October
October comes with fanfare in the leaves
I recognize the change in nature’s veins
it hitches cloudy grays to balmy breeze
as summer’s sister seizes on the reins.
She looses flakes of crimson, rose and red,
like fireworks they scatter in the skies,
and launching fattened tears on fruitful earth
the claps of thunder echo with her cries.
She clothes herself in emerald evergreen
the boughs of pine that whimper in her way,
and lovers bundle, laugh upon the streets
unburdened yet by winter’s coming stay.
Between the years we find this stock of mirth
an interstitial intimate affair-
we harvest sprouted globes from darkened earth
she reaps our joyful cries from heavy air.
Do Spring and Summer jealousy advance,
objecting to the cycle now made known-
that watering and warming all our dreams
the harvest should be shared by Fall alone?
And we, who beckon in this changing tide
betray our ignorance of what she’s planned,
we celebrate her warmth and yet forget
the ice she readies in the other hand.
With rosy cheeks we smile at the sun
that sets a little sooner in retreat,
and waits a little longer to return
as frosty specter gnaws on morning feet.
Her cold won’t touch the vacuum in my chest
she reaches in and only finds a hole;
the heat that summer brightly brought to bear
forgotten by the desert of my soul.
These sprigs stayed bare when springing blossoms bloomed
reflecting brown in days of mossy teal
she finds, to her surprise, when she returns,
I’ve yielded no more leaves for her to steal.
I guard myself behind this wicked strength
in vain protest she hides our star from view.
I do not feel the sting of Autumn’s chill
the heart I carried through was frozen still.
Matthew Klope is a scientist and a writer. He lives in Monterey County.
October comes with fanfare in the leaves
I recognize the change in nature’s veins
it hitches cloudy grays to balmy breeze
as summer’s sister seizes on the reins.
She looses flakes of crimson, rose and red,
like fireworks they scatter in the skies,
and launching fattened tears on fruitful earth
the claps of thunder echo with her cries.
She clothes herself in emerald evergreen
the boughs of pine that whimper in her way,
and lovers bundle, laugh upon the streets
unburdened yet by winter’s coming stay.
Between the years we find this stock of mirth
an interstitial intimate affair-
we harvest sprouted globes from darkened earth
she reaps our joyful cries from heavy air.
Do Spring and Summer jealousy advance,
objecting to the cycle now made known-
that watering and warming all our dreams
the harvest should be shared by Fall alone?
And we, who beckon in this changing tide
betray our ignorance of what she’s planned,
we celebrate her warmth and yet forget
the ice she readies in the other hand.
With rosy cheeks we smile at the sun
that sets a little sooner in retreat,
and waits a little longer to return
as frosty specter gnaws on morning feet.
Her cold won’t touch the vacuum in my chest
she reaches in and only finds a hole;
the heat that summer brightly brought to bear
forgotten by the desert of my soul.
These sprigs stayed bare when springing blossoms bloomed
reflecting brown in days of mossy teal
she finds, to her surprise, when she returns,
I’ve yielded no more leaves for her to steal.
I guard myself behind this wicked strength
in vain protest she hides our star from view.
I do not feel the sting of Autumn’s chill
the heart I carried through was frozen still.
Matthew Klope is a scientist and a writer. He lives in Monterey County.
