Father Goose Books: Autumn Weaves

Autumn Weaves

From my window

autumn winds blow

raining color

past my door

artist autumn

strolls the forest

leaving leaves

upon the floor

autumn weaves

autumn leaves

red and gold

upon the pane

tapestries

autumn weaves

autumn leaves

in the rain

5 comments:

Amy L V said...: Beautiful! Simple...clear...just lovely. Tapestries of leaves indeed! I will think of this all season, Charles. A.; November 16, 2010 at 11:26 PM
Charles Ghigna said...: Thanks Toby and Amy! Artist autumn wasn't finished weaving. The poem has grown from eight to sixteen lines since you dropped by. :-); November 18, 2010 at 6:16 PM
Joyce Ray said...: The photo is gorgeous and the poem spare while evoking an image of many woven threads. I need to learn to write spare!; November 19, 2010 at 12:43 PM
Author Amok said...: Beautiful poem, Charles. I love the woven nature of the lines.; November 19, 2010 at 1:19 PM
Charles Ghigna said...: Thank you, Laura and Joyce.
I appreciate your insightful comments!; November 19, 2010 at 2:55 PM

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“You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
— The Velveteen Rabbit

"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the truth of the imagination." — John Keats

“It is Art because it is alive. It proves that, if you and I are to create at all, we must create with today and let all the Art schools and Medicis in the universe go hang themselves with yesterday’s rope. It teaches us that we have made a profound error in trying to learn Art, since whatever Art stands for is whatever cannot be learned. Indeed, the Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned, in order to know himself, and the agony of the Artist, far from being the result of the world’s failure to discover and appreciate him, arises from his own personal struggle to discover, to appreciate and finally to express himself. Look into yourself, Reader, for you must find Art there, if at all.” --E. E. Cummings

"There are moments in our lives, there are moments in a day, when we seem to see beyond the usual. We become clairvoyant. Such are the moments of our greatest happiness. Such are the moments of our greatest wisdom. It is in the nature of all people to have these experiences, but in our time and under the conditions of our lives, it is only a rare few who are able to continue in the experience and find expression for it." --Robert Henri (1865-1929)

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Autumn Weaves

5 comments:

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