Slipping into October
Quietly, I slip into October’s chilly breeze,
pull it gently across suntanned shoulders,
await the sunrise show of stunning gold
surprises under canopies, longtime green.
*
Birch and Maple thoughtfully drink the fall,
sipping slow, to savor each earthly bouquet,
as it will be their last for a long time to come.
So, I clink my glass to their farewells,
*
bring color to my cold stone fireplace,
crimson and persimmon, like a breath;
a fresh renewal. Season’s phoenix takes flight,
soars gem-stained skies in a dance of silence,
*
and the world begins its cocoon…
By Celaine Charles
Autumn in the Ocean
She rises with the ocean current, slow
lazy morning for waves with little wind,
but the chill seeps down deep, calling,
and the colors!
*
She nears the surface along the eastern coast,
exploding in copper and crimson,
dotting the shore like arcadian redfish
cling to a muddy floor.
*
The slip of her sleek golden tail, a twist
and turn—only reflections of amber sun
to beachcombers exhaling salty air,
in hope of a lucky catch.
*
She’s found her hidden treasure though
before their weakened eyes, behind their sluggish
sense of smell, gems like rubies and topaz
announce the one season
*
she desperately wants to embrace, like a song,
to swirl in a dance to the depths of the sea,
to hide among the redfish, her own
autumn in the ocean.
By Celaine Charles
Marooned in the Season
Isolated behind lavish layers of fog,
I think I’ll stay right here
on this early November morn
where I am unfound for a few
precious moments from constant pull.
*
I will huddle with the leaves,
marooned in the season, to fall,
to alight atop frost-kissed grass
blades like a sacrifice, a ritualistic
renewal within the privacy of Earth’s
*
gray swags, sloping low. They cloak
my heart, somehow lost on the outside
of fevering skin, crimson like the maples
already tossed aside, lamenting what-ifs
from earlier summer months, and first
*
September days, lost then, to October,
to the now that stands perfectly still
in the ashen light, holding time captive
for a few precious moments from constant
pull. I will huddle with the leaves…
*
marooned. Marooned against a grim
misty sky. Morning, hold me in your arms,
sway me from your branches one last
time before the wind lifts, casts me
onward. And I return to a foggy day.
By Celaine Charles
