Saturday, October 1, 2005

Fall is a Beautiful Liar

Fall is a Beautiful Liar

There never were words to describe it -

The cicada song grows wearisome and
he sings despite his wings
being seared away by August.

The jade velvet of flower beds
has not weathered well under
the heat of fevered weeding;

always stroking - twisting - pulling -
where has the ease of nature gone?

The lily's curves have turned to wilt
and the morning glory is sleeping in
past the humid languor of summer.

All that remains are grubs that thrive
on the chilled skeletons of September.
There is no promise but that of death

and there never were words to describe it.



  1. It is always sad when a child dies. I can understand why this would speak to you. I would rather it didn't speak so well.

  2. and this comment ended up on the wrong poem...I thought I was losing it...only a little.

  3. I always did like your poems that worked in garden terms...

  4. lol I hate when I do stuff like that.

    I got burnt out on the gardening theme somewhere around the time the temps here hit 100 for a few days straight lol.

  5. Hullo, Erin. I'll just be blunt and say how much I've missed the richness of your poetry. I got absolutely carried away by the first stanza alone. Floating, floating...

    By the way, I've been reading past poems. "Spin-Out" has rendered me speechless. I'm loving the intensity of each line.

    Well, I'm done gushing. Heehee. I hope all is well with you. ^_^

  6. "There is no promise but that of death" I am drawn to this line like a lover. Nice write.

  7. Dense intense lines that would be saturated colors and wet deep shadows. It leads me to look for more of your skilled poems.

  8. Thank you Pearl! I'm glad you enjoyed this piece, and hope you find more you can enjoy while you're here!

  9. Yes, this is a lovely piece, Erin. It reminds me of some of the qualities of Jane Kenyon's writing, too.

  10. Dear Ms. Monahan,

    Caught you via a comment at Siris and glad that I did.

    Lovely, absolutely lovely. And powerful. Thank you for sharing it.



  11. The last stanza goy me:
    "All that remains are grubs that thrive
    on the chilled skeletons of September.

    Actually, the whole poem did the same.

    Really beautiful. Poignant shadows of Fall.