September Poems

Boathouse Bonfire, September 27, 2014 (Source: Geo Davis)

If September poems sound overly sentimental to you or if you’re inclined to a grittier observance of the almost-upon-us Autumn Equinox, I’ve got you covered. Soon. Stay tuned.

But if you’re comfortable lingering briefly — and these poems are, if nothing else, brief — in the seasonality and liminality of the present moment, then I’d like to offer you a few September poems. After all, sometimes the singing underneath doesn’t translate to images or longform exposition. So I’ve bundled a tidy batch of verse celebrating my one of my four favorite seasons.

Haiku September Poems

Short and sweet, sometimes bittersweet, is the name of the game when trying to put your finger on something as poignant and humbling as the shift from summer to autumn (with the omnipresent reminder that autumn too will soon yield, and winter will shroud the colors and flavors and aromas away beneath a snowy blanket). But that can be an elusive errand.

There’s something ineffable about Septembering, but anyone who’s dwelled a spell in the North Country is familiar with this shift. (Source: Seasonality: Septembering)

Haiku’s economy offers a bold if foolhardy effort, so let’s start there.

•:•

Dusky zinnias,
harvest-ready to welcome
arriving houseguests.
— Geo Davis

•:•

Bountiful beans,
red-podded asparagus,
climbing the teepee.
— Geo Davis

•:•

Seasonal surreal:
autumnal art, alchemy,
tart transformation.
— Geo Davis

Longer September Poem

I’m struck by the concurrently lavish spoils and humbling caution of September. In so many respects the bounty of an entire summer’s worth of gardening and orcharding comes due in September. Sure, we’ve been enjoying the gardens since May, but the this month full of contrasts is without doubt the most abundant harvest. And yet, even as we indulge to excess, the crisp nights and the sunlight’s increasingly anemic illumination remind us to prepare for winter.

When Septembering
honor abundance
as autumn will soon
yield to the drum roll
of hale and hoarfrost,
bitter wind, and snow.
— Geo Davis

This might be the first verse to a longer look at the point-counterpoint of this intoxicating yet sobering marvel of a month. It might also have reached its end. A little hibernation should help decide.

Sing-song Along

I’ve made no secret of the fact that this 2022 summer and autumn have been pivotal for Susan and for me. We’re surfing some seismic transformations in our lives, finally confronting inevitabilities and incongruities that have been evolving for a long time, and fortifying one another for significant choices and changes ahead. In all probability the liminal space we’re navigating underlies the vibrance and drama I’m noticing in everyday events. But I’m unable to disregard the rhymes, rituals, harmonies, and auspicious signs (cairns, buoys, vade mecums,…) as I immerse myself in the texture and artifacts of a decade and a half with Rosslyn, as Susan and I revise and remap and re-plot our next chapters.

So many friends and acquaintances have contributed to this new adventure we’re embarking on, often without even realizing it or intending to effect our trajectory. Influences have an uncanny habit of popping up at just the right time! And so I close this post with an invitation to you. We welcome you to join and participate in our quest. As fellow sojourners we’ll better bridge the valleys and better celebrate the lofty summits ahead. Grateful to be traveling together!