Magic

is the changing face of nature
as summer slowly cedes to autumn:
flocks of birds morph in a washed-out sky,
kaleidoscopic shapes in preparation
for arduous flights and winter migration;
hedges drip with blood-red berries,
green foliage metamorphoses
into shades of amber, gold and rust,
and that first leaf lands in grass and dust.

Kim M. Russell, 2017

 Magic

My response to dVerse Poets Pub Tuesday Poetics: Magic, also linked to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Tuesday Platform

Paul is our host for Poetics this week. He thinks we could do with taking a break from all the heavy stuff that’s happening in the world and wants us to park the protests, the activism, the heavy load, the soul searching, the deep poems, by the roadside for a night and go in search of a little magic. He has shared a magical poem by Shel Silverstein to help us along the way to conjuring up a poem using the word ‘magic’ in some form or a piece that is quite simply magical.

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60 thoughts on “Magic

    1. Those flowers are bindwee, otherwise known as Granny-pops-out-of-the-bed. They are the most pernicious weeds that smother everything but as a child I adored them. If you pick off a strand of vine with a flower on and press the base of the flower, it pops out, like a shuttlecock!

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  1. Yes, your last couplet was killer; an image for the ages–a lovely ode & reminder that our seasonal solstice is indeed a magic act. I lived in southern CA for a decade, where it is 80 degrees on Christmas day. Growing up in WA state, my internal clock became seasonal.

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    1. Thank you, Glenn. I’ve never lived in such extreme temperatures and am a firm believer in seasons – it could be a British thing, but I couldn’t live without rain!

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