An English Autumn’s Coming
Indoors, a crisp leaf skates on smooth floorboards,
gunned by silent puffs from our gapped doorway –
A fragile scout in advance of damp hoards
soon to glut local pavements and roadsides
with the soaked, soft sprawl of urban decay.
Winter Weight–A Present Hallowe’en
Keep close; after what’s fallen has rotted:
the cold—old feelings that dropped forgotten—
the stony dead loss that was put to bed
and warmed a little—begins to rise unbroken
in black and Christmas-caked with crumbed earth
human beings are stitched with fixed grins
screen-printed to party for all they’re worth
not knowing what this mimicking begins
a close. After what’s fallen has rotted.
A cold. Good feeling lost, unspoken.
A dead loss. Beaten. Put to bed.
The Soul, bandaged, laughed at, left for dead.
The Last or First Season
A Being Beyond Belief makes a stir,
The Cosmos lit by His Ability.
Multi-sunned choirs inspire the air,
peel earth’s walls to take The Light To Be
while Others fall beside eternity.
Damian Robin is a writer and poet living in England.
Featured Image: “From Pentonville Road looking west evening, 1884” by John O’Connor, Museum of London.
