Autumn Poetry Competition

Season of miffed- and mournful fruitless-ness
Winning poem:

I am a leaf. See how I sway.
Here on my branch I am safe, for today.
A part of the whole, waving about,
I’d like to be noticed but never stand out.

Supple and springy I’ve summered up here,
The weather my playmate, and misty or clear
The view from my branch is a beautiful thing.
Breezes are tunes and sometimes I sing;

It sounds like a whisper but listen, it’s me,
Adding my voice to the song of the tree.
Golden as glory, I bud and I blaze -
Dancing like fire in mercurial ways.

I lived high above you. Did you notice at all?
I am a leaf. See now I fall.
Lita Doolan November 3, 2006
How to get flowers this Autumn

I lost my job but I got a plant
Dave from accounts spotted four buds
'you'll be alright for flowers
even though they cut your hours!'
such was the extent of his fiscal powers

Mobile fone suddenly lost its tone
simply everyone is downsizing
walk thro the park before it gets dark
oak shakes off its leaves and starts to look stark
at least I've been given my flowers to go


Planting Bulbs Over Autumn

mammy t bar shoes with cuban heel
plastic see through tea
saves on the calories
shiny healthy pinned back knot
her bosom is a haven of Avon
children go missing for days in her flares
making scrumpled up paper flowers
gives me a bulb in a pot in earth
it will bloom next spring
it's the first thing
I ever take great care of, like autumn.


Tardy Flower

Chirpy bird, haven't you heard
the total carnage on the street?
Leaves explode with every blast
and there are cornflakes underfoot
in every school-run neighbourhood.
That tree's on fire because it's a liar;
burnt out blood red crimson pyre.
Crispy mornings shake magic powder
over a bright bamboozled flower.


Fashion Park

Compost your bikinis, stop fake tanning your tummies
but what is the hot colour? Nobody knows.
Orange is mooted - please something more muted!
Shops know very well, puke green never sells.
Follow the shrivel birch bark, it shrivels to dark.
As leaves shower down the hot look in town
in the park, black is back!
SMB October 16, 2006
Reasons for Yellow Ruefulness
(or ‘How Autumn Feels At 43!’)

A smell of wet dog by the fire in the pub
has replaced the barbecue tang, wasp fizz and
child shriek of a summer lived outdoors.

Linen retreats, mutely protesting, to the depths of drawers
while the hall is new home to leaf stuck boots, damp wool
and guilty footprints that we hope will dry.

Sharp mornings and the scraping of cars
preparing, in gloom, to light the roads to school and work
with half-year unused yellow glows.

Tinsel in Tesco accompanied by the traditional groan that
‘it gets earlier every year’. And someone, not me,
has lost the bleeding radiator key.

And, yes, there are shining conkers and autumn’s leaf shades,
Mulled wine in The Turf and roast potatoes, after months of
boiled new ones, to enjoy.

And easy seasonal parallels can be drawn with greying middle age,
while Gap striped scarf wrapped youth fills our city with unseasonal spring
in fresher, Fresher joy.

A walk on Port Meadow to blow my cobwebs away, perhaps,
or a gaze at a Hopper New England light filled landscape.
I’m starting to feel my age, and Autumn reminds me.
Glenn Watson October 15, 2006
I am a leaf. See how I sway.
Here on my branch I am safe, for today.
A part of the whole, waving about,
I’d like to be noticed but never stand out.

Supple and springy I’ve summered up here,
The weather my playmate, and misty or clear
The view from my branch is a beautiful thing.
Breezes are tunes and sometimes I sing;

It sounds like a whisper but listen, it’s me,
Adding my voice to the song of the tree.
Golden as glory, I bud and I blaze -
Dancing like fire in mercurial ways.

I lived high above you. Did you notice at all?
I am a leaf. See now I fall.
We walk along with our heads down,
Hands tucked snugly away
We kick the leaves on the ground
which fall throughout the day.
We go home and draw the curtains
As the darkness falls fast
We go to the heating and turn it full blast.
But why do we hide, when such beauty surrounds us?
Heads should be held high
with crisp air tingling your face
wander slowly crunching the leaves
you don't have to race,
Look at the colours reds and gold
look at the sky watch the night unfold,
leave curtains open
look at the stars
that world out there
is after all... ours.
The golden tree past which I walk each day
Was visited last night by wastrel wind.
With gay contempt he plucked her fingers bare
And scattered all her treasury away.
He ran his spendthrift fingers through her hair
And all her paper flags of yesterday,
Her fragile colours, from each arm he skinned.
Her silhouette has thinned to bony grey.
She stands stark silver in the silent air.

