POETRY FRIDAY: Guiterman’s Harvest Home and A Climb to the Sky

Visit Michelle at Today's Little Ditty for a spooktacular Poetry Friday Roundup!

 

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For the month of October, I am focusing on poems about fall. Here is a wonderful poem I came across awhile back by American poet Arthur Guiterman. I love Guiterman’s rich descriptions and playful use of verbs!    

 

Harvest Home

by Arthur Guiterman (1871-1943)

 

                   The maples flare among the spruces,
                   The bursting foxgrape spills its juices,
                   The gentians lift their sapphire fringes
                   On roadways rich with golden tenges,
                   The waddling woodchucks fill their hampers,
                   The deer mouse runs, the chipmunk scampers,
                   The squirrels scurry, never stopping,
                   For all they hear is apples dropping
                   And walnuts plumping fast and faster;
                   The bee weighs down the purple aster—
                   Yes, hive your honey, little hummer,
                   The woods are waving, "Farewell, Summer."

Last weekend I visited friends in the mountains near Brevard, North Carolina. After a lovely drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway, we stopped near milepost 409.6 and climbed Frying Pan Lookout Tower, an old fire tower built in 1941 and now listed on the National Register of Historic places.

 

Here is a picture of the tower from way down the trail. 



Although though I am normally not afraid of heights, the prospect of climbing the tower was a bit daunting at first. But I talked myself into it and was rewarded with a stunning view of Cold Mountain and the valley below. The leaves were in the early to mid stages of their colorful fall display, and storm clouds were gathering in the distance. It was spectacular and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!

Here is a poem I wrote that was inspired by this experience. I hope you enjoy it!

Climb to the Sky

 

I climb the tower,

October sky

Just out of my reach.

 

Miles below

Life is loud,

And often harsh.

 

But so high up

A keening wind is all I hear;

Trees and mountains sit in peaceful silence.

 

Sunlight filters through clouds

And rolls over the landscape,

Turning dying leaves into waves of autumn gold.

 

And I stand,

Gripping iron rails,

A thousand feet above it all.

 

Here is a picture of Cold Mountain from the ground.

 

I hope you have a wonderful autumn weekend! Happy Friday, and happy writing!