In the silence and the gloom.
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“October” by Robert Frost [w/ Audio]
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost --
For the grapes' sake along the wall.
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Land at Rest [Haiku]
the land rests
after the harvest;
birds feed on remnants.
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Silent Autumn [Haiku]
Schrödinger’s Dragonfly [Haiku]
Grassy Bank [Haiku]
Autumn morn sunlight
brightens the grassy bank,
& throws long shadows.
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Brisk Morn [Haiku]
brisk morn dragonfly:
too cold to move, or dead?
unmoved by footfall.
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DAILY PHOTO: Autumnal Forest Scenes
“The Human Seasons” by John Keats [w/ Audio]
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought
he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness -- to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
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