And yet one might imagine one sensed there
As slight and secret as a hint of spring
A sly, slow, sleepy smile, as if to say:
I may stand naked in the morning chill
But I have known a night you never will.
To kings and queens
and heads of states
famous and poor alike.
No precious stones
or bars of gold,
plastic cards
nor paper money.
No pretty clothes
or material gains can
save us from Destruction.
No ticket needed
this show's free.
Back to the beginning
time for change,
Water rising, Earthquakes,
Volcanoes erupting, Sun is
burning Arctic melting, Ozone
hole growing, Wind is raging
Billions Dying, all
species, on the brink
of Extinction, can we survive?
Face of our earth is changing
before our eyes it`s not in
the future, it`s happening now
Just look out your door our
new world facing
NATURE'S total Destruction.
i wandered lonely as a cloud
i wandered lonely in a crowd
i wondered if i could fart aloud
i looked right and crossed the road
(i wasn’t proud)
then all at once i noticed
it was autumn...
and all at twice i was drowning in a sea
of fallen leaves
gasp
Mid-morning when the frost was just hushed off
in patches, silhouetted like cut paper
I cycled through the fields
The bleached out honey-wheat of the summer lay
sleep-heavy and toppled like a thousand great towers.
The heart of the summer lies buried
beneath a hardened crust of earth.

I this morning was given a smile
circumference of a field, each nook
stretching from the blackberry bushes to the hawthorn
a curved shimmering
stretched out and open.
I will not forget this smile, this gift-
As tingling in my hands
mark a return of warmth.
When captive Persephone swallowed those seeds
Could she really not have waited?
When the selfish fruit of a moment’s greed
Saw the winter months created?
But our lives might be different in countless ways
If the gods had hesitated,
So there’s nothing to do but wrap up warm
Til nature’s grief’s abated.

But a glimpse of death makes living sharp
And the snap in the air as the days grow dark
Leaves us saddened, and elated,
Feeling life might be different in countless ways
And lovers won, and battles saved
If we hadn’t hesitated.
There is hope in the chill of the Autumn night
Of a yearly hunger, sated.
This is the last year of Autumn.
Due to climate change pressures, in 2007
The government will be bringing in
The tripartite year:
Pretherm; Therm and Nuclear Winter
(During which you are advised to stay in).

Leaf-fall of course is a big problem
For maintenance staff, and a programme
Is in place to replace all trees
With bollards (these
By fortunate coincidence
Are made in the Environment MP’s
Constituency). The consistency
Of light will be the next to go:
Honeylight in the late afternoon;
Ruby-filtered leaflight; jewelled grass; also
The secret, stark light of the icy moon.

All this will (naturally) affect the harvest
Which, thinking laterally, has been cancelled. Fungicide
Will be applied to any mushrooms cluttering our lawns,
And dawns may no longer be adorned
With silver spider-tendrils – mist
Has been dismissed for obfuscation.
November 5th has been identified
As a potential Fire Health and Safety Hazard Risk
And its elimination must be swift, as must
That of the tang of bonfire smoke at dusk.

The sky had colours hardly ever used,
It was discovered; unnecessary shades
Have been deleted, and the new improved
Settings will click between Feb. Grey and August Blue.

And you? This policy can only carry through
If the current rate of climate change continues -
Or is accelerated.
Your co-operation in this matter
Is appreciated.
After a prolonged mild spell the weather has changed: crisp, frosty mornings with blue, sunny skies herald autumn's belated arrival.

Walking throught sodden grass intersected with a myriad of fine cobwebs bejewelled with dew drops reflecting the sun, catching the scent of wood smoke and damp vegetation you know that a new season is truly here.

Leaves in glorious arrays of colours: vibrant reds and muted browns, pale yellows and burnished gold. A grand finale before they descend, spinning and dancing in the breeze like confetti to reveal the tree's bare outlines. Forming thick carpets which rustle pleasingly underfoot and irresistably tempt children of all ages to kick and scatter with abandon.

