A Season to Forget
It feels strange, the leaves fallingand the sun still so warm,
despite a wind that blows
each night leaving
the prickly cases of chestnuts.
This season is disappointing,
a long winter and hot summer,
the chestnuts are falling too soon,
small and hard, not as burnished
as they usually are.
Reminds me of us,
of me and you and you and me
and all we promised
during a strike when the
post wasn't delivered
and the note I left on table
never got read, just lead us
to the path which followed to the beach
and the tears, were they real
or just sand and wind?
Autumn comes hard to me,
the season of my birth
the season of my fail.
I relish in the wailing winds,
listen as you embellish truth
until no-one knows the lies
that slip and drip from your lips.
So the chestnuts are hard and small,
lacking colour and taste,
I won't catch leaves this year
there are far too many,
I'll boil a pot of salted water
and prick the nuts as they fall,
a preamble to the roast and
all the forgotten toasts to us.
I wish I didn't care so hard
or hold my silence so fiercely;
mine was the lot to protect,
yours the one to forget.
Poetry by Elle
Read 834 times
Written on 2013-10-18 at 17:27
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
NicholasG |
Lawrence Beck |
shells |
Ghost of Heino |
salem |
josephus |
Texts |
by Elle Latest textsTwo Little CatsHills Not the End Cinders Oh perfect Day |
Increase font
Decrease