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Redness on trees
Announces arrival of
Season of Autumn

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Seasonable Retour-Knell

SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS

Author notes

A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000

In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.

For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.

Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.

One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.

Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllll
For previous version see below
_______________________________________
SPRING SUMMER


Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.

Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.


AUTUMN WINTER


Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.

Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,

[...] Read more

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The Autumn-Spirit.

Now the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth, bedecked with symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign,
Makes us think about the season of the flowers with a sigh,
When life was lush in every tree-love laughed in every eye,
Whilst her lineaments of beauty were imprinted on the sod,
When the Spring with Winter wrestled, on that gala-day of God!
But the Spring is dead and buried, and the Summer's vital fire,
Like a heap of sullen embers, smoulders ready to expire;
For the Autumn-Spirit, reigning over mountain, vale and plain,
Robes the Earth in royal symbols emblematic of his reign!

Hark! a singing train of seraphim doth o'er its surface pass!
Mark! their flowing robes of flame have singed the green and speary grass!
Witness! every tender blade appeareth tipped and tinged with brown,
And the hedge is hemmed with rose-leaves, which their wings have shaken down,
Though the hind but hears the whirring of ten thousand pinions beat,
Sees a cloud of birds of passage trail its shadow by his feet,
For the pageantry of Heaven hath escaped his optics dim,
And he sees but birds of passage in the God-sent seraphim,
While the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth is robed in symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign!

While his tread is on the mountain, through the valley and the plain,
Like some Fate-commissioned angel, Desolation tracks his train,
And the glory of the Summer and the beauty of the Spring
Form a carpet for his feet, a fading, weird, and worn-out thing!
And his wings distil an odour, as of corpses in perfume,
Warbled through his ghastly whispers sound the sighs of buried bloom,
And his accents are dim echoes from the hollow caves of Death,
And the wailing woods are withered by his cold and crisping breath,
For the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth is robed in symbols of the Autumn-spirit's reign!

Where the Poet loves to saunter in some unfrequented nook,
Or to sit and learn the language of the ever-babbling brook,
While its glassy surface mirrors the deep gulf of Heaven's blue,
Where the sunny cloud-ships, sailing, point to vapour lands in view,
There the river's creeks are mantled with red leaves and yellow foam,
And its broken banks are scattered with dead branches dipped in loam,
And a wail of desolation through the fading forest hums,
And the Winds grow chill by thinking of the Winter ere it comes,
While the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth is robed in symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign!

Where the lily of the valley and the violet of the copse
Looked like Thoughts incorporated-like embodied youthful Hopes!
Where the golden-tubëd honeysuckle's pipes were interwound
With the ruddy-tinted roses breathing scented music round,
In the field or the forest, by the verdure-sheltered rills,
Where, in green and golden garments, Summer sate among the hills,

[...] Read more

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Pirouetting Autumn

The tree blushed - a rude blast of air
Betrayed a shapely bough.
My saddened heart aware
That Nature's clock was chiming,
I froze upon the twelfth
Clanging tone, caught alone,
Staring at a creaking door -
Left ajar for dancing, coloured Autumn,
Pirouetting in her leaves,
While agitated summer creatures
Backed away resignedly,
Sighing in protracted breves.
I turned; gave company;
We stood together, watching
Summer slowly blow away.

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009


[...] Read more

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Arrival of a child

Arrival of a child marks the
Arrival of a new pleasant path
Arrival of a most colourful horizon
Arrival of a new set of dreams
Arrival of a new ray of hope
Arrival of a new melody in musical notes
Arrival of a refreshing new fragrance
Arrival of a new butterfly in our garden

Arrival of a child marks the
Assertion of nature’s supremacy
Assertion of God’s faith in men
Assertion of sustenance of existence
Assertion of human love
Assertion of a new strengthened bond

Arrival of a child marks the
Beginning of a new philosophy
Beginning of a new set of experiences
Beginning of a renewed valour
Beginning of new ways of learning
Beginning of refined perception
Beginning of the glow of innocence
Beginning of a new set of celebrations

Arrival of child marks the
Formation of new cloud of prosperity
Formation of shower of fresh nutrients
Formation of a lake of vibrant future
Formation of a new pool of gainful talents

Let us welcome the child,
The spark of continuation of human race and
Let the human race celebrate the
Arrival of each child just born

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Autumn...Will Never Be The Same

FOR: J.L. With Love

It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

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Days Like This...Remind Me Of You

It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.


