Autumn: You Run Through My Mind All Year Long
Picturesque in Ember, I Shall Belong
Autumn: you run through my mind all year long
Lost miles in rubber burned joggers each day
Picturesque in ember, I shall belong
*
September’s warm winds, a sweet little song
Tree branches listen; politely, they sway
Autumn: you run through my mind all year long
*
Flowing leaves whisper as I pace along
“Open your sleepy eyes, do not delay.”
Picturesque in ember, I shall belong
*
October’s spells cast like striking a gong
Compelling my feet on a rainy day
Autumn: you run through my mind all year long
*
Tapping clay lightly, wet leaves tag along
Cruising by pumpkins and fresh bales of hay
Picturesque in ember, I shall belong
*
November; the month I wish to prolong
Fall, my second home, I won’t waste one day
Autumn: you run through my mind all year long
Picturesque in ember, I shall belong
About the Creator
Marilyn Glover
Poet and editor, writing to uplift humanity; working on her debut poetry collection to be released in 2026.
British American dual citizen living in the States. Mother of four, grandmother of two.
Owner of The Quiet Collective
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Who Is She?
A sweet little girl smiled at me this morning Beaming from ear to ear with such radiance She stirred up feelings of safety and warmth Likened to shelter of any welcoming home * Although a stranger, I could not shake her My heart yearning for answers questioned Of all people in this world, why this child? Something was familiar yet still out of place * Leaving me with the a weighted burden And an unanswered question: Who is she? * Perhaps it was her golden spun pigtails Gentle spirals bouncing off her shoulders Soft and spongey like shortcake springing Back after a gentle push with one finger * Her coils reminded me of my childhood Mornings, wakening, leaping out of bed Bounding to the television set greeting Bugs Bunny & all his Looney Tune pals * Memories of a savory taste yet unfulfilled Starving to still understand: who is she? * Maybe it was her hazel eyes swirling Jade & coffee tones speckling bronze Her eyes were twins to my very own But hers were a widened revelation * Water encircled each iris overflowing Like a river feeding an ocean of dreams Two twinkling stars shining her emotions She held an ever gaze of wonder & surprise * Seeing her so clearly ignited my smoldering coals A burning desire; innate, to know: Who is she? * Perchance, it was her incorruptibility A tender age of innocence exploring All options without resistance or fear Oblivious to all judgement or rejection * Her soul was free and most willing Not shrouded in shame or confined Instead, poised & buoyantly soaring To heights often avoided with age * Her ambiance struck a buried chord in me Recovered notes responding to" who is she”? * A sweet little girl smiled at me this morning At first sight she was just a pleasant stranger Inviting me to know her better prompting Another look into my mirror to fairly reflect * She sat there staring back at me urging Me to remember; once again connect Too many years passed by dismissing The inner child in me longing for freedom * A promise to let her play releasing repression Reunited me with the she who is in fact, me!
By Marilyn Glover5 years ago in Poets
Lightning Never Strikes Twice
The distant rumble, the sudden deluge, the crescendo of sound, the flash of light, the explosive energy — it never gets old. I became an amateur storm chaser about two years ago. My wife, Cindy suggested it. Sort of. She said, "Alex, you know this cancer is killing me. I've come to terms with that, but you're smothering me. Go join a band, write a book, or become a storm chaser, for all I care. I love you, but you need a hobby."
By Julie Lacksonen6 days ago in Fiction
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