an echo of butterflies

Autumn is full of butterflies. Or so it seems to me.

Sometimes, as in the picture at the top of the post, it is only the visual echo of a butterfly. Sometimes, as in this fragment, it’s a memory of summer:

From among the fallen leaves, the wind
lifts a broken butterfly wing
and gives it flight.

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late home

It’s way later than I usually write the blog, but I’ve been out all day at a rehearsal for the local TEDx, which is coming up in a fortnight’s time and at which I’ll be reading – or perhaps performing – some poetry.

I won’t go into the details of what I’ll be doing, as I guess I will write about it all after the event (or not), but all the talks and performances are vaguely connected to and around the theme of the event, which is “home”.
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more autumn

Autumn comes,
breathing grey mist through city streets;
he stamps in puddles
then laughs with sudden sunshine.

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weather or not

Autumn sunshine
outside my window
the neighbour’s yellow Mini

 
Sadly, that’s not the way it looks out there at the moment; instead, it’s decidedly grey.

Still, the forecast shows surprisingly little rain for in the foreseeable future and it looks as if we may get a brief sunny spell this afternoon. Even if we don’t, the parked cars are nice and bright.

autumnal

If I spent as long writing new poems as I do looking back through old ones to find something to post on the blog, I’d probably end up with a lot more to choose from.

That said, today’s was a relatively easy choice: despite the rich, bright colours, autumn is a melancholy season, so a poem about absence seems appropriate.
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jellyfish and jungle blooms

What with Hurricane Ophelia last weekend and Storm Brian this weekend, the UK has taken a bit of a battering recently and the local park is ankle deep in mud and sodden leaves.

Clearly, though, the weather has produced the right conditions for growth for some organisms. One particular fallen tree was host to all sorts of alien growths, and looked very impressive indeed decked out in its finery of tiny beads and flounces, frills, ridges and ripples in all the autumnal shades from bright orangey russet to a deep aubergine that made me think of grapes or mulled wine.
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spoiled for choice

Once more, I am selecting a set of poems to read at an upcoming event. once more, the organiser wants to know in advance what to expect. Once more, I am dithering over making a decision.

When I was first invited to read, I leapt at the chance and didn’t give a moment’s thought to whether I would find something suitable. But there is a theme: the pieces should be humorous. And humour is a very subjective matter.

So I’ve been leafing through papers and notebooks, scrolling through documents, and re-visiting lots of old poems to see what I can find. Although very little of it is laugh-out-loud funny, the more I look, the more pieces I find that might be suitable.
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