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New York... Not In Autum

It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

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Only On This Day...

For: J.L.

It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

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The Day...Was You

It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.


©Joe Fazio

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Seasonal Cycle - Chapter 03 - Pre Autumn

"On the departure of rainy season bechanced is autumn with a heart-pleasingly bloomed lotus as her face, betokening the heart-pleasing face of a new bride, and the autumnal fields of white grass with whitish flowers as her apparel, which betoken the whitish bridal apparel of a new bride, and the amorously clucking clucks of swans that have just returned from Lake Maanasa as rains have gone, are the jingling anklets of autumn, which betoken the delightful jingles of anklets of new bride, and now the rice is ready to ripe and thus the tenuous stalks of rice, which have their necks a little bent down, betoken the obeisant face of a new docile bride...

"Blanched is the earth with whitish grass and the nights with silvery and coolant moonbeams of the moon, and the rivers with white swans, lakes with white-lotuses, and that forest up to its fringes with whitish jasmine flowers and with somewhat whitish seven-leaved banana plants that are swagging under the weight of their flowers...

"Presently the rivers are journeying slowly with a strutting of prideful lovely girls, for the raising and falling fishes of rivers seem to be the delightful sets of strings at the waistlines of rivers, like the sets of girdle-strings on the waists of girls, and the ranges of white waterfowls on riverbanks seem to be the whitish pearly pendants of rivers, like the pearly pendants around the bosoms of prideful girls, more so the broad sand-dunes at edges of those rivers appear to be the roundish fundaments of those rivers like that of those girls...

"With clouds that have doled out their waters, the vault of heaven is silvern somewhere, it is like the whitish conch shell elsewhere, and somewhere else it is palish like the stalks of lotuses, and the clouds on achieving their levity and moved by the speed of wind, they are splintered into hundreds of pieces and journeying away, and thus the sky appears to be a king fanned with royal-fans, called the swerving, splintering, and silvery clouds...

"The sky is looking like well-kneaded knoll of black mascara, and the earth is delightfully inscribed with the vermilion colour of safflowers that are flowered up to the visible horizon, and the swaths and even the ravines of earth are surrounded with charming lotuses... and on visualising such an environ, which heart of which adolescent person doesn't get up to a lot of ecstasy...

"When the slothful wind is slothfully stirring up the upper branches of red-golden coloured trees, that are most lovely with peaking tender leaflets, and with muchly outcropped flowers, from which nectar is muchly trickling, that which is overly drunk by the honeybees, and when such a sylvan scenery is seen, whose heart won't be riven...

"A girl burgeons as a damsel day by day, so the autumnal night is lengthening its night-time day by day, and as a damsel wears shiny jewellery on her nubility, this damsel, called the autumnal night, is wearing clusters of twinkling stars as her jewellery, as the veil of a damsel will be unveiled frequently presenting her face, these veils called clouds on the skyscape are now being unveiled to present the moonlike face of this autumnal damsel, and a damsel starts to wear raiment with unblemished whiteness at her pubescence, so also, this autumnal damsel's wraparound is the immaculate moonshine...

"Inaccessible were those rivers in rainy season even for the waterfowls, barring the people, for they were ferocious and feculent, but this autumn made them placid and pure, and hence the rows of ripples of their water are pecked with the beaks of partridges for their feed, and all over on their banks and riversides, flocks and flocks of cranes and drakes are bustling, and muchly cackling are the swans, and the rivers themselves are reddened with the red-pollen grains of red-lotuses, thus those spectacular rivers, riverbanks, and riversides are rejoicingly accessible even for the people...

"These days the moon is an eye-festival and heart-stealing with his profuse moonbeams, and he is the real gladdener for he is the sprinkler of fresh and coolant dewdrops through those moonbeams, but nowadays he alone is becoming an inflamer, for he is burning the bodies of the women, who are already felled by the arrow of Love-god, which arrow is daubed with the venom, which venom is nothing but their own lusting after their itinerant husbands, that are now separated from them...

