I came upon a prompt to write poetry, and I find that endeavor to be a fun thing, so I decided to read my favorite poet Edna St. Vincent Millay for inspiration. I will never write like her but if imitation is truly sincere flattery then this is my aim. Though it is September as I write this, Autumn is showing itself and so I chose to write about it. Spring and Autumn: the transitional seasons…I have first copied below, a poem called SPRING by Edna. Below that is my own poem, AUTUMN.
BY: Edna St. Vincent Millay
SPRING
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only underground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
BY: me
AUTUMN
What scheme is this, October; with your paraded shows of color?
Grandstanding is not so praiseworthy.
This time my summer weariness is not soothed by the yellow
And scarlet leaves rustling crisply.
I have lived what I have lived.
The breeze is brisk upon my face as I regard
The nervous squirrels.
The smells in the air are pleasing.
It is clear that no ugliness exists.
But what does that represent?
Even in the brains of beautiful people
Morals are decayed.
Vitality in itself
Is fleeting.
A cup too full, the elevator instead of the stairs.
It is not pleasing that yearly, up this vibrant hill,
October
Swaggers in like a braggart, bellowing and brandishing colors.
Kimberly, author of Under the Banana Moon, http://www.amazon.com/Under-Banana-Moon-Living-Aspergers/dp/1469985144/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
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