I
The steam arose from the stream
The leaves fell from the tree
Weak sun shone on the grass
The pattern of frost won’t last.
The chill hung in the air
The flowers drooped drab and brown
The birds scavenged for food
The sky began to brood.
The wind cut through my coat
My scarf flew like a flag
Season’s clock relentless rolling
Year end’s bell began tolling.
My coffee smoked as I walked
My thoughts wandered to spring
All was promise, purpose, and plan
New grass, new leaves, new man.
II
Some say
As if all eternally hung
On remaining endlessly young.
No sense of the seasons,
No sense of their worth,
As if we needn’t come
Back down to earth.
Fall’s a reality check
Life’s dances denouement
And in the unwinding
The inner truth finding.
Dust to dust falling
Adam’s atomizing
No death, no resurrection
Or upstart insurrection
Of life over death
Requires Fall and demise
Before we can arise.
III
Give me the seasons
The constant reminders
Of youth’s immaturity
Of young’s insecurity.
Fall’s final whisper
Is quite pre-mature
It conjures reality
But not our finality.
The goal’s our maturity
Not youthful, or young
The goal’s our completion
Through death it’s hard won.
Light seeps through my window
Perfecting stainedglass
God quickens dust’s children
They grow up–at last.
Oct. 26, 2009
BW3
For Chris Armitage
posted October 28, 2009 at 10:57 pm
You’re like George McDonald on theological steroids…lol…you put out books faster than I can read them & you still make time to write beautiful poetry and do other things…it really is a mystery to me how you manage to do all of this…do you speed read with a photographic memory & never sleep?
posted October 29, 2009 at 10:58 am
Hi MP:
I am not a speed reader, but apparently I do have a photographic memory for some things.
BW3
posted January 17, 2011 at 8:39 am
A beautiful poetry. It’s a food into my brain. I love poetry’s that talk about life’s lesson and encouragements. Good thing I had a chance to read such a wonderful poetry.