Ripening fruit, nuts of all kinds, squashes and pumpkins - a feast for man and beast. Native birds enjoy freedom and space after the departure of migrant visitors and sing a different song. Squirrels busy laying up winter stores, mice and rats feasting on left-overs on allotments and in gardens, hedgehogs and badgers preparing for hibernation.

A time of gentle romance and reflection after summer's passion is spent spent... Enjoy!
There was an old (ish; well middle aged but that doesn't sound that good in a poem) lady from Cowley (well Florence Park really)
Who became a bit of a growly (well a downright wet blanket actually),
When she could get out of her bed (smelt a bit and sheets needed changing)
To the doctor she fled (slow pace feeling yukky and paranoid)
who listened to the wows of the mind(weeping and moaning into disintergrating paper tissue)
The Doctor was calming and very, very kind (felt guilty because she was so nice),
and gave the old (ish)lady a pill (or several)
with the instructions to remain very still (an excuse to go back to newly made bed with clean comforting sheets for a bit longer....and some chocolate)
With permission in hand (to justify being a miserable old bag)
I felt able to as a depressive upstand (a bit like announcing that you are an alcoholic)
Hag-Winter

Forthwith comes ugly Winter
Her hag-face withereth all.
Cometh the cold grip, bleaker,
Lowering the coffin pall.

Herewith are the mists of night
From which creep the witches.
The ogling eye, the talon bright,
And bats cut black sky flitches.

Hencewith the horrible psalms,
The deadbeat churches harken.
The hag has frosted with her charms,
The day itself is darkened.
Oxford by Storm

The wind rustles

Ivy on the College walls

Tepid rain washes

Each leaf as it falls

The air is electric

With expectation

The sky grows dark and light again

With no explanation

Decides on dark with a

Flashfork of white

A late-remembered rumble

(rolls its drummer, none too bright).

Monsoon rains sheet onto the set

Frightening the freshers

And soaking them wet

Torrents Niagara from blocked gutters

Freaky Friday is here again

The new academic year ushers

Future prime ministers have trouble crossing the road

The wind whips round the Camera

A TV series, two films, a cyclist and a crowd.

Security men stand in puddles

Vainly trying to light a match

The smell of sulphur in the dank dark afternoon

Reminding me of so much.
No bird,

No bee,

No leaf on tree.

No wonder!

November.
Autumn musing

The last vestige of summer sun warms me,
lightly, like your touch in the dark.
But no more, like Pimms No.1, long days
or Shakespeare in Headington Park.



The burnished autumn leaves are falling,
languidly, the way our fingers interlock.
Riotous birds disturb the rippled dying sun
on Duck pond, where we used to frolic.



Autumn wares laden high in the Covered Market,
fat hogs, fairy cakes, an owl book end.
I buy a Christmas present for you
a gift wrapped relic I never will send.
Thunderstorm in Cornmarket

An ever present threat impedes our way

The air explodes in storm and rain, as poured

From buckets it down, holds us up as
Examples of the sodden downtrodden.
We hide in stores and peer out through

Conditioned air curtains. Parting, we then allow
The wet rats to drip in, laughing, dripping...
The Abstract Present

Figures humbly bow before us,
stooping to let us warm our hands inside their fiery garments,
before laying down their robes as ultimate sacrifice.
'There is a time to reap', we hear them sing
And with such mercy and grace-full abandon they empty their pockets,
and invite us to fill our purses with golden coins strewn across the land.
We, who are spent from a year of spending that which isn't ours to give away
- and burnt, as is the colour of their Son-touched brilliance -
wade, ungrateful and oblivious, through their glorious riches.
The harvest is ripe and yet we retreat
as we see only the imminence of a thousand shades of grey.
The colour, though it diffuses, drags and drips, still remains
But we've become so blinded by the dark that's not yet come -
that we miss the obvious abstract that is
forever a present.
Autumn's here (again, no surprise)
Trees real pretty, blazing bright,
A gentle slide towards curtains pulled tight,
South Park fireworks, ghosts and ghouls,
(no way to talk about the street entertainment fools)
Bottoms of your trousers soaking wet,
Seeping up towards your knees makes you fret,
Decorations appearing, makes you sick,
Christmas will be here in just a tic,
The blue of the sky is different now
A clarity somehow,
A blowing off of the summer heat
An introduction to the winter chill
Suits me.
Autumn is a mongrel bitch
A sluttish sleet and slush
She whores her mud and dying face

What lifetimes in a bush
AUTUMN IN OXFORD.

