Whenever I can’t think of anything to write, I turn to nature. I’ve done it dozens of times: not an idea and suddenly, then gradually a charming poem comes forth. An idea, then the work; title, words, rhymes, meter, meaning – all meshes and co-relates. The word “orange” is a challenge, believe me.
Turning Orange
In regions where it’s turning autumn,
Leaves red, yellow.
In our garden, they’re not yellow,
Oddly, loudly, orange yelling.
Old New Yorker I,
Used to multicoloured Falls,
I have fallen for this gaudy and remarkably
High-color, almost supernatural year phase.
In appearance, almost artificial.
What one sees is inspirational,
Which brings to mind,
Springs to mind
(It cannot ‘spring’ because it’s autumn coming soon)
An August moon.
In the meantime, if September
Gives a smooth transition –
Sunny days into October, summer
Melting into autumn:
Foxes foraging, squirrels storage-ing;
Porridge on the stove encouraging;
Summing up for coming winter:
Rhododendron green turned orange.
Turning Orange 9.11.2020 Circling Round Nature II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry 