The Season of Death and Dreams

AutumnDeath&Dreams

It astonishes me how one season can be both profoundly beautiful and profoundly sad.  When I was ten years old my family moved from a small industrial city to prison housing in a rural farming community.  At the time, my father was the assistant warden of a maximum security prison, and high level staff and their families were expected to live on the grounds.  Although we made the move in late August, for me, my seven years there are frozen in autumn.  Our home, one of four, was set upon a hill.  In back of our house-forest. In front of our house-fields. And if you looked past those fields, you could see a medium security prison looming on the horizon.  It was an isolating and lonely existence, and, no matter how beautiful the landscape was, for a child used to a neighborhood and city kids, it was, well, sad.  In my memory the sky was always gray, the trees always bare and the ground always covered in a blanket of the decomposing remains of what was once vibrant foliage.  What strikes me most, however, is the perennial sound of honking geese.  Prior to our move, I think it is possible that I had never before heard geese much less seen them flying overhead in V formation.  But there, in that place, geese were omnipresent, honking, flying overhead, reminding me that I was a stranger trapped in a place that they were escaping from, if not forever, at least for the impending winter.

As I have grown older, I have learned to truly appreciate and, in many ways, love the fall.  Fall is now a time of beautiful traditions-apple and pumpkin picking, hiking and collecting leaves while watching beams of sunlight shoot through tree branches, already majestic and adorned in gold.  I look to my children to teach me lessons in optimism.  They jump for joy into piles of dead leaves while happily awaiting the first snow to arrive and cover naked branches in crystal that shimmers in the light of the winter moon.

I guess it’s a matter of age and perspective.  It is so easy to allow deep sorrow born from past experience to rob us of the happiness that comes from enjoying the beauty of the life we now lead.  For me, I prefer to march on through dead leaves and enjoy hearing them crunch underfoot as I move on ahead.

Silence

Silence

By: Heather Nanni

All is fine; I know.

Silence tells me so.

She is the gatekeeper of the fragile mind-

an appointed servant whose cruel betrayals

made peace impossible to find.

Once a traitor guard

who gave darkness entry to sacred ground,

she grew weary of unrest

and wished tranquility to be found.

So she is still.

No bribe does she take.

Perhaps she repents

for her past mistakes-

plagued with remorse

that her transgressions

were turmoil’s source.

Now a friend

No longer foe

All is well.

Silence tells me so.

Time’s Master

photo.JPGTimesMaster

Time’s Master

By: Heather Nanni

He breached the barrier

of time’s gentle pulse

and colonized a land

neither barren nor fertile

 

As each hour chimed

he rang louder

a cacophonous unrest

until all but he was suppressed

 

A benevolent master

silence so deafening

bespeaks his displeasure

while the clock strikes at itself

hammering a lamenter’s dirge

 

As for me

I do not wish for quiet

Only harmony

 

Creative Reawakening in Autumn

photo.JPGRedGreenYellowLeaves

It is a strange irony that, as the leaves prepare to fall from their branches and crumble to dust, the world seems to come alive.  Gone, finally, is the lethargy of long hot days. 

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We are moved by autumn’s enchantments.

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The cool air takes on a particular scent unique to the fall.  It is both hearty and sweet, a mix of pine, apples, leaves trampled underfoot and the lingering fragrance of summer flowers. 

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Our spirits stir with the shift of the season.  We are moved by a feeling of  excitment and a sense of foreboding.  Now is the time when our creativity reemerges from the its long summer slumber when frivolity and amusement seemed to overtake and suppress our artistic urges. 

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Now is the time to feel comfortably conflicted.  We cling onto life in the face of impending death.  As we are overwhelmed by the magestic beauty of orange and crimson leaves, we are cognizant of what is yet to come.  As winter closes in upon us, we look to the heavens and we are gifted with a shot of the sun’s glorious rays filtering through golden leaves and capturing fall’s ineffable beauty. 

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And, as we journey onward, we beseech our muses for inspiration so that we may find peace in creating during those long, dark days of winter. 

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Tale of the Child’s Night

quirknjive:

Reposting an old one for the fullmoonsocial2014

Originally posted on Quirk N Jive:

CYMERA_20140503_211804.jpg Chilld's Night

Tale of the Child’s Night

By: Heather Nanni

“May we look at the stars Mommy?”                                                  

“Yes Love”                                                                                           

Eyes Up

 

We were three                                                                                       

All the delights                                                                                       

two could see

 

The moon showed us                                                                        

the silver platter and said,                                                                      

“Come, come to me.                                                                           

Oh how happy you will be.”

 

But one poor soul                                                                                

The moon swallowed him whole

 

Some skip on stars                                                                          

over night’s great river

 

But for others                                                                                        

that cannot be                                                                                         

They get caught by the Hunter                                                            

and carried out to the sea

 

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Sky Gazing with My Grandmother

Sky Gazing with My Grandmother

By: Heather Nanni

On warm summer days

we gazed up so high

and saw strange creatures

that danced in the sky

 

Such beauty up there

in that space above

I saw without fear

because of your love

 

But then came the night

It took you away

and left a sad child

who wished you would stay

 

And as the moon sits

on her silver throne-

you far beyond her

and me all alone

 

I think of those days

for which I now grieve

when sun reigned supreme

still you had to leave

 

And now the moon shines

benevolent light

Can you still see me

here in the night?

Full Moon Poetry Party — #FullMoonSocial2014

quirknjive:

Hey Poet Friends! Thought this might be something you’d be interested in. Hope you join me.

Originally posted on Translations from the English:

fullmoon1

Let’s harmonize with the Ancients, and each other.

On October 8th, the full moon rises. In the hours it’s alight, let’s do like the Ancients do, and send out a poem to those we’re thinking about but cannot be with, or to each other, or simply to the moon itself.

In a wrinkle on the tradition of Full Moon parties, let’s post our poems on WordPress and tag them “fullmoonsocial2014″ and/or on Twitter and hashtag them #FullMoonSocial2014.

Let’s celebrate together this next full moon! Also, if you’re interested in having your poem included in a free epub anthology linking to your blog or website, leave a comment below with a simple “put me in the anthology.” If enough people are interested I will put it together and it will be available on this site and free.

What do you think? If you’re in, feel free to let your poet friends know…

View original 188 more words

Emergence

photo.JPGSun

Emergence

By: Heather Nanni

Where are you child?

Where is that mind

that wanders into the wild

to places we cannot find?

 

Reflected in your eyes

are worlds of wonder and light.

Like the sun, they rise

from life’s perpetual night.

 

And here you sit

your secrets untold.

But, my love, wait a bit.

Your magic will unfold.

 

As the clock ticks and hours pass

know that your time is not theirs.

And as others march forward into their past

you will emerge-beautiful, radiant and complete.

 

End of Seasons

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End of Seasons

By: Heather Nanni

She asked so sweetly

if summer would come back.

And I thought of you.

About how you would soon pass

and not return for another season.

 

The finality of it

so profound.

You have almost fully departed

disappearing as you breathe.

 

As the crickets quietly sing

as the leaves turn

as the season changes

and they and you fall.

 

And as the past no longer exists

nor will you.

But in the present

you will always dwell in my heart.

And there I will carry the piece of you

that I knew

that was ours

through the seasons

until I too pass.