Ray Quesada

(08-08-1986)

Autumn's Deathly Rust


A man can make a hungry angel blush
red wine wets their silent wind-blown lips
sweet summer pine, dark-green and rich,
to the earth, sets down its paint-brushed tips
Late afternoon, heavy sun turns the world
into a quiet, hollow, blood-orange pearl
flooded with a lush and lovely, deathly rust
The air is charged and alive; serene and crisp

I sit and watch a brilliant, dancing squirrel

-9-24-13; 2: 55 a.m.-

Submitted: Thursday, September 26, 2013
Edited: Friday, September 27, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

I was thinking about an autumn day where I once sat on my porch and literally watched/listened to some birds as they sat in a nearby tree and warned a squirrel in my yard of my cat sneaking up behind him. it was an strange, enchanted day.

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