The Carlisle Mosquito Online

Friday, October 1, 2010


Autumn Poem

How is it a poem
that the sun disappears
too soon from the sky?

… that birds flock overhead,
and branches are bared
in the wind as I watch?

… that each day becomes
a freeze-frame image
of broken light,

the end of summer’s
green continuum, as time
flickers more swiftly by?

…that the feathery heads
of dead goldenrod foreshadow
the grey-white of winter?

How is it a poem
that I grow as old
and as grey as the goldenrod?

Barbara Bennett

© 2010 The Carlisle Mosquito