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Thoughts at the Fall Cross-Quarter

November 3, 2025

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With Halloween, All Saints and All Souls Day/Dia de los Muertos, falling across a weekend this year, it was easy to see how they function as a Tridium: a set of three days, as if to balance the Holy Thursday-Good Friday-Easter Tridium of Spring.

Living in Pennsylvania many years ago I tried to write a poem worthy of the bright fall colors, ending it

colors of the sun
set, and November puts the world to sleep.

In the temperate climate where I live now, nature seems not to sleep, but our spirits still need to crawl into the dark for a bit, all those winter light festivals notwithstanding. Here, I hope for November to provide good rain to ready the earth for spring growth.

A small poem celebrating nature’s wisdom:

Cycles

Fallen trees make room
for new growth, efficient plants
doing nature’s will
without need of commandments
faithful as Jonah’s gourd vine.

Paper made from trees
pages assembled in books:
how can they be turned
to mulch to regain their place
in nature’s pattern?

Another Poem about Writing

May 6, 2025

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See my post of March 6 for general comments in this vein. This poem addresses the frustration of unfinished work. I had three pieces that weren’t working at this point.

At the Desk

I pass by Paris, pause
for shifting gears,
and I’m back before
the elephant, cut up
but still stewing.

A month’s aging
hasn’t helped. My words
are too weak to wrestle
this beast onto a plate
so I can serve it.

No, “the elephant” is not a poem about an elephant. It’s just the biggest puzzle unresolved.

A Poem for the Change of Seasons

March 18, 2025

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A flight of fancy to celebrate the equinox. It’s officially Thursday, but the sun here, according to my cell phone, is up 12 hours plus 4 minutes today.

Royalty

At winter solstice, nature’s new year,
the one plants honor, I become
Queen of the Night, with pages,
blank or inscribed, for courtiers
who urge me to exile the to-do list,
intention’s nagging inversion.
I visit the day only to restock
my supply of wine and chocolate.

My rule ends at the equinox,
when Queen Persephone returns
from below, living green takes over,
I become servant, day-worker,
watering, feeding, trimming plants,
attendant to the majesty of growth.

Thinking About this Country

August 14, 2024

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Admittedly, from a New Mexico perspective.

Geography Lesson

The South, the West, the Heartland
—mountains, desert, prairie, forests—
bold, brash, bewildering “America.”

Europe has many countries
smaller than the state of Texas,
which its neighbor states despise,

envious of its bravado, its barbecue,
its broad hats and oversized cities.

Montana, North Dakota and their siblings
emulate the giant, claiming
their border status makes them kin.

Texas would laugh them off the map,
if it weren’t so busy looking south.

Poem

July 15, 2024

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About living a climate where wind is the most powerful feature, when it chooses to be.

Listening

The first wind chimes, pretty painted metal,
guest-given, did not last. The strings

too weak to withstand the wind,
they fell with a fine, final ring.

The wooden chimes clatter
like a child hitting sticks, then stop.

They’ve tangled, as if pulling arms to chest,
leave the wind itself to alert the house.

Wind more powerful than chimes can sing
blows the watering bucket past my window.

That other sound just now was the trash truck.
I rush to retrieve the barrel rolling into the street.

An Acrostic

July 3, 2024

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When I return from a trip I often find myself searching for balance in the complexities of every day life.

Finding My Way

Being careful matters
All the more
Lately
As
New obstacles clutter the
Courtyard of my
Expectations.

I see that “As” as representing being, momentarily, on one foot, deciding where to put the other down.

The writer doesn’t always know

June 22, 2024

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Some poems retain their relevance, others don’t. I wrote this two years ago, when the invasion of Ukraine seemed as bad as things could get. I ended with ellipses to represent I knew not what. Since October 7, readers will be able to fill them in on their own. Is that enough to keep the poem relevant? You decide.

Antidote

Images from the east:
dark tanks and uniforms
black against snow,

like old news reels
without the grain and streaks.
The world’s gone retrograde.

Full moon in the western sky
pierces the clouds of earth’s
realities. I walk in its light

away from unending reports
of sorrows I cannot mend,
in Ukraine, Syria, Iran . . .

I think that the poem is still true, but also that there are more important things that need to be said.

Another Fabulous Poem

May 25, 2024

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By which I mean a fable, which is the original meaning of fabulous. is it not?

I shared this with a friend and decided others might enjoy it too.

Who’s in Charge?

Ego has closed its door,
made thoughts its guardsmen.
They circle in front, repeating

their paces and phrases, block
grinning geckoes eager
to slip over the sill.

Mind, dutiful and dull,
dusts off old ideas, packs
for a calm day at the beach.

Let nothing disturb ego’s tryst
with remembered innocence,
imagined power.

Truth’s grimy lizards would spoil
the mood, turn Ego’s party to pity.

It was frustration with my thoughts going in circles that instigated this fable. The power of an image to expand into story is such a satisfying process.

A Fanciful Poem

May 18, 2024

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After a very busy spring I get back to my writing by sorting through my piles of work and find some small pieces I did for fun, which I think are worth sharing. Here’s one:

Night Fable

Moon menders bring the moon
to full circle, then go on vacation.

They return to find every carefully
threaded crystal has been nibbled away,

begin again to gather, polish,
tie in place each glowing granule.

A Senator proposes posting a guard.
The menders stage a protest,

rouse the populace with claims
the nibblers will go hungry.

Senate Finance Committee blocks
the proposal: it’s too expensive.

Their jobs secure for now,
the menders return to work.

What do you think? Is it wacky enough to make sense?

Playing at the Desk

January 29, 2024

ellenrobertsyoung Uncategorized , , 1 Comment

In December I signed up for Two Sylvias Press’s December calendar of prompts.  I’m not a writer who can do a new poem every day, but I do find lots to work with so I continue into January, at least, working with the material.  I have maybe nine poems in draft so far that might amount to something, but sometimes it’s nice to just play for a bit. 

Here’s the prompt for December 21: “A contranym is a word with two opposite meanings, like bolt, which can mean to be secured or to flee.  This prompt invites you to write a poem that includes at least 3 contranyms-you will use each word twice in your poem reflecting its two opposing meanings . . . .”

Of course one could write a large and serious poem including this device, but I just had fun:

Down, Down, Down

On a frigid fall day leaves down
from trees increase the risk of falls.
I could grab my down comforter,
curl up in the rocker, or grab my
walking stick, a heavy jacket,
stick to my outdoor plan.

On this sunny day off
I leave town for a trail,
let worries fall off my shoulders
as I think only of my footing
on a rocky downhill slope.

If you’d like to try a month of prompts like this, I believe they will be offering this again for the month of April.  I may not be done with December’s by then.

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