Autumn Leaves

Late October. Long drawn summer subsides

Into the grey shadow of north east clouds

Time turns back to position before spring

Long hours of evening dark before the night.

Leaves still blaze: faded green to red and gold

Then pale and blotch and dry and curl and then

Reluctantly relinquish grip and spiral

Down to cool and hardening ground below

Where for a time they rustle, shift before

Inevitable incorporation into earth.

And I, in the October of my life

Ask if the green hope that once showed in spring

And grew into the semblance of maturity

Has dulled with usage in the passing years

But may still turn in autumn’s final flare

To russet, gold before the winter comes

Bring final colour to the shortening days

Before grip, prised loose from anchoring branch

Gives fluttering graceful fall to lie awhile

Perhaps give pleasure to small scuffling feet.

Or has autumn’s glory too soon faded

Slipping soft, soundless to the sodden soil

Colour, form texture lost till it becomes

Litter that clogs the winter woodland floor

Unmarked amongst ten million more

Whose falling shows the bare boned fractal frame

Trunk, branches ,twigs that held them all in place

Deep roots in time, slow built by passing years

But given life by long forgotten leaves

That unfolding loved, gave life then fading died.

October 2016

The picture is a decoupage - cut out shapes pasted, then photographed

Running in the Mist

Mist. Not dream drawn summer vapour from the river

That vanishes with rising of the sun

But seeping, damp chilled from cold wet earth

Seeping upward into low hanging clouds.

Constricting vision, blurring shape and shade

Confusing sound to directionless grey noise

Condoning loss of purpose, progress, pace

Confirming that the fading light will die.

I know this place, each fading formless hedge

The rise and fall of shadowed slope and path

The turns, iced ruts, last seasons frosted stubble

For I have run this darkening route before

And know in spring those hawthorn hedges bloom

And ruts reflect the soft blue Lindsey sky.

2021

Autumn Equinox

The long dry season still retains its hold.

Parched fields quiet now, harvest long since done.

Stubble fades silver from its early gold.

Apples ripening in September sun.

But earth’s slow tilt loosens summer’s grip

Moves us on to the rising of the dark

When growing night will short grey days outstrip

And bare trees against winter stars stand stark

Yes, we found past summer’s heat a strain

And long for freshening fall of autumn rain.

But shall our hearts live through their winter pain

The cold, our fear, past dreams of summer lost

Till shortest day a new year’s hope unlocks

Earth’s tilt will bring again spring equinox.

September 2026

The making of jelly

Today is the making of jelly.

Last week it was the cooking of chutney.

And tomorrow will be boiling and bottling.

But today is the first making of jelly.

(And outside the seasons change: soon will come the dark.)

Take Mrs Beeton down from the shelf.

Domestic goddess’s definitive word:

“Jelly Making” page 542, much smeared with use.

Red currants picked over two Junes, kept frozen.

(And outside slow autumn still holds long summer heat.)

Now fetch the wide shining maslin pan

Traditional for mixing pints and pounds

In time lost kitchens, hung over open fires

But still best shape and size for modern stoves.

(And outside Michaelmas daisies reflect blue sky.)

Pour in fruit and slowly heat till soft.

Till taste of captured summer is released.

Click the straining frame into its hollow cone.

Hang modern muslin over wide bowl beneath.

(And outside maple leaves begin to turn to gold.)

Anxious transfer. Tipping of the pan.

Stream of crimson flows. Then drops like slow blood

Will fall till morning and its far harder task.

Boiling with sugar, judgment of setting point.

(And outside slim birch trees reach towards harvest moon)

Tomorrow’s sunset will see all done.

Still warm jars in ruby ranks on store room shelf

Waiting though winter dark for Christmas giving.

Tart sweetness of two year’s passed life.

(And outside cold stars shine. Darkness. But spring will come again)

October 2026

The imspiration of the poem was Henry Reeds’ ‘Naming of Parts’ which I read at school. It juxtaposes the instructions for using a rifle against surrounding the gardens in spring. Making jelly and autumn through the window are not in such violent contrast but I thought the idea wa worth sharing . The picture is in preparation for an attempt at painting the scene (no redcurrants because they had all been turned into jelly by the time I thought of putting the items together. If I can pull it off I'll put the final picture in a later edition of this

This final picture was taken in November 2019 when I found myself in the middle of a murmuration of starlings near a local nature reserve. Initially there was a gathering high in the sky and then the whole gathering dropped lower and lower as they came in to roost. Unforgettable !

I do hope you have enjoyed reading these autumn poems. I am very happy for you to share them with friends (though I would appreciate my name being mentioned as the writer).

As I mentioned in my introduction to the first edition of the blog I have self published a couple of volumes and hope to produce a third next year ) working title is "Songs beneath the Sky')

Please feel free to send me comments and criticisms and suggestions for future poems on ironstonepoet@gmail.com