Saturday, October 24, 2009

leaves

a favorite page on the calendar is open
snaps, skips
clink trinkling down the street
see them skidding,

lifting, twisting, flying
hear changed colors run in ripples
an invisible toreador's cape brushes
bursting particles,

sound rushes golden on yellow
and reds,
green subdued or gone already
blue sky sunning, melting over

bursting particles
sticking in fences
sailors swept from the deck
rushing brushes like tossing seas

old tree witch silhouettes clawing to the clouds
shiver on winter’s cusp
cold cries warning
as October scatters on the wind

2 comments:

Annie said...

Hi Jack, I enjoy the playfullness and imagery in this poem, and the final stanza with the "old tree witch silhouettes clawing to the clouds..."

jack sender said...

annie, you got what i had in mind.