The toothache of the earth ceases when from behind
Ailing soils, browned to coma, muffled air breathes . . .
Autumn signifies the yellowness of strife, the redness of soothing
Cusps and the flowering of weeping, desiccated grounds.
We raise decibels of canticles, wafting atop candle flares
Of seasons’ end.
Let midnight keep with us the lucubration spirit, when like
Renewed sprites, we hinge our promises on patented soils laid
Bare by the sputum of harvest.
O’ Harvest, hear us well.
......
Leaves
fallen
in lovely
fading colors
Light snow is flying
the year fast receding
now that harvest days are gone
Baby bluebirds have grown and flown
It's the beautiful, natural way
A rich harvest of bliss, in every hue comes drifting down,
Painting the wilderness all colors, in nature's playground!
nature's finest gifts
bursting with sunshine and joy
taste excitation
Life of a Southerner is simple...
Yet complicated in the same vein...
Plantation life combines the family...
And the workers as one in the same...
As we sit on the screened porch...
Of the Patout family’s homestead...
We look across the sugarcane fields...
With poetry dancing about our head...
......
The toothache of the earth ceases when from behind
Ailing soils, browned to coma, muffled air breathes . . .
Autumn signifies the yellowness of strife, the redness of soothing
Cusps and the flowering of weeping, desiccated grounds.
We raise decibels of canticles, wafting atop candle flares
Of seasons’ end.
Let midnight keep with us the lucubration spirit, when like
Renewed sprites, we hinge our promises on patented soils laid
Bare by the sputum of harvest.
O’ Harvest, hear us well.
......
а на полі сівба
тільки сіють тут кров'ю
не зерном
наркотою заливши
тіла
як і вулики вух
дике поле дрижить
руки склавши на грудях
не вмерти б
скрізь удари гарматні
......
Leaves
fallen
in lovely
fading colors
Light snow is flying
the year fast receding
now that harvest days are gone
Baby bluebirds have grown and flown
It's the beautiful, natural way
On a street of mellow autumn, gold leaves have turned deep orange
As harvest season offers vibrant hues, and cold that makes you cringe
And wild, bitter orange sunsets, are caught between plummy days
Blest harvest time's here
orchard trees, covered in red
Candy apple sun
A cool wind goes by briskly
and soon stars are in my eyes
Wild fruit, ripe and sweet
falls in shadows of summer
crisp, shiny and rich
and when the sun sets so red
......