Late October Afternoon
I whisper,
"Fly away home."
It's October,
late afternoon,
the lake done with sun,
ripples shadow
from man in boat
to dead maple leaves
that nestle on the shore.
Geese prowl
the last of the plenty.
A blue jay cries
through countless meanings
A chipmunk is here
and is gone.
Fish splash. Wildflowers shutter.
Breeze blows. Mallards sleep.
Every stillness muses change.
Each disturbance masks a calm.
Look Around You
The forest in fall -
a wide damask
layered by slanted light
that blinks in brassy foliage.
Everywhere, a weave of pastel color
where fading feels like an advance -.
bird song in constant praise
of a cooler air -
apples ripening like kisses.
Another October, that begins with us
holding on, clinging to birthright,
to landscape, to a season
as brief, as kindling,
as a log tossed on a fire.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Stand, Washington Square Review and Floyd County Moonshine. Latest books, “Covert” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, Santa Fe Literary Review and Open Ceilings.
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