A poem records emotions and moods that lie beyond normal language, that can only be patched together and hinted at metaphorically.

~Diane Ackerman~

A Red Cardinal’s Serenade

Pristine autumn morning of

a day now awakening with

soft, gentle warm breezes,

chipmunks dancing in pairs.

The beautiful red songbird,

a balladeer Red Cardinal,

sings his early morning song,

a greeting to the rising sun.

A lonely feather floats down

guided by the gentle winds

to rest upon the ground here

by my black Nike covered feet.

Wispy marshmallows of puffy

clouded shadows linger with

me during my spirited walk

upon the fresh crisp morning.

Memories of that feather;

a finality of forgotten things

fade away like melted snow,

coolness chases each breath.

****

A Turning of the Sea Grass

I turn slightly to the left to enjoy
the warm sunshine kiss my face.

I still don’t know who my mother or
father were, but that doesn’t matter,
but I think about it from time to time.

I always find myself with thoughts
of birds, insects, fish and harsh winds.

I rejoice as the tides rise and watch
with amazement as the little crabs
scurry about like many sugar ants
who found a leftover sweet cookie.

The cat-o-nine tails are changing
color now, from bright green to a
light brown. Looking down, I see
even now I’m slowly feeling the
effects of Autumn; soon I’ll fall away
as the sea grass turns to salt hay.

As days of the fall season pass by;
colors turn, not only in the great wood
but here along the marsh and tidal pools.
Ducks, shore birds and minnows now
disappear and large flocks head south.

Winter’s gift of frost and snow shall
finally pass and once again we’ll return
next spring as sweet green sea grass.

****

Adieu – Sonnet to Sleep

The raindrops fall with enchanted magic

spattering upon that old metal roof

a melodious rhythmic sleeping tune

my tired lips welcome steeping ginseng tea

I crave soft pillows and comforter to

carry me off to my sweet restful dreams.

The hound is fed and warming by the fire

candles now smolder a wispy goodnight.

My robe and slippers rest near the bedside.

Slide deep into heaven, cat at my feet.

Sleep well sings the bashful yawning new moon,

Tap, tap, tap chant the raindrops on the roof.

This evening ends as a cherished sonnet.

Stars whisper soft to me, adieu, adieu.

Ken Allan Dronsfield