Leaves jump-suited in brown-stained uniforms
signal the fall the way a weak wrist fails the hand.
They're showing their backs to us now,
refusing from want to hold our attention.
Heat sours early morning air, dully clips the breeze
of rhythm, pronounces the sky's metallic canvas
a mockery of unworked clouds.
What strength it takes to witness the withering,
what will to keep untended fire burning.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas
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I offer this poem for the dVerse Poets Pub call for poems about the "dog days" of summer. Go here to read about the prompt and leave the link to your contribution.
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9 comments:
heat even in the morning air...
that's it
All the personification here works strikingly and makes the season and its fraying an interior as well as exterior event, part of us, as we witness the dull and slow degrading of spring into winter. The ending couplet balances things perfectly.
wow...those first two lines are tight maureen...the turning of the backs as well....and that last bit on the fire...yes its been a long hot one...
Hmm, I like the opening
"Leaves jump-suited in brown-stained uniforms
signal the fall the way a weak wrist fails the hand."
and the last stanza too
Very cool (ahem) poem.
I especially liked the middle stanza:
Heat sours early morning air, dully clips the breeze
of rhythm, pronounces the sky's metallic canvas
a mockery of unworked clouds.
We taste fall in those browning leaves - first to fail unhealthiest ones- all true and the use of the wrist a very intense interesting perspective - all works well.
K.
Wonderful description of the leaves. I enjoy sharing poems this way! I keeps me going all winter.
A striking picture of the changing season.
wow -- you've captured the world outside my window!
"the way a weak wrist fails a hand"--That is striking. Especially since tree limbs look like arms.
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