Green

 

The turn of one leaf

Lightly browning, waiting for

The glorious slide

 

As summer crumbles

The dark is rising, reaching

Through derelict green

                                                                                                                                                  

Autumn glides across,

Ambassador to winter

At the summer ball

                                                                                                                                                                   

Green seems a triumph

Yet still the boughs wither, a

Warning of the end

 

So late, the rider

Carries news of a season

Already perished

 

The fault in our stars

Yawns open after dog days:

March of Sirius

 

Sandcastles crumble

With the last bank holiday,

Victims of the tide

 

The sinking time of

September pulls branches down

To winter level

 

In equinox, the

Fresh and salt waters collide

In changing lock-time

 

Sharp blade of winter

Carves at the face of summer,

Whittling to the bone

 

 

Gold

 

Summer is sinking

As a galleon grounded

On the autumn wave

 

The players come to

Elsinore, muses hiding

Masks of the fallen

 

The leaves are burning,

Offering green to the pyre

Like the martyrs’ gold

 

The sky shines blue on

Half-remembered shells of the

Green riches now poor

 

Pecan shells fallen

Hard by the swamp, the grinding

Waiting in the sugar house

 

Time is no longer

A friend to green and growing

Likeness of the spring

 

Summer still changing

Into a brown dress, darker,

Prettier to some

 

Descent of the trees,

Spiralling to regret, they

Could not save their own

 

Fading glories, the

Leaves tumbling as tarnished gold

Reaching for the ground

 

Last of the gold rush,

Prospectors looking for the

Brief flash in the pan

 

 

Red

 

Riches of ruins

Baroque splendour of the leaves

Falling cathedral

  

The splendid ruin

Of his pumpkin head, falling

From scarecrow shoulders 

 

The crumbling castle

Fragile in October storm,

Ramparts in decline

 

Summer on scaffold

Axe of autumn sharpening

To sever its head

 

Heart of the country

Pumps in scarlet livery

Through fading branches

 

Red runs the ruin

Of the castle of the trees,

A motley bonfire

 

Red leaves fall as tongues

Of dragon-breath, guarding the

Mushroom treasure-trove

 

Now summer suffers

The death of a thousand cuts

Red mouths lie bleeding

 

Sun shows sunset-red

The blood of Cawdor Castle

Decanted as wine

 

Bleeds the wounded oak

Celebrating the red miles

Taken since summer

 

 

Russet

 

Her gracious ways, the

Rowan doe of the morning

Her liquid eyes full

 

The chilling time is

Spreading through the woods, going

To Leanach Cottage

 

The rotten carriage

Rides through the changing land to

Winter, no return

 

Beauty of deep wood

Cracks in the grain that divide

Wholeness from the stain

 

Soft rain the servant

Of her master the autumn,

Spilling down the stone

 

Stone circle gathers

Patient in shadow, waiting

For the moon’s sharp scythe

 

Aeolian harp

Stirred by the changing tunes, the

Breath of December

 

Firm brown hazelnuts,

Conkers, built for victory

Smashed, pulped in decay

 

The charcoal burning

Remains of warrior trees

Fallen in battle

 

The shrieking rooks pause

From their meal of the dead to

Sense the coming dread

 

Where lightning strikes twice

The gnarled, contorted remains

Show silent black forks

 

The pendulum slows,

Brown grain varnish on the wood

As the clock decays

 

Fading hands failing,

Rotting leaves the last handshake

To give this season

 

Black-ribbed, beautiful

Rusting wrecks of fishing boats

In Sound of Salen

 

Baroque banister

The broken branch of autumn

Rotting on the ground

 

 

White

 

Beautiful shadow

The falling curve of the moon

Long on evening grass

 

Frost a hard teacher

Lining soft ground in lessons

They will not forget

 

Dying of the light

Gives rise to darkness, such a

Beautiful velvet

 

Hoar goes softly on

Glass of boathouses cooled from

The flush of summer

 

The crisper the air,

The more the woodlands wait for

Coming of the snow

 

Soft the bridal veil

Wedding the woods to winter

With the first flakes down

 

Crimson fades to black

Shadow of winter falling

Hard upon the land

 

Remember death, the

Gaunt truth now staring out of

Sockets of the trees

 

The colder the sea

The more the lighthouse strains to

Stretch its telescope

 

Autumn the joker

Playing his dead winning hand,

The knave still laughing