A bowl of blackberries for you to celebrate the arrival of Autumn. What Fall would be complete without Keat’s ‘To Autumn,’ at least the first stanza. Then – two poems inspired by his beautiful words: the first, well – I’ll leave you to read it. The second- I wrote an acrostic – one of my favourite forms. See if you can spot the Keatsian connection.
After Keats Ode to Autumn:
Seasons of fleece and cosy crumbleness
Close-chomping friend of the spicy currant bun;
Conspiring with blest carbs how to load and press
With fruit and stodge around the waistline run;
To mix with apples, ripened blackberries
Twice crunchy topping, and plump the fruity smells
And fill my tum; play havoc with my core;
With sugary sprinkling ; to bake more
And still more, later bowlsful for my tea,
Until I think these days will never cease
For hunger has o’er brimmed my taste buds well
C) Jane Sigrist 2024
After Keats: an autumn acrostic
Seasons , markers of a year passed
Of Time’s clock-hands turning circle full ; once more
Mists mingle with lazy woodsmoke
and windfalls spilling juice into the long grass;
mellow yellow, red and green, their potent brew.
Fruitfulness found in Fall’s exotic hues.
C) Jane Sigrist 2024