Autumn and the lines of silent tourists
have gone. No more laughing
at their fluorescent anoraks,
red, yellow and green.

On the High Street,
Grey is in Topshop, and beside,
Hot Chocolate in M&S.

Buy your coats, red, brown and black,
And wear them collar up,
with a loaf of bread in your hand,
like the sexy male students,
who remind you of classics,
candlelight,
books, terrifying Oxford Story,
with their chins just relieved of the
Summer Beards.

Look forward to Christmas,
Smile at the decorations on Cowley Road,
And pretend you knew,
they were for Eid.

So, get out your hats,
your scarves and your warm giggles.
Think of squashed berries under
black boots, on Banbury Road,
and, please, stop complaining,

it isn't that cold.
Daily, daily Autum comes
as summer passeth lightly
in with the rain and
longer nights
your late pass, less and less likely.

in Oxford now the clouds supress
no more the outdoor frolics,
fires are lit and wine consumed
Oxford home to academic-holics

O Autumn come and Autumn go
Xmas round the corner
for Autumn daily, soon will go
or will it linger longer?
redress the balance, Autumn come
draw in the nights and welcome home.
Silly Poem for Autumn

It always comes as a surprise,
The way the sun’s right in your eyes –
In autumn.

To breakfast at the Excelsior –
The Cowley Road is just a blur,
And then cascades of freezing rain
As you are coming back again –
In autumn.

The puddles in the cycle paths
Would make the most splendiferous baths,
While all those conkers on the track
Can catch your tyres and knock you back.
And then there’s the new students who
Step out unseeing in front of you –
In autumn.

And yet with every Michaelmas Term
New lives begin, our friends return.
The Parks sport colours gold and red
Hot water bottles grace my bed.
Take all in all, the autumn’s great -
Enjoy it now – it’s not too late –
This autumn.
Oxford Metal


Autumn has unballed

a fist of snails and rain:

in outer streets roofs are pulled down tight,

leaves slide down sides of metal –

the city's truest face,

staked in perimeter, sharp topped and certain.

A tongue that dared its edges

would taste the full, the perfect grey

of ankle chains of warehouses.

Over canals and railways, stalks and bushes

push limbs through crash barriers and fences,

snug in narrow spaces.


On Donnington Bridge I look up and the rain

falls lit, wire ribbons.

Below me, the river hauls south

to another town where rain falls the same,

running from rusting ledges, slipping

into little gleams, each drop striking the beat

of a steady, established heart.
Autumn is a changing season,
It switches from warm to cold for a reason.
Leaves turn brown and fall off the trees,
Insects go sparse and you don't see any bees.
Clocks go forward reducing the daylight,
The wind starts howling, its time to get out the kite.
The sun sets sooner and the mornings get cold,
But snow is on its way for the brave and the bold.
Start smiling and rejoice as conkers are dropping,
For the battles ahead there will be no stopping,
The kids throw their sticks into the trees,
To get more conkers to have as they please.
After all the conker battles are done,
It's halloween night and time for tricks and fun.
Just round the corner is bonfire night,
A far cry from a few days ago, no FRIGHT!.
As the flames lick higher into the night sky,
The fireworks shoot up with a screech and a cry,
Autumn is now nearly done,
It's off to Blackpool to have some more fun,
To see the illuminations before they're snuffed out,
Autumn is over, Winter's about.
Its that time of dilemma once again;
A shirt or a coat?
Sandals or boots?
Shall we go to bed at eleven or ten?

Let's put the heating on now!
Just for an hour is enough
Or let's go 'greeen'
A sweater, after all would still do

The trees turn, blood orange
Over-ripened fruit
Drenched in autumnal showers
Except the last final damsons

Soon roaring red fires, winters charms
Of marshallows, mulled wine, spicy soup, fireside chats, and walks, when we're well cocooned in wool

With the promise of a new birth to follow...
Smudge, Grotty and Humming

Smudge Autumn splurdges visage
Spattered rain sprinkles panes
Spongy leaves spooned out by trees
The splat of wetness over all.