"The wind being the prime mover in nature is now wiggling the well-ripened rows of rice stalks that are curvy under the weight of their cobs, and the same wind is waggling the best trees that are saggy under the weight of their flowers, and he alone is wobbling the fully bloomed clumps of lotuses in the lakes, moreover, thus he is vehemently wriggling the hearts of young men, with his lilting breezing and lively freshness...

"The limpid waters of lakes are refurbished with bevies of couples of voluptuous swans, amongst the just bloomed white and blue lotuses that elaborate lakes, and the rows of ripples of lake-water are undulated by the oncoming slowish morning breeze, as well as by the ruffles made by swans, thus the all-time ripply lakes are ecstasizing hearts, in a trice...

"Presently evanished are the rainbows in the bellies of clouds, and indiscernible are the skyey flags, called flashes of lightning, and un-winnowed is the aerospace with the windage of wings of cranes, and peacocks are unseeing the sky with their upraised faces, agog for rains...

"The Love-god is drawing nigh of melodiously singing swans, leaving off the peacocks that have ceased to dance anymore, as there is no rain, while the grandeur of the flowers of trees like Kadamba, Kutaja, Arjuna, Sarja, Niipa already drew nigh of the seven-leaved banana plants, that flower and flourish at this time...

"The fragrance of flowers of white-flower trees is heart-stealing, and nowadays birds are not scorched by the sun, thus they are there in fine fettle, and they are calling each other reciprocally, thus those birds and their callings are heart-stealing, and the eyes of she-deer that are abiding all over there are like black-lotuses, thus with all them the woodlands and their fringes beyond ken, are ecstasizing the hearts of men...

"The dawn time breeze on recurrently winnowing the red-lotuses, white-lotuses, and the lotuses that bloom at sunrise, is in contact with those lotuses and thus acquiring more coolness, more so, on sifting the dewdrops that are clinging at the edges of leaves, that auroral breeze is very much exhilarating...

"The precincts of earth are surrounded with exuberant stretches of rice-crops, and they are glistering with stocks of cattle available there, that are robust and multiplying, and that is even reverberated with the callings of swans and drakes, thereby those interior places within the apparent horizon are thus causing an euphoric state to the spectators in this pre-autumnal season...

"The womenfolk's very lissom gait is won by the svelte steps of swans, and moonshine of their faces is won by the efflorescent whiteness of white-lotuses, and their lustful, wily, and sidelong glances are won by the swings and sways of blue-lotuses, and even their eyebrows' subtle flutters are won by rocks and rolls of thin ripples... thus this season is outmoding the most famous beauty of the nature, namely the womenfolk...

"The Shyaamaa climbers are decorated with their tender leaves and flowers, and by the weight these they are flexed and look like the curvaceous arms of women, that are decorated with many an ornament, flowery bracelets and leaf-thin bangles and the like, but stolen is that shine of those arms of women by these climbers of this season... and this broadly smiling season, with red Ashoka flowers as its lips and with delightful and sparkly whitish new jasmine buds as its teeth, is stealing the splendour of toothy grins of womenfolk, with their jasmine budlike teeth and roseate lips...

"These days women are furling up their longish, thickish, and blackish hair termini into buns and overstuffing them with new jasmines, and even if their ears are already inserted with best golden budlike ear-hangings, they are now inserting divers black-lotuses into their hairdo, at the back of their ears...

These days the ladies are with highly gladdened hearts for the climate is equable, thus they are decorating their globelike busts with emulsions of sandal-paste and with pendants of pearls and gold, and their girth-lines are decorated with sets of golden girdles festooned with golden tassels, and even their lotus-like feet are decorated with best anklets that have jingling bells...

"These days the vault of heaven similes with the vast of earth in their forms of exalted splendour... on the earth the lakes are bejewelled with emeraldine waters, similar is the sky with somewhat emeraldine hue... such water is overspread with white-lotuses, similar is the cloudless sky overlaid with stars... these waters are overprotective to kingly swans, similarly the vault of cloudless heaven is holding out the moon, the king of the nights...

