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Mark Toney Sep 2021
autumn reflections
wrinkled leaves wrinkled faces
mourning dead leaves




Mark Toney © 2021
9/25/2021 - poetry form: Haiku (for you) - Mark Toney © 2021
Fey Sep 2021
September leaves rustled in the glades of my mind,
I saw them dancing golden since August and July.

They shone gently in the tone of your eyes - russet-chestnut and striking hazel;
I still couldn't name how they struck me like a sharp blade - cruel and fatal.

And I saw your ghost lingering
in the corn fields of this autumnal dream.
You as blue aciano, me as red poppy,
complementing our floral color scheme.

A person like you doesen't even exist
and yet I am writing this.
Summer died long ago
but we were meant for the fall with the aching of the cold wind's blow.

© fey (19/09/21)
Am I
here,
or am
I in
your
tidal
stars
of my
eyes,
seeing
your
light
in the
little
skies
joining
leaves,
they are
not far,
rather,
they
shine
near
as my
own,
the cells
of one
cosmic
glow,
a drop
of rain
falls from
the heavens
and I catch
upon it
my delicate
finger,
the dew
cascades,
I close
my eyes
and feel
the ocean in
my hands,
in silver
scales, I
dive,
in colors
of blue,
golden
and
green,
I will
forever
dream.
mary liles Aug 2021
you remind me of the leaves
and the way they crunch underfoot
and the way they smell
and the color.

the pure, bright color that overwhelms
everything around the source.

nothing can compare.
stargazer Aug 2021
the leaves fall in fall
is it really that simple?
they change color too
wrote this in middle school and i think this is the closest to enlightenment as i'll ever get
Blossom Aug 2021
Sunflower 🌻
Reach for the clouds
Extend your petals forth
Craving the light
But without rain
Should wither away
Cracked leaves remain
Growly Wolfus Oct 2020
The frog croaked softly
amid the morning mist
His breath hung in the air
puffs of October's fall
The birds chirped in splendor
as the frost captured their song
holding notes in suspension
until others returned the call


And on the water, lily pads
floated past in a gentle breeze
the size of china saucers
we'd use whilst sipping tea
a bridge of small proportions
the hopscotch game of life
a crossing from our world to theirs
under the crimson leaves

Birds came to watch with envy
atop their crooked perch
Bugs skated to and fro
across the liquid glass
The dandelion dancers
drifted above the pool
and stood on lily pad ferries
where the bullfrogs had sat

The forest was a portrait
by Van Gogh and Claude Monet
A storm of autumn colors
the lily pads ablaze
A stillness to be broken
beneath the sun's warm smile
The tranquil winds kept blowing
the fire sparked by our gaze

The music of the angels
disguised by amber leaves
amidst the forest wildfire
ne'er to melt the morning frost
And people pass, indifferently
the beauty that was there
as none but I did witness
the life this fall had brought
AP Vrdoljak Jul 2021
There’s no post in the box
At the top of the drive.
The sun won’t write us
‘fore the clouds arrive.

Leaves and plastic
Get caught in the rail.
We pull them out
So the gate won’t fail.

But who walks by
Or on bikes roam
Beyond the corner
From where we call home?

We can only hide far away
Behind the bougainvillea’s green,
In our bricks and glass,
In the spaces between.

And still no letter
And yet far better.
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