poetpotter

This weekend we say good-bye to our childhood home as we help Mom move into her new place in town. Today is unpacking day and she's excited about her new apartment. Still we need to take a little time to remember what our home meant to us. This is but one of them. When I have one more look at the house to say good-bye, I also have to look at the space, though it be empty, where we played in the attic of our farm home. I'll picture it as it was in those days. No photos today. I'll let you imagine it. Attic Playhouse Under the roof is a playhouse     with its familiar odour of heat and yesterday         leather skates lean against each other                                  like fallen dominoes            ...

Autumn brings with it the smell of a changing season, leaves turning colour and falling to the ground. One of my favourite poems is "Indian Summer" by William Wilfred Campbell. In grade school we did memory work and  this was one I remembered easily. I've always liked the pictures it evokes and the rhythm of the lines. Along the line of smoky hills The crimson forest stands... Read more here . Now I'll share my own poem that speaks of the season: Autumn Autumn weaves itself into summer nights ushers in cool air the first chance it gets changes greens to splendid reds and yellows nips the roses still in bud steals kisses from the sun Autumn whispers to migrating birds encourages squirrels to fill their homes with food Autumn slips in so skillfully that it’s hard to tell just when summer ended and autumn began All poetry shared here, unless otherwise noted, is my own work. http://www.carolynwilker.ca/