Chill

Young Autumn takes a dip

into winter;

her red and orange leaves

drip and shiver

in a cold wet wind.

 

Copyright 2019

T. Allen Culpepper

And Then?

Beside the squat, square tower

of the red-brick church, up which

the ivy cannot commit to climb,

an oak has begun its autumnal rite,

one quadrant turned to gold–

not yet glory, but the promise of it.

 

Truth that, yet a falsehood as well,

for the trooping of the colours precedes

the dead march toward the brown rot

that winter will freeze and try

to mask with dirty snow.

 

Eternal expectation that the compost

will feed new growth in spring,

but still also the persistent doubts–

Who are the elect, who the elector,

what if the plan should fail?

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

 

 

The Inevitable Birthday Poem

The tumbled geometries of the cityscape

bask in pools of light–cool blue, warm golden;

the tenderest top leaves of the young pear tree

adjacent to the rooftop deck slow dance

to the softly swirling autumn breeze

on a still-too-warm October evening,

and azaleas bloom out of season.

Another birthday; I’ve rolled a double five.

 

I guess it’s good enough to be alive,

not important to understand the reason,

but to  take the air and just keep breathing;

treat others kindly but do as you please;

don’t be afraid to take your one big chance.

The Boss says open doors don’t mean the ride’s free;

to your history you may be beholden,

but the road itself is your escape.

 

Copyright 2017

T. Allen Culpepper

A Few Meditate on Peace as Nature Makes Her Art

Painter’s dabs of gold,

pale green, orange-red, and brown

shining glossy wet,

as if freshly stroked on canvas

by the artist’s dripping brush:

Tulsa’s Guthrie Green

in cold autumn rain,

backgrounding some six-and-ten

gathered to embrace

the warm soul of peace.

 

Copyright 2015

T. Allen Culpepper