Definition

One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, nor till the autocrats among us can be “literalists of the imagination”—above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it.

Saturday, September 13, 2014

Sunday's Mini-challenge: September sky


Hi Toads and Visitors to the garden !   In my part of the world, nights are turning cool (around 11 C) and growing shorter.   Autumn is finally here with scattered clouds and falling leaves.   Our summer in Canada was too short.   I wish I can sprint to the other part of the world, where spring is stirring up the lovely blooms once more.  

Albion Hills Conservation, Ontario by Grace

 Here are three September poems for your enjoyment:

September Tomatoes

By Karina Borowicz
The whiskey stink of rot has settled
in the garden, and a burst of fruit flies rises
when I touch the dying tomato plants.


Still, the claws of tiny yellow blossoms
flail in the air as I pull the vines up by the roots
and toss them in the compost.


It feels cruel. Something in me isn’t ready
to let go of summer so easily. To destroy
what I’ve carefully cultivated all these months.
Those pale flowers might still have time to fruit.


My great-grandmother sang with the girls of her village
as they pulled the flax. Songs so old
and so tied to the season that the very sound
seemed to turn the weather.

~0~0~

The Great Blue Heron

BY CAROLYN KIZER
M.A.K. September, 1880-September, 1955
As I wandered on the beach
I saw the heron standing   
Sunk in the tattered wings
He wore as a hunchback’s coat.   
Shadow without a shadow,   
Hung on invisible wires   
From the top of a canvas day,   
What scissors cut him out?   
Superimposed on a poster   
Of summer by the strand   
Of a long-decayed resort,   
Poised in the dusty light   
Some fifteen summers ago;   
I wondered, an empty child,   
“Heron, whose ghost are you?”

Read the rest of the poem here.

~0~0~

September, 1918

By Amy Lowell
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war,
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it
And put it into my lunch-box,
For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.

~0~0~

What are your September memories?  What does your sky look like from where you are? 

Our challenge is to write about them in poem or prose poem format.    Please link your
new work with Mr. Linky below and visit your fellow writers. 

I look forward to reading your words ~  Happy weekend to all ~  Grace


19 comments:

Grace said...

Wishing you all Happy Weekend ~ I will be around between household chores ~

Margaret said...

September Tomatoes is a gorgeous poem and I adore Blur Herons. Lovely photographic capture with the reflection and yellow flowers. I love writing about the seasons. Thanks for the challenge.

Kerry O'Connor said...

What beautiful poetry inspired by the month of September!

hedgewitch said...

Thanks for sharing these poems, Grace, all excellent. (I was surprised to see a phrase in the Amy Lowell poem that echoes one I just used, in my 'Messengers' poem, about the colour of water--I don;t recall ever reading it before, but maybe it burrowed into my subconscious sometime in the past.) I just wrote a poem on this theme for the 55, but if another pops up, I will link in.

Björn Rudberg said...

September is a month of change.. change ... and change.. I tried to address that in my poem.. I will head of to be now.. It's getting late.

humbird said...

Love the theme of September even it's change from warm to cold, especially you feel it here, in MN, no heat turned on inside yet,and the weather shows 45-55 dg. but the leaves are already colorful, and sky, sky always tell stories...~ Thanks Grace :) Happy Sunday to all! xx

~ Ah, love the " houses ran along them laughing out of square" in Amy Lowell's poem.~ inspiring

Sumana Roy said...

September-October bring us joy... our months of celebration....Thanks Grace for the prompt...

a spaz and a swoon said...

I love the poem by Amy Lowell.

Grace said...

I am happy to note that you are enjoying the September poems ~ I find it interesting that though it is a month of change, it means different changes for us ~

Fireblossom said...

I love all three examples. I'm a lifelong Amy Lowell fan.

Fireblossom said...

ps--it is 41 F here this morning! I love it!

Susan said...

A triolet at 60 F and nearing the high holy days.

Margaret said...

Ill be back later tonight to visit and comment - I've got to get to my pony at the barn and enjoy this day - like I did back when I was a girl…

Thanks for the challenge.

manicddaily said...

Hi Grace---I'm with you on time moving too fast, and cold moving in too quickly. It is like that up in the mountains where I live when not camped out in NYC. Thanks for the lovely examples. k.

Anjum Wasim Dar said...

Changing Season Historical and Unforgettable -a thoughtful prompt where so much can be written

consciouscacophony said...

This was a difficult prompt for me so I may have to revisit this again after September is behind us.

Grace said...

Thank you everyone for your lovely responses ~

Susie Clevenger said...

Such a beautiful challenge and beautiful poetry.

Hannah said...

I agree with Susie and thank you, Grace!!