Pining for a love that never was,
I listen to the crooning voices of jazz.
Boy, you made me tumble, you made me fall,
I lay at night dreaming of lips that never met.

Pining for you, I'm sad and lonely,
This are the autumn's blues of such life.

The orange leaves outside fall,
my rain in autumn.
The wind howls through the night,
forlorn whispers of your name.

I'm pining for you,
you who made me tumble, who made me fall,
I'm a leave on the winds of autumn,
Boy, I'm howling for you tonight.

the night draws round,and while the lights
are out we wander in the gloom,
wondering.

why was the work on censorship, censored,
why
was mrs ciano rejected?

why do people be angry. make choices.

yes sir you may buy the ring, for a
thousand pounds, or choose to save
someones life.

sbm.

To the trees, to sun
to birds and the ways of love
to breath - I thank you

The chill of an autumn morning
A rising steam as the fallen leaves exhale
The lonesome trees have given up their glory
A carpet of red, yellow, orange, and brown

An overcast sky with no definition
Is but a blur
Movement indiscernible
There is wisdom in the sky, revealed to a few

The smoke of the day’s first fire ascends
Wafting its familiar fall fragrances
Brings warmth and comfort to the soul
And campsite memories of long ago

We pass the bleak and barren cornfield
Stippled with autumn’s harbingers
The Raven
They stare with the blackest of black eyes

Here the autumn makes
prettiest place for me
a quaint placid lake
with wind’s lullaby!

A cloud mirrored hush
thicket’s lone butterfly
spell stricken grass
in awe of the sky!

This sight the autumn makes
seems so wispy to my feel
like flying pollen flakes
catching dreams by the jhil!

The feathered bloomy light
on this day by the lake
soon would melt from my sight
leaving trail as an ache!

surround this area,
live inside. loving
lamps ,damp autumn air.

shadow,               films
with out words, stuttering.

moths, yes i usually write
of moths, now long legs
come into play. outside

planes fly over, estuary
birds call. autumn.

sbm.

The beauty of a woman
is in the poems she's wrote,
the dreams she's weaved
and all the stories she's told.

The beauty of a woman
is in the adventures she's taken,
the lives she's touched
and all the minds she's awakened.

The beauty of a woman
is in the caring she gives,
the sincerity in her laughter,
and the passion in her griefs.

It's not the expensive clothes she owns,
her body size, the diamonds she's worn.
Measure not the beauty of woman in gold,
for the beauty of a woman is reflected in her soul.

This is a sad month.
The chance of another perfect Summers day
Falls away.

September channels melancholy.
Summer crazy turns to calm.
Excitement dies,
We start to pack away the years' memories,
Growth slows,
We ponder.

I have learned nothing.
Autumn's inevitability
Echoes my own, unchanging nature.

Perhaps I can learn from the season's changes,
There are things that I, too, should try to put to bed.
I will try to say goodbye
Not just to sun, and warmth,
But to my mistakes.

It's not a time for sadness
But for welcoming the chance to start again.

in September
   the leaves begin to fall,
they fall
     into piles needing
cleaning up,
        another thing to toil
me
           as they
dry and wither,
         I remember Spring.
Yes, it seems
               just yesterday.
I ask?
            when I wither
who?
                  will remember?