poetry journals
to read that have
waited on my shelves
the season now
and also Spring
poetry journals
to read and perhaps
all seasons . . .
one journal at a time
and always Spring
poetry journals: two poems
Category: Autumn
Grateful
Simple work in the kitchen. Grateful for good food and warm water to wash the dishes. I take my time and look at the yard. How the forsythia by the garage grew this year, and is tall, wide, and also reaches to the earth.
Poems from the archives:
forsythia leaves
covered with snow
in late Autumn
years of seasons
live in my heart
November 2014
all the more yellow
because of grey skies
daffodils
forsythia
dandelions
May 2011
November sunroom
November sunroom
orange lilies from a store
in the blue vase
hosta leaves
hosta leaves
green and gold
orange lilies
and purple flowers
from a store
Fall colors
along the roads
and some trees
with fallen leaves
November begins
Karl and I went to Walmart in Sheboygan today. The temperature was just a little above freezing this morning. Good to buy fresh food and also canned soups and other supplies. November has a special beauty. Lunch at the kitchen table, and carrot cake from the store. I like that we can buy a small portion and share. Then we each have our own work under the same roof. Grateful.
“Ash Tree Management”
When I visited the Town of Holland Sheboygan County – Wisconsin site yesterday, I saw they have “Information about Ash Tree Management in the Town of Holland.”
They link to ROOTS “Restoration of Our Trees – Sheboygan.”
My poem, Seasons, is from October 24, 2019.
SEASONS
once the tree grew tall
before the Emerald Ash Borer
and then a storm
hosta plants
grew green again
around the stump
in Spring
they grew large
and flowered well
so blessed by rain
and a red begonia planter
now there is an
orange pumpkin
on the ash tree stump
and hosta leaves are gold
in the brilliant morning sun
warm soup
warm soup
with fresh vegetables
Autumn colors
I added orange and red peppers, an onion, mushrooms, and lots of kale to a can of chicken soup with pasta. This brings back good memories of when I shopped and cooked for my mother. I knew what she would enjoy, even if she said she was not hungry.
A squirrel is busy harvesting pine cones from the tall Norway Spruce tree again this year. Karl heard the cones fall this morning on the wood deck and against the house.
Poems From Oostburg, Wisconsin 