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How refreshing not to read about falling leaves, etc. etc.!!! It is SO overdone!
Julie, I absolutely love your light take, and Michael, you truly (IMHO) are the king of the triolet. The one you posted is gorgeous. As soon as fall comes up here in Quebec, however, my mind is already on the beaches of Punta del Este, where right now it's spring. When winter lasts a good 5 months, there's not much to like about autumn. |
Read some the lovely work here, especially Michael's poem and I felt inspired. But we don't really have much Autumn or Winter here so the poem I wrote was about its absence and that seemed wide of the mark so I deleted it.
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My daughter reports that her university dorm had an anonymous "fall haiku" contest, and this was voted the winner:
Econ sucks a lot Goodbye reign in honors coll It's been a good run |
Autumn hereabouts means mud and dirty paws on the carpet.
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Quote:
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Autumn: The Selfsame Tropes the Experiment Did Effectively Avoid
I thought to post this poem for the sake of comparison. This is because it exhibits the selfsame tropes that this experiment showed could be effectively eschewed in writing about Autumn.
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Perhaps because I live, as I've always done, in more than one place, this may make my take on the year's rythms a bit different. It is, however, mine. XXXXXXXXX SEASONAL Which birds go where, I do not know, I never learned such things, but as each summer fades I go pressed by rememberings. Once more I’m bound by friendship’s round, where we roved long ago - and northward far, thole duty’s har, to clutch for what we owe. Each season’s change, a transhumance, makes life a constant flow and where we choose, and not time’s chance, makes sense of what I know. |
[Sorry, but this was embarrassingly bad.]
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Hedgehoggers
Nature Mirrors Man
After Thoreau in “Wild Apples” Out foraging for apples, windfalls crabbed and chilled by early frost, he packs pants pockets with the fruit and then, when on a saunter home, he eats from one side, then the other, by this rotation keeps his balance. He recalls when nearly home: a hunting hedgehog rolls over apples, sticking fruit with its sharp quills, but if one falls, it shakes off all to roll again, regaining balance, before returning to the nest. |
FALL TRIOLET
All summer long the trees were bare, so what was left to fall? A lurking chill instilled the air all summer long. The trees were bare. The birds left early in despair. The worms forgot to crawl. All summer long the trees were bare, so what was left to fall? |
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