Seasonal poems: Autumn 2023

Autumn Leaves

Autumn leaves through air are falling
On breezes soft but soon to chill
To make a cloak on ground to lay,
Of colour mixed in fabric thick,
Of curls, of bends, of withered veins
To set about in moment’s rest
Before a wind along to sweep
To scatter more those would to stay,
To upward raise a swirling veil
Which may to carry yet wider still
And of a hollow there to pause
That many their way to lose,
And there at last to final stay,
Their life’s last hours now then lost
The tree that bore them dark and bare
As autumn’s face it does to shade.

David Morris, Llandaff North

The Storm

“It’s time to hibernate,” she said,
And she grabbed the blanket
And we snuggled down
While the storm did its worst.

Jane Vincent, Rhiwbina

Golden Leaf

Golden leaf in my hair,
a gift from the old birch tree.
I gently pull it away and stare
at its wonderful symmetry:
a straight line with a series of Vs
blown to me on an autumnal breeze.

An army of leaves the colour of gold
adorns the grass but will turn to dust
and many more will lose their hold
to decay, as everything must
yet it grants me pleasure, however brief
to caress…a fallen golden leaf.

Guy Fletcher, Rhiwbina

The Moon

With a face like clocks in halls,
her beams caress the village walls,
And churned up plains
And roofs and lanes,
And through bedroom panes
Onto those who came
To release their pain.

Lea Thomas, Llandaff North

Golden Trees

It is one of those alluring autumnal mornings:
sky a pre-Raphaelite blue
with the sleepy moon still visible
and the welcome sun leisurely rising.
Trees guard the Victorian library,
I sit outside the coffee shop and stare
at vibrant golden leaves swaying in the fresh air.

Branches dance in the gentle breeze,
a few leaves flicker to the ground,
the first of a mighty battalion
as shade from a tree dances
on the plinth of the sombre soldier.
Great storms will soon arrive but I allow
myself to relax…if only for now.

Guy Fletcher, Rhiwbina

A Child’s Eye

That wondrous look of sweet surprise
Seen only in young children’s eyes,
On first standing, from a crowd
Sway, sway yet do not fall
Seeing their first rainbow form
See the lightning flash in their first storm,
Or seeing their first snowfall
Or hearing their first cuckoo call.
They see jewels on a frosty lawn
For they see with the eyes of a newly born.
Look at a winter’s star-strewn night
Look through a young child’s eyes
And you will see – Heaven.

B Leonard, Rhiwbina

What Remains? The View From Church Road

A land of water power, coal, and steam
To set great wealth in store for chancers few.
A sham division, and a hard regime;
The wheel turned that others might accrue
And build, and plan. Track’s carriages and trucks
Soon marked the bounds askew. above; below;
By brick and stone, an ever changing flux
of terrace; yard; the lawn; the portico.

Now whitest render grows about these grounds.
Baronial gates and railing cock a snook
At some, for ev’ry painted sill dumbfounds,
And ev’ry quoin, bright, casts a slight rebuke.
But cross the bridge, and never see a drive,
where prize hydrangeas in front gardens thrive.

Nigel Phillips, Whitchurch