poem: The Golden Season

poem: The Golden Season

A Chapter by Marie Anzalone
"

Late August - October in New England

"

The Golden Season

Dog Days are duly done, now
   and the air is fragrant
        with the scent of aster and Joe Pye and goldenrod
scattered in fields like patches sewn
  in Mother Nature’s autumn quilt- the one she brings out
for company- we being Her guests of honor.

The Light spills longer, shadow play illuminates all
   in scintillating scores of gold, innumerable
    shades and hues and tones, this.
We rejoice, harvest the fruits of April’s seeds,
         June’s tending, July’s thinning.
Drinking the air and swimming in Light-

Bathing in the ochroid afterglow, basking in warmth-
   as cats in the sun, flexing our claws, lazily, purring.
            The auric essence flows in goodwill, coats everything,
honey as a balm for our souls,
      Flax as tonic of our spirits- painted on our bodies
by viburnum’s burning hand.

Now is the time of joy, now the season of splendour-
   silver maple’s blood spotted lemon, sugar maple’s tangerine,
red oak’s crimson tides, undulating across the hills-
    aspen’s delicate wisp; acorns rolling underfoot,
         hickory melting on the tongue, Monarchs taking wing
and you, here, to take it all in with me.

Nothing this good can stay, so proclaims Frost- but I say,
  “Do let’s try!”- come run with me and play,
        outside, while caramel afternoons prevail- this heart
needs reprieve from its cycle of desuetude, so enjoy,
    October’s sapphire and wheat days while they last,
and make me believe, once more…

That gold can last forever, and that the dazzling hues
    of autumn will be captured in your memory as the color
of my hair, and I’ll hold onto October skies in your gaze,
         while the grasshoppers wind down, dew burdens the grass,
and berries paint the earth, scarlet, the very shade of
    my growing desire for you.

Help me trust that gold can stay, and make me feel
   I deserve to be overwhelmed in something
so beautiful as the golden season in New England,
    just, for once, letting it all surround me in clouds, in swathes
          of spectral, shimmering, fiery evening glow-
Wrap me in that quilt of flowers and bring the harvest to my door.

 



© 2012 Marie Anzalone


Author's Note

Marie Anzalone
free flowing- wasn't sure where this was going to end, been thinking about it a few days, guess it was meant to be written for someone after all!

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Featured Review

I so want to experience the fall in New England. I love the Spring and Fall. I had the opportunity once to go to Quebec in early October for a job and travel along the St Lawrence and cross St Catherines Bay. The trees started to turn, making calico colored hills. I truly want to experience that in America. Someday, I want to experience it, to stay in a bed and breakfast and drive through the countryside. I just thing that would be so cool. This is wonderful writing Marie. You capture this beautifully.

Posted 15 Years Ago


5 of 5 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

I am glad you won the Footsteps Contest!

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Ahhh. This poem makes me lay out a blanket and peacefully enjoy.....and even after finishing the read,
...I haven't gotten up...;-)
Great write.

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

As you describe the loveliness that surrounds you, I perceive the loveliness that infuses you; I can feel my pulse slowing and blood pressure dropping with each stanza, each phrase! Beautiful, serene, thank you!


Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Now is the time of joy, now the season of splendour-
silver maple's blood spotted lemon, sugar maple's tangerine,
red oak's crimson tides, undulating across the hills-
aspen's delicate wisp; acorns rolling underfoot,

Doesn't get much better than this Autumn truly is a marvelous time of year
one which I find serene and invigorating all in the same crisp autumn air

Am lovin' the last line~here~Wrap me in that quilt of flowers and bring the harvest to my door.

That says it all~ THanks for sharing this lovely piece in the Autum's Bouquet Contest!



Posted 15 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

I'd love to experience fall in New England firsthand. I can see the scene in my mind's eye as you describe it. Makes me yearn for so many things.

Great piece, Marie!!!!

Posted 15 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

A gold framed portrait of more than just a scene, a flowing tapestry of reflection and beauty with a nymph-like gaiety. I have humbly beheld only the summer of New England, and now I am convinced I must return. Your writing has an eternal quality, words sculpted from the bones of the earth. Truly you do justice to the glory of nature. *Applause*

Posted 15 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

the season comes sooner to you than me, but I'm ready for the explosion of color, and the cooler breezes and frost . . . your poem is beautiful

Posted 15 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Thats so beautiful , ou do know to express your feelings and thoughts into beautiful words, letting the reader into your world. I love the Fall ,the best time anywhere, when the sun hide between the clouds and the cool breeze winds , cool the air and bring the smell of the coming rain ... beautiful writting , Yossi

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

The rich imagery of the trees and flowers gives this a gorgeous fullness, stimulating the mind's eye and giving much pleasure..

Posted 15 Years Ago


3 of 3 people found this review constructive.

I can smell the leaves as they pass me in this piece congrats

Posted 15 Years Ago


3 of 3 people found this review constructive.


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Added on August 17, 2009
Last Updated on October 1, 2012

A Pilgrimage in Epistles: Poems as Letters and Observations


Author

Marie Anzalone
Marie Anzalone

Xecaracoj, Quetzaltenango, Guatemala



About
Bilingual (English and Spanish) poet, essayist, novelist, grant writer, editor, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to ta.. more..

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