Rusty Tree

Copper beech sheds its umber

(ella) shade with metallic flourish;

leaf by burnished leaf they gather,

littering the path

and forming rusty puddles

in the bird-bath.

 

© Kim M. Russell, 2016

rusty-tree

My response to dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night #179, where Grace is hosting. She reminded us about the planned D’verse Anthology and mentioned the issue of plagiarism, before sharing a gorgeous poem by Sara Teasdale, a new poet for me, so thank you Grace.

18 thoughts on “Rusty Tree”

  6. Your slant on word smithing is all askance & off center & fascinating, & this Zen metaphor, with a touch of Beat & Flarf really simmers; & autumn gathers its rust in burlap buckets & plans its advances.

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    Reply

    1. I’ll have to look up burlap bucket to see what one looks like 🙂 Have you ever come across this poem by Alan Bold?

      Autumn

      Autumn arrives
      Like an experienced robber
      Grabbing the green stuff
      Then cunningly covering his tracks
      With a deep multitude
      Of colorful distractions.
      And the wind,
      The wind is his accomplice
      Putting an air of chaos
      Into the careful diversions
      So branches shake
      And dead leaves are suddenly blown
      In the faces of inquisitive strangers.
      The theft chills the world
      Changes the temper of the earth
      Till the normally placid sky
      Glows red with a quiet rage.

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