#maples
as the leaves fell
from the autumn boughs
he evoked to mind
their marriage vows
the golden maple's hues
reminded him of her wedding ring
it stood for something lasting
yet their love
perished
in the cooling
wind's
chill
which was for him
a
most
bitter
pill
the brown colours of November
tumbled into his empty heart
for his once loving wife
did take leave
his eyes
filled
with
tears
as the skies
clouded in grey
their union of love
on the autumn boughs
drifted
away
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
The evening maple trees
Are so Still with so much swaying
The evening stars
Are so pretty and chill
With so much love to be sparkling
WithIn the roses blush,
With the sunflowers sweet laughter
The lillies with the sillies
The irises with their modest beauty
Loves own shy and exquisite gaze
And any flower you happen
To fancy and love sweetly ablaze
Any accent shall do
When it is felt that I love you
The Evening maples
are so chill
And still
with so much Rose swaying
Reynaldo Casison
Apr 5, 2025
Apr 5, 2025 at 10:36 PM UTC
Lisa, Leong and I were supposed to eat at a sushi place called “Bow Wow.” Lisa and I were coming back from our last class. I covered my face with the back of my hand and yawned as we reached the quad. Lisa put her phone in her jacket pocket and said, “She isn’t answering, I’ll go get her.” I nodded and gave her my backpack (we’re all suitemates).
I sat down, cross legged, under a (Japanese maple?) tree, arranging my skirt - the tree had shed most of its leaves, since I’d met it in September. A drift of papery bronze leaves spread out in all directions.
A breeze delicately swayed the tree branches, making flickering patterns of light in the shade. I went from sitting to lying down in the grass, angling for the most of the limited shade. The sky was subtly beginning to darken, as if an Instagram filter on the scene was being tweaked.
How many seasons has this tree observed, I wondered, with all the embellishments those brought - sun, rain, stars, rainbows and flickering, ever changing moons. All from within the limited, open sky frame of the quad. A tree has to be patient - and tough - I thought, there’s no rescue from the New England elements.
The whistling breeze seemed like music and the tree began to dance for me - its branches became waving arms, its leaves making jazz hands - I laughed and clapped. It made a twisting bow at the waist, like a performer.
I woke up when I heard Lisa say, “‘Here she is!” - as if I’d been lost.
Nov 30, 2021
Nov 30, 2021 at 4:12 AM UTC
Upon Springs hem
we become
Attuned to the morning
sparrow melodies
With their sweet honey
chorus
And gems
The canopy
of green leaves
Upon the maple trees
With their quiet majesties
The blooming of roses
Like long lost valentines
It must be sweet to be a gardener
WithIn the hips of Spring
And feel flowers sing
With all of Loves longing
They are the down to earth
Royalty of petals and beauty
And what they love
Is what we can love
All the more
In our own unique way
As loves flowers begin again
To sway
What romantics innately love
Like Vineyards to breeze
Even the gardeners
in the galapagos
Have an array of splendors
to cultivate
As the lyrical
Is felt with the kisses
Of Moonlight of sweet rain
And sighs can fly
Way deep down inside
Like things like wings glide
WithIn
With our love
All the way to Moon
Reynaldo Casison
Apr 5, 2025
Apr 5, 2025 at 10:15 PM UTC