Autumn’s fiery face

Autumn’s fiery face
shifts and ripples across the woods,
catching and snagging
the lips of Summer
in a blushing kiss.

A tiny patch of red leaves among the green,
scorching and kindling
A rhodochromatic fire.

It starts softly,
Then rages across the land,
Not destroying but creating.

Dropping the leaves quietly on the ground,
Nests for beetles and fungi,
Worms and larvae,
Breaking them down for compost
To feed new life.


© 2021, Yvonne Aburrow

For the ones who did not come home

Thread a bead for me,
Not a rosary:
A bright bubble of blood
From that river in flood
Between the worlds.

Carve a flute for me,
To breathe a memory,
Thread a song from the air,
Where the land is bare
On that distant shore.

Hold a hand for me,
Dream a dream for me,
Of summer days I cannot see,
Woven beneath the oldest tree,
Beyond the door.

Light a fire for me,
Down by that inland sea
Where the stars drink the night
And a bright scarf of light
Dances in the sky.


By Yvonne Aburrow


©️Yvonne Aburrow, 2021. Repost only with clear written credit to me. Please include this copyleft notice and all the information below as well.

The imagery in this poem is Pagan imagery (the World Tree, the river between the worlds in The Ballad of Thomas the Rhymer, the land of the dead being over the ocean). The poem is dedicated to the children who did not come home from residential schools. I woke up this morning with the fragment of a dream in my head with beads being threaded on a string as some sort of remembrance ritual. The poem is an attempt to capture the dream.

Inglenook

By granny’s fire
Burning driftwood.
The dancing flames
Were green and blue.

Fire in the hearth:
The flaming heart
Of an old house,
Place of magic.

A rare fine thing
Seen in old pubs,
Often taken,
Cosy, enclosed,

Liminal place,
Shadowy space,
The inglenook.


A quadrille on the theme of the inglenook, suggested by DVerse. Hat-tip to The Skeptic’s Kaddish.

Featured image: Fireplace by José Claudio Guima on Pixabay (public domain).

Fields of the Sky

My poem for July’s “Name that Vase” competition at The Alchemist’s Studio.

The lines on the vase
Are hedges and paths around
The fields of the sky

Sky people travel
Along the lines, pause to breathe,
Dazed by the blue glaze

The dots are deep wells
Where fresh memories gather
Dew from rising dreams.

It’s time to share our winner and feature another vase in need of a name! Welcome to my monthly feature – ‘Name that Vase’.

Name That Vase – July 2020

Poem: The Earth Child

The Earth Child

by Gerald Gould

Out of the veins of the world comes the blood of me;
The heart that beats in my side is the heart of the sea;
The hills have known me of old, and they do not forget;
Long ago was I friends with the wind; I am friends with it yet.

The hills are grey, they are strange; they breed desire
Of a tune that the feet may march to and not tire;
For always up in the distance the thin roads wind.
And passing out of sight, they pass not out of mind.

I am glad when morning and evening alter the skies;
There speaks no voice of the stars but my voice replies;
When wave on wave all night cries out in its need,
I listen, I understand; my heart takes heed.

Out of the red-brown earth, out of the grey-brown streams.
Came this perilous body, cage of perilous dreams;
To the ends of all waters and lands they are tossed, they are whirled.
For my dreams are one with my body, yea, one with the world.

From The golden book of modern English poetry 1870-1920, selected & arranged by Thomas Caldwell