Posts Tagged ‘autumn’

Greatness Passed Us By

October 26, 2018

 

We chased the literary world in our youth,
confident, a pack of beagles, legs pumping,
tails whipping, heads low and sniffing,
or muzzles up and howling in the wind.

We chased, but greatness passed us by,
aloof, impenetrable as an Abrams tank.
We bayed and nipped at its grinding tracks,
then fell back, silenced in its wake.

The cadre of Accepted Writers moved on.
Most of my peers left the pack long ago
for a dog’s life and a home, or departed
to sleep in the warmth of God’s hearth.

But this old hound is chasing still,
limping along behind the eager pups,
watching for an open hatch, for that
moment when I might yet jump in.

 

Copyright © 2018 by Michael B. Smetzer

 

Stream through an Autumn Woods. Photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer.

Stream through an Autumn Woods. Photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer.

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I’m Not Sleeping in the Snow 

October 1, 2018

 

It’s time to blow out the nose
and breathe about the yard
It’s October and the air draws in cold 

My fingers untangle my hair
Two hairy arms roll sleep from my eyes
It’s time to rise up from the weeds

Squirrels have poked walnuts up my ass
Wasps crawled under me for the winter
Sow bugs are settled in my ears

It is time for a cold bath
My beard is as ragged as the trees


First published in
Cottonwood Review.

 

Winter Trees with Birds. Photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer.

Winter Trees with Birds. Photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer.

The Oak and the Sassafras

July 9, 2018

 

The girl pronounced him an oak
in autumn, herself a mitten tree,
supple under his strong limbs.
Her orange hair growing up
into his iron gray.

Now fire burns in his snow;
dead limbs creak on her crown.

 

First published in Mostly Maine.

 

Autumn in Pennsylvania. Photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer.

Autumn in Pennsylvania. Photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer.

Before Sunset

July 26, 2017

 

I walk down to your spot by the stream,
toss chunks of mud into the current.

Twigs and insects, leaves and soil
swirl away down the shallow creek.

The oaks creak slowly above
as sunlight fades from the grasses.

On the opposite bank small eyes rise
like buried hopes from the shadows.

 

First published in Cottonwood (formerly Cottonwood Review).

 

"Stream through an Autumn Woods," photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer

“Stream through an Autumn Woods,” photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer