. . . the meditation
of a brain trying
to empty itself of all longing,
while bats flit
in the attic of the soul.
–Excerpt from “Always” in EDGES by Donna Pucciani. First published in
After Hours.
. . . the meditation
of a brain trying
to empty itself of all longing,
while bats flit
in the attic of the soul.
–Excerpt from “Always” in EDGES by Donna Pucciani. First published in
After Hours.
Tagged autumn, contemplation, Indian Summer, meditation, September
Now is when you discover
what it is to be stalked
by nothingness . . .
–Excerpt from “Always” in EDGES by Donna Pucciani. First published in
After Hours.
Tagged autumn, contemplation, Indian Summer, meditation, September
The pearled emptiness
of a winter sky brings
the kind of contemplation
unimaginable . . .
–Excerpt from “Always” in EDGES by Donna Pucciani. First published in
After Hours.
Tagged autumn, contemplation, Indian Summer, meditation, September, sky
But what is there
to be sad about? The moon
will wax orange, the trees
glow golden, and berries
pop their crimson heads out . . .
–Excerpt from “Always” in EDGES by Donna Pucciani. First published in
After Hours.
Tagged berries, end of summer, flowers, gratitude, Indian Summer, moon, sadness, September
the same sadness,
those Indian Summer days
bringing a rush of heat
and the final moisture
of flower and leaf.
Excerpt from “Always” in EDGES by Donna Pucciani. First published in
After Hours.
. . . But what is there
to be sad about? The moon
will wax orange, the trees
glow golden, and berries
pop their crimson heads out
for one last look before snow.
–Excerpt from “Always” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016).
Tagged fall, Indian Summer, melancholy, September, summer's end
the same sadness,
those Indian Summer days
bringing a rush of heat
and the final moisture
of flower and leaf.
–Excerpt from “Always” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016).
Tagged autumn, Indian Summer, melancholy, sadness, September
is over —
children back to school,
leaves dropping careless
on the lawn, roses laced
with Japanese beetles.
Petunias nod
in their sad pots . . .
–Excerpt from “Summer it seems” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Chaffin Journal.
Tagged august, back to school, Indian Summer, seasonal, summer
Hot as dust in the throat,
fall unravels on night in October.
Cataclysmic orange dries
to brown amnesia, every leaf
a shred of wanderings and whispers.
The yellow moon steeps autumn,
brews peppermint and pears.
–excerpt from “Indian Summer” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, Chicago 2011). First published in Driftwood.
Posted in Journals
Tagged autumn, fall, harvest moon, Indian Summer, October, seasonal poetry
Indian summer squints
into the wide eye
of the harvest moon,
observes no leaf waving,
nor the shallow roots of the maple
reaching drought-stricken
under the hard September earth.
–from “Autumn Unawares” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, Chicago 2011). First published in Coffee House (U.K.)
Tagged autumn, drought, fall, harvest moon, Indian Summer, nature poems, seasons