Homes so recently abandoned
for Sunday swims and picnics
Have become indoor respites
from the restless chill of change.
Secure, still days have vanished
with hazy meadows humming.
Fireflies have met their end,
replaced with jack-o'lanterns.
Now forewarning breezes,
stealthy, crisp, and vibrant,
uncovering reckless impulses.
Now uncanny images,
voices of chance and charm,
Bide their ghostly time,
to tease mortals hitherto content.
Darts and dashes of circumstance,
figures of flitting moments,
Are creatures mysteriously born,
skipping towards certain death.
So what, if the end is approaching;
the witches' brew is bubbling-
The whispers of all moans and laughs,
The collage of dreams and desires.
Now is the ecstasy of flinging
one's fate to the unrefined choir-
The discordant sounds and initiatives
of many spirits and springs.
Grinning gourds and goblins
bless this annual surprise-
This primal burst of forces
Which refuse once more to be quenched.
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Comments about this poem (October Fest by Carol Mays )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- WH Auden
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Henry Scott Holland
(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974)
- Francis Duggan
(17 June 1867 – 2 September 1922)
William Makepeace Thackeray
Walter de la Mare
(1873 - 1958)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- For John, Who Begs Me Not To Enquire Fur.., Anne Sexton
- Death is Nothing at All, Henry Scott Holland
- As I was walking, Walter de la Mare
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
- Selecting A Reader, Ted Kooser
- Million Man March Poem, Maya Angelou
- Little Billee, William Makepeace Thackeray
- Refugee Blues, WH Auden
- Tonight I can write the saddest lines, Pablo Neruda