Ode to November
In November I gaze at friendly sun beams and wild winds blowing outgoing willow trees bending, winding and twisting delicate filigrees, lunar-pale in swift whirl with the music of the stream. Swirling leaves, swept from trees and lawns, or in bare or stately gardens, flaming, tarnished or dead, a potpourri of reds, yellows, goldens and browns. Yours is the time to gather turnips, swedes, the last peas and beans, tomatoes and gherkins, gourds, pumpkins, beetroots, lettuce leaves; to delight on jellies, jams, biscuits. Yours is the time for robins’ breasts tinted with Autumn’s glow, melliferous flowers to tear, and between frost-crisped leaves with muffled prayer, track the fleeting year. Yours is the time when eyelids softly blink, by the fire, watching burning logs. Musings, feelings, anxieties vanish, and time stops. |
Can you see?
Can you see pearls of music and colour unrolling my verse and travelling the universe? Can you see pearls of sun and dew, blood and breath, coalescence of feelings of me and you? Can you see pearls of joy in an expanding universe, melting the limitations of many generations? Can you see pearls of surrender and stillness and arcane emotions that my verse cannot tell? Can you see pearls beyond space and time feestooning lilies white where my verse does rhyme? |
Copyright 2013 Grace Rafael - All Rights Reserved
Website design by Grace Rafael
Website design by Grace Rafael