September Comes Poem by Daniel Brick
September Comes
In summer, you were stunned
by green things blooming, bronzed
by heat released from every inch
of sky, carried across blue thresholds
by random winds. Oh, how you felt
this is the season of Forever!
'Come hither, ' urged bright morning
and you complied without a care.
'Don't move, ' cautioned the sun
and you sat still another hour.
'Open your arms, ' cried the winds
and you embraced their sudden heat.
September comes, and Nature falls
silent. She has the work of harvest
to perform. You're on your own now
to map the sun, to touch a green leaf
turning yellow, to hold a golden moment
before it fades into winter light.
The days grow shorter, the nights
colder. Oh, Misery! you think.
And yet... Those sumac bushes,
abundant along the river bank,
half-green, half-red, seem poised
in time, as if Autumn will never say-
'Farewell'
'Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! ' That is the wind of inspiration, the ancient belief that we breathe in inspiration and then we exhale our creation - the poem! I don't actually wait for those wonderful moments when a poem seems to write itself. If they happen, it's wonderful; however, as a rule, I see writing poems as a craft we practice every day, until we get it right, and then the poem is ready to share with others. But that 'wind that blows through me'
is an ancient belief which carries ancient wisdom - if nothing else, it cautions us to be humble, because it tells us our creativity is much larger than our egos - its source is outside of us, or very deep within us where our common humanity resides.
This is one of my favourite poem and I come back to read it again and again. How nature talks to us- - Sun and wind - - how they make our days, nights and seasons- - our happiness, our worries and how we respond to nature - - Let me quote- - Come hither, ' urged bright morning and you complied without a care. 'Don't move, ' cautioned the sun and you sat still another hour. 'Open your arms, ' cried the winds and you embraced their sudden heat
Every time I read this poem, I feel the beauty of nature that leaves a lasting impression on our heart- - - -the green things you want to carry in your memory.Let me quote from this lovely poem- - - And yet... Those sumac bushes, abundant along the river bank, half-green, half-red, seem poised in time, as if Autumn will never say- 'Farewell'
Thanks for your appreciation. We like the same stanza! I still remember that patch of sumac by my apartment at the time which was perfectly half and half.In my mind it seemed like time was suspended. And now in 2017 in the middle of September we are at that same moment between seasons.
we can learn valuable lessons from each other or just tap into each other's creative spirit. Poetry makes us a community! - - - - - - - - -But that 'wind that blows through me' is an ancient belief which carries ancient wisdom - if nothing else, it cautions us to be humble, because it tells us our creativity is much larger than our egos - its source is outside of us, or very deep within us where our common humanity resides- - - - - - -I truly appreciate what you said in your Poet's note- - - 'Our creativity is much larger than our egos- - its source is outside us or very deep within us- - - - - -Thank you for sharing.
I'm glad you found this comment truthful and valuable. That's another why I chose John Keats for the poet who visits you. Like you, he was no egotist or vain about wonderful poems. He was sharing all of it with fellow humans. The sharing is what matters to you and Keats. And me.
September comes, and Nature falls silent. She has the work of harvest to perform. You're on your own now to map the sun, to touch a green leaf turning yellow, to hold a golden moment before it fades into winter light. - - - - - - - - - - - - A stunning write.My comment is to remind me of this beautiful poem and to come back and re-read.
I wrote this poem at least three years ago. I like it a lot because September is my favorite month - it's both late summer and early autumn, it says Hello/Good-bye like the Beatles song, and it's all imagery, no abstract language. Our poems keep what we love alive and near us! !
Autumn is a poetic season. You hold the golden moment to voice out the its beauty. Nice!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 1:59:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
a really lovely poem, Daniel, and a great comment (your note about your poem)