Poems

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Out I went into the meadow, 

Where the moon was shining brightly, 

And the oak-tree’s lengthening shadows 

On the sloping sward did lean; 

For I longed to see the goblins, 

And the dainty-footed fairies, 

And the gnomes, who dwell in caverns, 

But come forth on Halloween. 

–Arthur Peterson (1851–1932)

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On the first of November, if the weather hold clear

An end of wheat sowing do make for the year.

–proverb

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No shade, no shine, 

no butterflies, no bees, 

no fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds— 

November! 

–Thomas Hood (1799–1845)

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Dull November brings the blast,

Then the leaves are whirling fast.

–Sara Coleridge (1802–52)

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For a true blue lollypop try Allium caeruleum. A Siberian native, it has 1-2 inch wide densely packed round blossoms and grows 12-18 inches tall.

PJ Poesy Feb 2016

 

Dish 

Adoring you is uncomplicated. The way in which, refreshment comes with your ravishment is treasured spectacle, and though your fans are many, this one broods. Pining for glimpses into your tortured terrine, stories of unplumbed eternity, depths of you, titillate. How more curious you become as onion peels, layers on layers. A sweet onion I might add. Yet still, one that brings tears. Tears, joyous tears, cliche of cliche, reconcile charm with burden of unknowing how an allium could come into a world, stinking, but make gourmet a dish.

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When the tree bares, the music of it changes:

Hard and keen is the sound, long and mournful;

Pale are the poplar boughs in the evening light

Above my house, against a slate-cold cloud.

–Conrad Aiken (1889–1973)

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E'en in these bleak November days

There's gladness for the heart that heeds.

–Charles Dawson Shanly (1811–75)

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Around the World in Twenty Days

Completing a three week flight, the first

full orbit of the earth's circumstance

the jubilant balloonists

swept past the finish line.

For kicks, and to burn up

the surplus fuel, they sailed another

twenty-four hundred miles, slipped

into a final jet stream and

cruised through sun-filled thunderclouds

stunned, freezing, astonished.

When the basket at last touched down,

scudded, stopped

on the bottomless sand,

the oblong bubble of the huge balloon,

its silvery tinfoil skin

collapsed like a massive lung.

The pilot wrote later

they hadn't conquered the elements'

but harmonized their flight 

with the wind.

"Surpassing Pleasure"  John Slater, 1974-

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The hoar-frost gathered, o'er each leaf and spray

Weaving its filmy network; thin and bright.

–Sarah Helen Whitman (1803–78)

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Autumn



red leaf,

twisting fall

sweetgum


Copyright © Norman Crocker | Year Posted 2015

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In slack wind of November

The fog forms and shifts.

All the world comes out again

When the fog lifts.

–Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830–94)

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And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,

No longer blown hither and thither,

The last lone aster is gone;

The flowers of the witch hazel wither.



–Robert Frost (1874–1963)

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The winds are out with loud increasing shout,

Where late before them walked the biting frost.



–Jones Very (1813–80)