"In this pre-autumn its ingredients are heart-pleasing, for the breezes breeze cool for touch by their association with white-lotuses, and the divisions and subdivisions of quarters can be descried, for dissipated are the clouds, and the waters can be enjoyed, for they are devoid of slush, and walkable is the earth, for its slime is dried up, and in nights the welkin is with the moon, with his immaculate moonbeams and medley of stars...

"These days when the sun arouses the lotuses with his sunrays at daybreak, they are shining forth like best damsels with flourishing visages, but when the spherule of moon has gone into faintness at dawn, even those lotuses are becoming smileless and subduing, as with the smiles of youthful women, whose lovers have journeyed away, and who grin and bear it...

"Nowadays the itinerants on noticing the splendour of eyes of their ladyloves with blackish mascara, in black-lotuses, and the chinks of their golden girdle-strings in the clucks of lustily swans, and the endearing gleam of their lower lips in the reddish flowers, they are bewailing disconcertedly, unsure of their homecoming in this season...

"The pleasing exquisiteness that has arrived with this pre-autumnal Sharat season is beating a retreat to somewhere else, on leaving the grandeur of its autumnal moon on the faces of women, and the clucky speeches of swans in their gemmy anklets, and the safflower like flower's reddish hue on their beautiful lips...

[...] Read more

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A Day Like No Other...

It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July, for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or have the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

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Autumn In July

It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July, for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or have the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

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Autumn In July

It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July, for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or have the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

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Autumn In July (rated in group)

It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July, for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or have the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

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Mid July? Or Not

It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July, for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or have the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

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That Autumn Day In Mid July.

It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
For: J.L.
The first thing I thought of on this
day was you.
_________________________________________ _

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July, for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or have the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

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Seasonal Cycle - Chapter 06 - Spring

"Oh, dear, with the just unfolded tender leaflets of Mango trees as his incisive arrows, and with shining strings of honeybees as his bowstring, the assailant named Vasanta came very nigh, to afflict the hearts of those that are fully engaged in affairs of lovemaking...

"Oh, dear, in Vasanta, Spring, trees are with flowers and waters are with lotuses, hence the breezes are agreeably fragrant with the fragrance of those flowers, thereby the eventides are comfortable and even the daytimes are pleasant with those fragrant breezes, thereby the women are with concupiscence, thus everything is highly pleasing...

"This Spring season endows prosperity to waters of swimming pools, and to moonshine, for their water or shine is pleasurable, and even to mango trees, as their flowers are just flowered, more so, to the bejewelled girdle strings of women, for their wearing is neither cumbersome nor irksome in this season, thus it endows prosperity to womenfolk of age, as they enjoy in wearing them, thus they too, become enjoyable, these days...

"These days the flirtatious women are adorning their roundish behinds with silk cloths that are dyed with Kusumbha flower's reddish dye, and their bosomy busts with thin silks that are dyed with ocherish and reddish colours, for thinness and silkiness are agreeable in this thinnish ambience...

"The womenfolk of age are now decorating their temples with just unfolded new whitish flowers of Karnikara, and with new and reddish Ashoka flowers and with whitish jasmines flowers in their blackish hair-locks that are swaying, thus unfolded is the beauty of these women, with the flourishing resplendence of these newly unfolded flowers...

"The bosoms of women with burly rumps, whose hearts are now flurried by the Love-god, are now sharing pearly pendants that are wetted with white sandal-paste that is bedaubed on their busts, and their biceps with circlets of bicep-lets, and their hiplines with the strings of cinctures, that are till recently unbearably coldish to touch... thus, the touch of season is romantic...

"The golden lotuses like faces of flirtatious women are tattooed with erasable foliage tattoos with black Kasturi lines, and in those designs sweat-drops are now percolating, with them those faces are delightfully beautified as gem-studded jewellery, interspersed with pearls...

"Now the limbs of womenfolk are flustered by the Love-god, thus they are panting for their need-fulfilment, hence they are now loosening the fastenings of their undergarments, since spring fever makes them sultrily fervent, thus they are enamoured of their lovers, who are tarrying at their nearby...

