Late Autumn hybrids

short pieces written on the hoof -

Beyond Autumn 

Distance regrets

Alone with blue

No leaves framing 

Light rakes brickwork

Yellow highlights

Lasting debris

Swept repeated

The first frost white

Farewells melted

The tears shed glide

Leaves to the ground

Through the still day

Leaves and droplets

Closing their time 

Alone falling

Red roofs of cusp

Mention an end

Bare the branches

Empty the year

Reviews

[Adam Whitworth]

I like the poetic feel of this

[Maglia Weaver Twill]

How do you call/summon your readers to empty the year? What are red roofs of cusp? The terra cotta roof tiles of Europe? I guess the year empties itself of days. The end of the world we cannot presume; the end of a life happens in various places in homes and hospitals, so we hear. The leaves bare the branches. I can empty myself by not being anything just waiting, watching to see what is going on around me, but then we might be in pain if one does not move limbs. That is my interpretation of this poem. Thank you,