The splot of spots on chimney pots
And glots of rot on top roof tops
Jots of blobs in muddy plots
Grotty Winter mops and slops.

Spring wings in, brightening things
Sings shrill, whistling on heath and hill
Birds trill, quaking feather quill
Humming fills Spring's lilting drumming.
By eck its cold
The leaves are falling
A Caribbean cruise is calling

Swap the boots
For flips and flops
Jet off before the temperature drops.

Swimming in the clear blue sea
That’s the only place for me.

But sadly money won’t allow
So I’ll just have to dream for now.

Instead I’ll opt for nice roast dinners
Winter stews are always winners.

Autumn comes but once a year
During which, I’m stuck right here.
“Mists and mellow fruitfulness
Are all very well,” I said,
“But one look out the window
Makes me want to go to bed.

“I think this year I’ll make a change,
Pull my duvet overhead,
Miss out the snow drifts, rain and fog,
And hibernate instead.

“If it works for hedgehogs, mice and bears
It might be worth a try.
Just tuck me underneath the stairs
In a cardboard box that’s dry.

“I suppose I’ll miss a few things,
Like Halloween and Bonfire Night,
Christmas Pud and New Years Eve
Roast turkey and fairy lights,

“The smell of wood smoked jumpers
From cosy, warming fires,
Re-runs of timeless sitcoms
Of which Grandpa never tires,

“Persistent carol singers
Who Dad pays to go away,
Trays of homemade mincemeat pies,
The whole family come to stay.

“Perhaps it won’t be quite so bad
We may not see much sun
But with all these things to compensate,
It might just be quite fun.”
Small cause for cheer in Autumn:
Hedgehog safaris
Starling swarms
The telly is better
You WILL need your coat
Spring is in the ground.
Autumn
falling leaves, empty spaces
cold, windy, rain in my face
Time to think, to look forward to
other times
The perfect time
to go to the roots
my own roots, and think
and keep warm
get rid of old, expired feelings
and gather energy
and plan to be ready
to raise and shine
next
Spring.
Autumn is here,
the leaves are falling,
like so many of our hearts,after the hot summer.
My head is made of stone
That is how heavy
My thoughts the north sea
That is how cold
My hands have no owner
That is how lazy
From summer to winter
That void in between
Autumn we call it
I am stuck here within
Oxford is Zagreb now,
Lean and supple like Berlin.
Harsh like Stalingrad was,
Spurned capital like old Turin.

Oh for the marauding viking
And for his merry axe.
He would set alight our city,
The scholars would scream 'Pax'.

Oh for the joys of medieval,
Slightly greasy like Ruby Wax.
Bring back student/locals furore,
To enliven the autumn bore.
Darkened mornings and sleepy heads,
plead not to leave their cosy beds.

The Oxford morning mist creates a glow,
around stoney houses laid peacefully in a row.

Fields and gardens appear a fresh lush green,
with darken clouds looking threatening and mean.

Autumn - So much to do and to prepare,
for Halloween and firework night are nearly here.
autumn leaves

night shoes, candy apple red
yearning to dance
not meant to crack autumn leaves

on a rain stream - a leaf boat carries its soldier into battle
from a small valley between the mountains
to “a special place for special people”

where the enemy is dangerous and armed
the groove his weapon
the turntable his shield

he fires
disco lights flash
artillery explodes over a moonlit battlefield

only he survives
captured by the enemy beat
beat by the enemy

enslaved by the torah – saved for the hora
his freedom his holocaust – his hollow cost his freedom
what does a hallow cost?

he dances
in his red shoes
he dances like he ain’t got the blues

he dances
though his breast heaves
he dances as winter comes and autumn leaves
There's a change from this Autumn we're told,
From October no-one is too old.
Ditch ideas of retiring,
They'll all want you for hiring,
And at least you won't die of the cold!
The beach boys were right.
It's all about a death.
We're all dreaming of something
And one day all our dreams will come true,
And then there'll be nothing to look forward to.
Consciousness is overrated.
Money can't buy you love - and even if it could,
I don't think I care any longer.

