Mary Naylor

Rookie (12/17/33 / Chicago, Illinois)

Mary Naylor Poems

121. The Grouchy Guardian Angel 2/2/2006
122. It Must Be Halloween! 9/28/2006
123. Dirge For Darfur 1/1/2008
124. A Toast! 2/14/2008
125. Nightwing 2/17/2006
126. First Time (My Scariest Childhood Memory) 4/18/2008
127. Actions Speak... 7/29/2008
128. The Prayer Tree 1/29/2007
129. Clay 1/31/2006
130. Ragbag Heart 4/4/2006
131. Dark Lover (Adult Content) 2/16/2006
132. Whispers 8/30/2006
133. Alliteration 3/6/2008
134. The Bandit 2/19/2006
135. The Autumn Of Forever (Quatrain) 11/1/2007
136. A May Basket 5/4/2007
137. Three Haiku 7/19/2007
138. Death Watch 2/2/2006
139. Jonathan Nathan Go Do Your Homework 10/6/2007
140. Dream Horse 2/14/2006
141. Dancin' In Paris 2/19/2006
142. Awake! 6/27/2007
143. Angel Tears 8/29/2007
144. Of Scales And Tails, Feathers And Pebbles And Endless Immeasurables 2/10/2006
145. Autumn Dreams 1/2/2003

Comments about Mary Naylor

  • Sandra Fowler (12/7/2006 4:45:00 PM)

    Mary Naylor is one of my favorite poets at poemhunter. Her work is beautiful, eloquent and compassionate. It is deserving of much applause.

    Sandra Fowler

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Best Poem of Mary Naylor

Autumn Dreams

Grinning pumpkins, falling leaves,
Dancing scarecrows, twirling breeze,
Color, color everywhere,
Autumn dreams are in the air! Autumn is a woman growing old,
Ready to let what is dead go,
Her youthful radiance has faded, and that's sad,
But underneath she discovers a
spread of colors she didn't know she had. Little children screech and run,
Ghosts and goblins having fun,
Color, color everywhere,
Autumn dreams are in the air! Around her a kaleidoscope of leaves are whirling.
Deep within her visions stir of new life that will be,
A budding, a ...

Read the full of Autumn Dreams


In its vast blue vault, the golden cup spills
over Earth's parched brow, unto its fevered, furrowed hills,
a clear ethereal wine, hot and pure, that mingles
with quietly devout, gaunt, prickly fingers,
humble supplicants cupping a rosary of sand.

In the darkness of their being
they silently gather silvery beads
that spill over like precious mead.

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