"The Love-god is making the limbs of sybaritic women as thinnish, palish and lethargic, and tending to yawn time and again, and with these syndromes the bodies of women are becoming restless in the spring fever, with an air of enchantment...

"Now the Love-god is diversely apparent in women, who are jaded out by hard drinks, for their eyes are fluttery, their cheeks are whitely, their bosoms are stony, their waists are slimly, and their behinds are sturdy... thus these features are the evidences for their seasonal infatuation with Him...

"Advent to spring Love-god makes the limbs of womenfolk sluggishly dizzy with sleepiness, He makes their speech a little teeter-tottering with sensualities, and He also makes their looks aslant with the knitting and unknitting of their eyebrows, seeking vehement sensual pleasures...

"The frolicsome and lustful women that are with faineance are bedaubing their whitish bosoms with sandal-paste, in which well kneaded are the fragrant seeds of Priyangu, yellowish turmeric, saffron and musk, to relieve themselves of spring fever...

"These days the people, whose limbs are wearied down with their desire induced ebullience, are wearing thinnish cloths, that are fumigated with fragrant aloe vera resin and dyed in the colour of reddish lac resin, quickly discarding their coarse clothing, for this season is neither coarse nor crude...

"The passionate male koel, black singing bird, on savouring the invigorative essence of just grown flowers of Mango trees, is gladdened and passionately kissing his love, so also this honeybee, abiding in lotuses, and savouring their nectar, this too is passionately mating with his love to her complaisance, sequestered in the petals of lotuses...

"Delightful are the branches of mango trees that are laden with bunches of coppery tender leaves, and with just flowered flowers, and with their heads a little bent down, for they simile with the bashful women, whose heads are with flowery hairdos and coppery half-veils, and a little bent down and swaying in lustiness, like mango treetops that are gently swaying, swayed by the gentle breezes of this season, and on identifying themselves with those mango trees, the womenfolk is rendered muchly overenthusiastic for love, in this spring time...

"All-over adorned are those Ashoka trees with bunches of reddish folioles, and reddish flowers that resemble the hue of red corals, and when the new entrants to adulthood are observing those unfolded red flowers, those Ashoka trees are making them agonised, for unfulfilled is their new longing for a newish love...

"The charming flowers of mango trees are with delightful thickish buds, and they are overly swilled by tipsy honeybees, and slow breezes are flurrying and tilting their delicate leaflets, thus when lovelorn youngsters observe them, their hearts are quickly ecstasized by those mango trees...

"Oh, dear, the mien of this season is akin to the facial resplendence of ladyloves, with the utmost beauty of the clusters of flowers of Kuravaka plants that are uprisen in this season, and if this is observed by any good-hearted person, won't his heart be agonised, indeed, struck by the arrow of Love-god?

"The ruddy flowers in springtime are sprung by the winds simile with the reddy flames that are just now set to flame, and everywhere the earth is overspread with such brakes of Kimshuka trees, and presently when their treetops are bent under the weight of those red flowers, whole of this earth similes with a new bride, shining forth in her new bridal redly costume, and her head a little bent under the half-veil of that costume...

"Aren't the youthful hearts of youthful lovers that are hidden in the hearts of their pretty faced ladyloves unsplit by these Kimshuka flowers, that are in shine with the reddish bills of parrots... aren't they already and definitely burnt by the flame-like redly Karnikaara flowers... then why for this Kokila, the black singing bird, is again gnawing away those hearts, with its gnawingly melodious singing...

"Passion is surging out in male Kokila-s, singing birds, as they obtained jollity in this springtime on chewing mango flowers, thus they are singing inexplicably, and the honeybees, when they are drunk with the flowery nectar of those flowers, they are also droning hums murmuringly as their drinking song, and with these hums and drones the hearts of new brides are flustered in a trice, even if they are in the service of their in-laws, where certain docility and prudishness are in demand...

"On the departure of mist-fall in springtime, the propitious breeze is breezing pleasantly to undulate the flowered branches of Mango trees, and to transmit the singings of Kokila-s in all directions, thereby to steal the hearts of humans, who can neither be blatant nor silent, of their longings...

