bonfire night

Blue, green and gold
chrysanthemums
explode against mute grey

Through ragged cloud
the moon peers down
at multi-coloured stars

I have no suitable photos, so here are some spiky dahlia blooms doing their best to impersonate a firework display:

spiky pink dahlia

notes for a November poem

 

The trees are ragged with Autumn. The wind nags
and worries scabby leaves. I see the skyline fray;
black scraps tear off to become
a join-the-dots of rooks that threads
across unbroken grey. Virginia creeper
pours an oxblood waterfall
down the garage wall and yellow tears drift
under the willow. No still small voice
commands me from the prunus.
The pine trees fluff green fur and mist
purls over the estuary.

 
Published in Envoi 142 some years ago, and clearly based on November in the UK, not in Spain. Today, though, is unexpectedly wet and autumnal, so it seems a good time to post it.
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