Autumn Is A Close Friend
This is the time of year
In which coffee tastes best;
A season of reversion and of harvest,
A season in which coffee is cathartic.
5. The tall native grasses of this hillside
Have begun to droop, to wither.
Their tired yellowing stems letting go
Their loaded heads,
A necessary seasonal return.
A sticky season of oppression
So lacking in dignity, lacking nobility.
A season for drunken sons,
15. Autumn owns a liminality no other season knows.
Whereas Spring is fertility and potential,
summer is folly and attempted escapes
And Winter, after its third month, is death,
Autumn is a close friend.
Autumn is a perfect cup of coffee.
- john d. powers
1 comment:
On a couple of read throughs here's my take. Keep in mind, I'm fiction guy:
The premise is tantilizing. Too much abstraction in the form of exposition. Let images talk for themselves. The grasses, hillside, drunken sons, loaded heads, coffee, are all solid images. Distilling down to the images could create more memorable lines. Let the concrete craft the abstract. i.e. What does loaded heads tell us about abstract concepts like ferility. The title could offer an example exploration into the images of poem. I am way too much of an imagist, so take the commentary as much as you feel is warented.
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