Autumn

for Carl Sharpe

Autumn is a frozen church

We wait at heavy doors

That smell of rust,

Not a moon cold enough

To be called heartless

Or breathclouds of old steam

More an estuary of

Dumped mist afraid to ice;

The taste of wax on your lips;

A frame of hair round a

Hatted face, our steps as slow

As if we must tread water,

You are ice and rain and

The first crystals and even

More than this, beside me.

Reviews

[DoormanDan]

I love how you compared Autumn to a frozen church! I really enjoyed reading this poem of yours. It flows well and is beautifully well written!

[Ken Simm.]

As deep and as layered a a candle flame reflected in old coloured silk. Remarkable is insufficient.

[RileyRedding]

Truly beautiful piece you've written here.
"More an estuary of
Dumped mist afraid to ice;
The taste of wax on your lips;"
I found this excerpt particularly moving.

[DIVYA]

Reading this poem was a very vivid and beautiful experience of the season.

[m.s.early]

Excellent description of the season and makes it welcome and inviting. I've never heard it so described and grateful that I have now.

[Valentine]

This makes me long for the approaching spring and warmth. Valentine

[Brendan McCallum]

The best I have read in this mad place yet, your closing triplet quite the gem, very good I say, Bren

[MomzillaNC]

Your imagery paints a very lonely and longing picture. Going through all the the things they've always shared, but the narrator finds s/he is going through them alone rather than with the persona at his/her side. It's so very sad when that emotional chasm leaves people dangling on the ice-bound precipice.

[Pete Langley]

Evocative of much more than autumnal wet and chill, Les....more to do with a cooling, I suspect. This wistful piece is powerfully and thoughtfully crafted. P.