Autumn Poetry

Bruised

I feel the wintering air beckon insistently as each day passes.
The skies seem darkening, even as the sun puts out its watery rays;
And I look, almost vainly, for the light in my own heart to warm me instead.
Leaves crunch under my feet -- some escape as my pace quickens with the snap of the wind.
The colors are nearly past their furious prime,
But I stoop to collect the precious few that demand discovery.

Perfectly shaped maples, blushing gold to russet --
A challenge to find a perfect specimen on this crisp day.
Instead a multi-hued oak leaf draws me again and again;
And its sanguine shades strike a resonant chord.
Bruised and purpling, rich colors play across the surface,
Rendering it both wounded and angry at once.
Fragile to the touch, the relentlessly cool, sere air has buffeted it to brittleness,
Leaving it vulnerable to the slightest injury.

Yet, its rage is reflected in the smoldering shades of autumn.
Fierce and wild, unexpressed emotion longs to loose its fury into the air --
My thoughts echo that pain;
And my own fragility is perilously close to the skin.
Which emotion will win out in the end?
Can I express both and still remain in control?
Can I express either?

As tears sting my face, I wend my way home.
A home that is no longer my home.
The future is as murky as the evening gloaming,
And I search again for that one last ray of light.
I remember the leaf in my hand, so carefully held to avoid destruction.
It will never be again, but the tree will produce many others in due season.
Can I take comfort that the cycle goes on?

By Lisa C. Whitaker
Autumn 1996

As noted by the date above, I wrote this some time ago during an unsettling time in my life. Each turn of the year brings its own challenges and uncertainties, but those emotions I felt that day are fortunately banished. Nevertheless, since autumn is here again I thought I would share this particular poem as it evokes the colors of fall. It was originally published in one of those poetry contest anthologies at the time, of which I have an elusive copy stashed somewhere in my office. I'm not certain how discerning the editors of these books are, but it's lovely to be able to say I'm a published poet!

Leaf picture above found online and credited to Michael G. O'Callaghan