October Poems

If it is difficult to feel your mother
Hard to bear and uneasy to share
See only the animals around you
Relation between mother and cub
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Modern Verse For The Railway
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Vertically they have gone to see the horizon
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desert sucks upper water to store in the deep
trees, plants, herbs and grasses are about to die
sunshine reflects on mirages there
mirages elude and mislead the travelers,
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Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
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Every old man I see
Reminds me of my father
When he had fallen in love with death
One time when sheaves were gathered.
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The sun's turning pale is a threat, in fact
That directly affects solar system
The climate has already been much changed
With known-unknown, acute poisonous fume;
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January brings the snow,
makes our feet and fingers glow.

February brings the rain,
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All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding
and steerhide over the ash hames, to haul
sledges of cordwood for drying through spring and summer,
for the Glenwood stove next winter, and for the simmering range.
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O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
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All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:
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O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;
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It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
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The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere-
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
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I missed you the other day
When the dew left its diamond glitter upon the grass
And the squirrels and frogs were frolicking merry
When the silence of daybreak calmed
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In the sea on the whale
The fishermen threw a pike,
The whale: I am harmless while
You are hurting me deadly deep,
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You said, that October,
In the tall dry grass by the orchard
When you chose to be free,
"Again someday, maybe ten years."
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The month of carnival of all the year,
When Nature lets the wild earth go its way,
And spend whole seasons on a single day.
The spring-time holds her white and purple dear;
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Beauty is seen daily in poetic duty every day,
Cutie is our Poem Hunter Family all here say.

Far across the globe poets unite here to write,
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Bangladesh - An Acrostic Verse
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B angladesh, a delta plain country on the Bay of Bengal is geographically,
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In the Shreve High football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
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OCTOBER 7
By: Chan Mongol
October 6 of 2024
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In the crisp breath of October's air, we swore,
Beneath the golden leaves, our vows implore.
Promises etched in the autumn's glow,
As whispers of the wind bid secrets to flow.
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In the midst of fall's warm colors
Lies a craft, tender and bold
A tapestry of memories, stitched together
Stories in threads, yet to be told
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Oh, October, thou art a painter bold,
With palette dipped in autumn's richest hues,
A tapestry of red and yellow, told,
In every leaf that in the wind pursues.
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OOPS! ! ! As brought to my attention by poet anais vionet,
I, Bri, misnamed this showcase 'October's' when I should
have said November! ! ! Sorry for my mixup/error. I'm OLD.
bri ;)
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In late October,
birds still sing sweetly, despite
the fading of light.
They do so naturally
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Look at this (the comments left on some of my more recently submitted ' Showcases '; I've NOT included comments left by me) :

1 -
Bri's Second October '22 Showcase, This One Built With Poems, Not Bri's Notes....[ Submitted In October, Not September This Time ] Comments
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Tuesday, October 18,2022 at 11 a.m. and 2: 26 p.m.; Friday morning, October 21, begun at 8: 12 a.m. and completed at 8: 29 a.m.

I came upon an opening, a clearing
in the foliage—a long expanse of green
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I, Bri, thought I might not submit another showcase, but, for Bharati Nayak, I DO.
She is one of the few members who comment, one of the very, very, VERY FEW!

In my last two or three showcases, I gave only notes, not the complete poem texts.
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Bapu

By Bijay Kant Dubey
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