When Poppies Fade


When poppies fade, our memories

Are washed in sepia, photo sleeves

With tattered corners tucked away

In dusty albums’ slow decay.


When poppies fade, recollections

Fall, dead leaves in mass defections,

Crumble-dry beneath bare branches,

Blowing lost in frozen trenches.


When poppies fade, awareness slips

From senseless, heartless fingertips,

Petals blanched, without their power,

Bloodless loss, amnesia’s flower.


Autumn Aria

Don’t let that vine strangle

what it took the summer to produce –

 grasping tentacles

and choke-holds,

those wrestling moves of the botanicalworld,

seek to suck you dry.

Don’t let the clutching swagger

drown your song;

it is the seed you carry

in struggling womb

that sets you apart,

defines your purpose,


 your Autumn Aria,

poised to enrich

the barren soil around you.

Learn the notes by rote

and sing,

a melodic sowing spree;

your gift was predestined to

soar through the air waves

and feed the world.