I’ve gone to market
And danced in the square.
I’ve picked the grape
And drunk the wine without a care;

But I know too
The howl of the night
When the trees
Recoil in the moon’s cold light

I’ve gone out
With nowhere to go
But to lose
My footfall in a field of snow.

September comes
As though to stay awhile
But in the leaves
Are the colors of her guile.

Don’t be fooled.
Whatever else you do
Love and be loved
Before her last good-night beguiles you too.

~ September

September 16 2014 by me, Patrick Gillespie

4 responses

  1. Double Trouble

    Butterfly of single wing,
    Kenning beauty’s double thing,
    Reflected by the vernal pool
    Waits, yearns, plays it cool.

    Bass with belly of despair
    Flies its sorrows through the air,
    Reaches with a large-mouthed feel
    For a moth of single keel.

    Poor the bite that missed its strike,
    Caught just mirrored water’s plight;
    Half-winged blackbird scuttles in
    To sate its half-baked insect yen.

    by Dave Celone
    Lyme, NH


  2. Patrick, after spending chunks of time with the night and the wind and the trees over this past week-end, I’m quite liking your September poem, which reads a bit like an introduction to autumn. I’ve breezed by your site on other occasions, reading Ron’s newsletter. I’m glad that this time I lingered a while. I’ll be back again. It looks very inviting! Thank you.


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