Ferment I & II

~I i ~

Those eyes blue as ice
Pale Englishman came cold calling without
Flowers, proffering half-beat haikus and derring-do
Might we have orchestrated mood music instead?
Still September nights are still the saddest.
Have you rent that roving spirit with
Timetables? One slot on the regulation rota
To imbibe sweet reverie like noble rot of
Fruit fermenting in the orchard

~I ii ~

Those were once these
Pale pulsing heads of blush hydrangea.
Flowers, now a crisp-dry palette of mauves
Might envision Victoriana parlours
Still and sonorous with a grandfather clock.
Have we two faded into such a feeble history?
Time was when seasons were all summer sensation
To tickle and titillate without thought of
Fruit fermenting in the orchard


~ II ~

It seems as though you are still summer
because rememberings stay still
no note since nor single sound
no unveiled sight to cast
motes from eyes. Junebug
in amber glow
rose-tinted
ferment
void

Taking one consecutive word from a line of Karina Borowicz poem ‘September Tomatoes’ as starter for a 9-line verse: "Those/ pale /flowers /might /still /have/ time/ to /fruit"   + 9-1 syllabic Nonet  with opener from W.S. Merwin's “To the Light of September” for my Poetics Challenge: Nine across to countdown

the mothers

Aware of their whereabouts
we attuned to high-frequency
transmissions, espied the routine
evening leavings from the far wall.
Forty or more mustered there
decamping in ones and threes
out of the eaves
dropping like burnt rags
then sky-high in a trice
small as moths.


According to The Bat Conservancy Trust information, bats residing somewhere under the roof barge board of my daughter’s house are probably maternity roosts

The same number of words as bats for Kim's quadrille prompt: eavesdropping.  

Sky light

“In spite of the months of knowing
and the years
autumn comes with astonishment
light held up in a glass
the terrible news in a haze
caught breath in the warm leaves

In spite of the gathering dust and the vast moon
the day comes with a color
its words cannot touch…”

Sky in September ~ W.S. Merwin
Sunday Sayings: A pick from the poets, writers or scriptures