It’s that time of the year again. The time of the year where the forgotten holiday comes up, but people decide that it’s already Christmas. We shouldn’t forget the magic of fall! The end of Halloween doesn’t mean the end of fall! This is a small collection of fall-themed poetry to help every remember, we shouldn’t be so eager for that Christmas cheer! A little note though, a couple are depressing, and a couple aren’t. It all depends on your own perception and thoughts. On that note, Enjoy!
1. Outside by Rukiiyah Sekka
sometimes I take a stroll outside
See the leaves falling from the branches
oranged, yellowed, crunchy
I don’t like being outside
yet I do it anyway
being alone is
terrifying
being outside is
terrifying
but
when I see people having fun
while on this little stroll of mine
see children jumping into leaves
parents watching their children
love in their eyes
sun in the sky
i push my hands deeper into my pocket
my hands clasping around a silver locket
maybe this time it won’t be so bad
maybe this time
I’ll actually
be
fine
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2. Autumn By Grace Paley
1
What is sometimes called a
tongue of flame
or an arm extended burning
is only the long
red and orange branch of
a green maple
in early September reaching
into the greenest field
out of the green woods at the
edge of which the birch trees
appear a little tattered tired
of sustaining delicacy
all through the hot summer re-
minding everyone (in
our family) of a Russian
song a story
by Chekhov or my father
2
What is sometimes called a
tongue of flame
or an arm extended burning
is only the long
red and orange branch of
a green maple
in early September reaching
into the greenest field
out of the green woods at the
edge of which the birch trees
appear a little tattered tired
of sustaining delicacy
all through the hot summer re-
minding everyone (in
our family) of a Russian
song a story by
Chekhov or my father on
his own lawn standing
beside his own wood in
the United States of
America saying (in Russian)
this birch is a lovely
tree but among the others
somehow superficial
————————————————————————————————————————————
3. Autumn Stroll by Rukiiyah Sekka
I love taking walks in the autumn, it’s so comforting to feelthe breeze on my face,
and the crunching of leaves under my shoes.
Too often I wonder, stupid often silly things
Like if the tree’s feel pain
when their leaves fall off,
similar to how a human despairs over lost hair?
The ground never wonders
about the people
who traveled on its skin
lived on it
died on it.
I often wonder about the places I’ve gone
would people remember me?
Am I memorable?
the sky cries tears and we don’t why it’s sad
I wish I was able to soar high above the trees
to see the view of the birds that pass above
to see the same thing
to experience everything
To love the earth
that loves me
Why do I hurt if I am loved?
Love is a fickle thing.
they always want
people always want
something from me
something that I cannot give.
The earth does not love
for free
————————————————————————————————————————————
4. To Autumn by John Keats
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
——————————————
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
——————————————
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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References
Keats, J. (n.d.). To autumn by John Keats. Poetry Foundation. Retrieved November 19, 2021, from https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44484/to-autumn.
Paley, G. (n.d.). Autumn by Grace Paley. Poetry Foundation. Retrieved November 19, 2021, from https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48222/autumn-56d22948808b5.