Politics Magazine

September Says – Verse Us

By Andrew Furst @a_furst

September Says

What part of the summer remains?
And where does it settle?

The atmosphere will give way to the smell of cider
and the influences of crisp, cool, autumn mornings.
Indian summer might offer reminiscing,
but my mind will be firmly under the spell of fall.

Under the din of metal tines scratching the grass,
a random itch or twitch or twinge
will give rise to thoughts of ticks, and Lyme
and coming aches reliably born in the fourth and final season.

But, a singularly strong fondness
holds sway over my heart this time of year.
Being seems to come most freely in fall;
to flow from my eyes to my heart unobstructed.
How could my judgment be false,
where purity of experience seems to support my intuition?

A tall order of expectations
may infect the experience
of this next season.
And, sorrows may have seeded their anniversaries amongst these times,
the cornerstone of autumn lay secure.
Setting the boundaries
of this assemblage of memories and reveries.

Verse Us - Poems I write: haiku, senryu, mesostics, free verse, random word constructions, I might even use rhyme or meter once and a while.

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