Forgive my plagiarisms -
Originality is something I no longer flirt with.
The kind of death that I'd welcome
What would you do if I told you you had AIDS?
Said the psychiatric nurse.
I laughed - it may as well be that way as any other.
She laughed too - I think she understood.
Autumn happens - and I'd rather die in Autumn
Than suffer a Winter of boredom and old age
That eventually freezes me in my sleep.
I was named after Narnia,
And I understand that Winter doesn't have Christmas.
I'd much prefer Margaret grieving.
Graveyard grey.
The colours of earth frown,
Orange, grey, and brown,
Leaves spiral onto the ground,
Alongside our spirits that are down.

Gates of heaven opened up,
Another of good weather is in doubt,
Cold breeze linger all about,
Welcome autumn, summer goes out.

But in autumn, there is fun,
For after the rain comes the sun,
And autumn brings not glum and gloom,
But it's a disguise of Christmas bloom.
Combats

I’ve never seen the heron strike

today he was standing sentinel
like an unsheathed knife
above the khaki stream before
taking fright

and flying off backwards
canvass wingspan flapping
crashing up through the trees
like a primitive flying machine

no radar
Thank God the tourists have mostly cleared out;
I was about to give someone a jolly good clout.
Thank god it's now Autumn, although I still despair;
The supermarkets are already displaying their christmas wares.
Rain drops from the sky
like tear drops in my eye

Wind blows in the air
like falling leaves in my hair

Snow falls on the ground
like children playing all around

Sun shines through the trees
like yellow stripes on bumblebees
With trees bending over, releasing their leaves,
The more work I do, the less it achieves.
Confined all day long, inside a warm house,
Thoughts wander freely, like a roving headlouse.
Though more urgent than ever, my typing slows down,
The whole day is spent wrapped in dressing-gowns.
Why can't it be summer the whole year long?
This autumn is rubbish. Cold, wet and wrong.
When leaves fall flat upon the ground,
Their burnished browns riding roughshod o'er the once green grass.
I catch my breath for the first time suspended in the still air.
The appearance of my breath marks the disappearance of nature's own.
And I know that for the next little while my vapour shall be my only companion on woodland walks.
Yet I fear not, for in this solitude comes the chance for solace found in reflection upon the power of summer over my spirit, lifting me beyond myself and into the world alive;
my breath invisible to me then.
And I wonder would I feel such reverence for this most remarkable communion,
Should autumn not serve as a timely reminder of its transience, and what might be should I have to wander forever accompanied only by my breath bellowing out above my head.
The Blackbirds were the first to hear the call,
Of Sun shifting slowly southwards to warm other climes.
Grass-growing lagged, loosing its protein-enriching properties,
Leaves turning a darker shade of green, as sap retreated.

Some weeks on, the Chestnut showed the first dramatic change,
Its coat bearing a golden burnish, though others still wore cotton.
An Indian Summer dulled the senses, but nature stalked onwards,
Migration propelled by food resources pulled elsewhere by luna forces.

Blackberries appeared, the richest crop on verges and hedges,
Red berries of rosehip, hawthorn and yew, juniper, crab apple, spindle,
Advance fodder for birds as dwindling insects wrestle with spider webs,
All stocking up for winter.

A sudden frost, a morning chill, cheering senses tired of
Summer heat and endless picnics, replete with punting,
Pushing thoughts towards wool, firesides, red wine,
Nudged by the darkness creeping forwards, encouraging slumber.

Gardeners mulch the tender roots of roses,
Store marrows, beetroot, apples to offer up a feast for winter,
For now, munch on corn, fungi, kale, plums and pumpkin,
Filling the blood with roughage, colour and minerals.

Enjoy the autumnal season: a time to slow, dream, breath, sleep
In softer light and darker nights,
Months of rest before the earth spins again and sun turns Northwards
To shine light on winter-weary spirits ready to welcome new resources.
Falling leef
Make me heef
Pleef
Let me leeve
Like a speeve
In thunny thspain.
My cheeryble friend Mr Gumbel,
When he finds himself feeling autumnal,
Simply spins round and round
Till he lifts off the ground,
In spite of which talent, he’s humble !
I generally find that Autumn
is a bloody great pain in the bum.
It begins to get cold
And one starts to feel old,
And the last line refuses to come.

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