"These days the pleasure gardens are brightened up with whitely jasmines, thus they simile with the toothy grins of sprightly brides, and hence they are heart-stealing, and these gardens are now stealing the hearts of saints or sages that have neutralised their materialistic indulgences long back, as such, these gardens must have stolen the hearts of youths, which are already tainted with seasonal sensualities...

"This Madhu month, Chaitra, nectarean month at the end of springtime, is forcefully stealing away the hearts of people, for the womenfolk, whose bodies are slenderised by the pride of Love-god, is eyeful with their golden strings of girdle that are pensile onto their hiplines, and their bosoms are clung by pendulous pearly pendants, besides, earful are the singings of Kokila-s and the humming of honeybees...

"These interiors of visible horizon are comprised of mountains that are adorned with divers and delightful flowery trees, and the areas of those mountainsides are hurly-burly with the singings of Kokila-s, and the masses of their rock faces are hemmed in and enwrapped with fragrant mountainy moss, that comes out now when those rocks were fissured during last summer, to see such an environ, all the people are rejoiced...

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The Autumn Sing

Here’s the autumn sing…
A symphony from its falling leaf…
Catching the wind from a future winter…
Rolling through a shy light…

Oh autumn shall not die in winter…
As a promise summer will surely come….
Ah autumn is a second spring…
Not all could see, all leaf is flower….

Autumn warn a terrible winter phase….
No one listen, No one will hear it…
As it is only the sound of silence….
Who can hold an indefinite sound...?

No one embrace the autumn….
As it is only a sad phase…
It gives nothing but an autumn chill….
Spring always comes with a better glory…

Oh autumn with its broken feather…
Could other season patch it up again?
No other season will devote their being….
Autumn suffers alone….

Autumns leaf keep on falling…
Spring comes cheerfully…
Summer comes strongly….
Winter always comes coldly…..
But autumn changes its face every time….

No one knows the differences….
Just the secret of the nature…
Why can’t it’d be a spring?
Why can’t it’d be summer?
Why can’t it’d be winter?

Ah autumn dance again between all the falling leaf…
It enjoys its sadness…
It embraces its pain….
As only from autumn all painter learn…
How to capture a true hidden beauty…

All speaks the same in every season….
But autumn remain different…..
For autumn is an alone singer…
Only a genuinely soul painter could witness its beauty….
That’s all the autumn need….
A silence audience....
Who can make other being see….

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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

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Trees

whenever the lustre of my amber glistens,
i could feel the price it had exacted on the trees,
blood red tears meandering rough and uneven tracks
to land where they were kept like a child for a million years

they emerge to fascinate us with coruscating tales
of the romances with time, lost on the memory of men,
the dinosaurs, the first forests, the insects -
which now sparkle with such subtlety - they draw us
to the heart of their very existence, the million
years in the now, solidified, and now dangling right
at the door to the heart, our bossom

the trees, the trees, so many of them
standing tall and proud, as if broadcasting to us
if they had not been around, creation
would have been at a standstill

the trees, the trees, they fuel the world
a panacea to foibles rolled into one tall order, -
so that our cars run, our kitchen cooks, our umbrella works,
the news reach us handsomely wrapped, the chopsticks
to pick our food, the clogs to walk and rattle autumn,
the medicine to heal our rebellious body, fruits for
the seasons, the table for us to write on and a cosy
space for the dead to dream on

when they stand in a fusion at the break of dawn
it feels one has stumbled upon a meditative realm
of the highest kind - the orchestra blasting away
in them permeates every hidden place - they only help
to enhance that robustness and promises of the day
the sun channels its recuperative light - leaves that dance,
filter the music and the essence of the day

trees, trees.... abodes of birds, animals, they tell
on the weather, sing the storm before it approaches
and whistles to us fine spring tunes

trees trees standing so tall, majestic affording
a luxuriance to cool ourselves as we brood over
our destiny - trees our only saviours as the earth
climbs the mercury ever ready to send us
into obivion in a spinning fiery hot cauldron

second version:


whenever the lustre of my amber
glistens, i could feel the price

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