Sweet November

Amore al cioccolato

 

Faggeto

 

Pioggia – baciati dalla fortuna

 

Ventaglio

 

Pioggia

 

Strada autunnale

 

Autunno all’aperto

 

Mon amour – à Paris!

 

Coffee and choc

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Autunno: finestre in foliage

Autumn: Old ponds

Autumn_by_the_old_pond

Della mia anima al fondo
e al fondo d’una vallata d’autunno
giace uno stagno profondo,
la memoria di cio’ che fummo.

 

Riflesso

Dormon nel seno di quello
con le lor parvenze immemorabili
ombre che un magico appello
solleva da letti inscrutabili.

 

Old bench under the tree near a pond

Ma che son, parvenze e tempo,
sotto i rami che s’allaccian dei pioppi?
sotto il mulino dal tetto
antico, e i rosseggianti coppi?

 

Cerchi

Sotto le tenere erbe
che s’avviluppano lungo la sponda,
la cui radice si perde
nella terra bruna e nell’onda?

Il sole e la luna e l’ombre
abitan perennemente quell’acque
dove trasalgon le fronde
al vento che non si tace;

Japanese pond

e in trasparenti riflessi
ondeggiando, e in abissali connubi
scendono, in seno agli spessi
sogni, l’ombre d’oggi e le nubi.

(“Di uno stagno campestre”, Carlo Betocchi)

Harry Kellow “Old pond”

Just a whisper of the wind in the cool air,

While walking the country side, so  fair,

As winds blew leaves of silver and gold,

The old trees cracked,  while standing,

So bright and bold.

The Old Pond on Lewis Road

Swans swimming, near water lilies through,

As I sit close to the water  with fresh air all around,

The calmness was still, not even a sound.

I  looked at my reflection, floating there,

With sunlight glowing around my face  and hair.

“The old pond”, John Rivera

I came to a pond, all clear and blue,

As water flowing over rocks hidden in the sand,

I felt the cool,  as water rolled over my hand.

The country so green, flowers blooming astray,

The contentment feeling, overwhelmed, as I walked away.  

(A quiet moment, Carolyn Thomas Langston )

Source:  A Quiet Moment, Pond Poems http://www.poetryinnature.com/nature/poetry.asp?poem=1781#ixzz2BXGIkjFb http://www.PoetryInNature.com

Autumn

Foliage

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

To Autumn, William Blake

When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark
Makes its mark
On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves
Over fallen leaves;

Then my olden garden, where the golden soil
Through the toil
Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep,
Whispers in its sleep.

Autumn in the Garden, Henry Van Dyke

Foliage, stairway

As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
“The Summer” than “the Autumn,” lest
We turn the sun away,

 

Floating foliage

And almost count it an Affront
The presence to concede
Of one however lovely, not
The one that we have loved —

 

the haunted wood

So we evade the charge of Years
On one attempting shy
The Circumvention of the Shaft
Of Life’s Declivity.

As Summer into Autumn slips,  Emily Dickinson

 

the golden tree

Che dolcezza infantile

nella mattinata tranquilla!

C’è il sole tra le foglie gialle

e i ragni tendono fra i rami

le loro strade di seta…

Mattino d’autunno (F.G. Lorca)

 

Felci

Ma dove ve ne andate,

povere foglie gialle,

come tante farfalle

spensierate?

Venite da lontano

o da vicino?

Da un bosco

o da un giardino?

E non sentite la malinconia

del vento stesso

che vi porta via?

Foglie gialle, Trilussa

L’autunno c’è già
cadono foglie lievi
tra i miei occhi.
Autunno, Haiku

Autunno mansueto, io mi posseggo
e piego alle tue acque a bermi il cielo,
fuga soave d’alberi e d’abissi.

Aspra pena del nascere
mi trova a te congiunto;
e in te mi schianto e risano:
povera cosa caduta
che la terra raccoglie.
Autunno, Salvatore Quasimodo

Foliage, Oregon

Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods
and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them
—
The summer flowers depart —
Sit still — as all transform’d to
stone,
Except your musing heart. […]

The Autumn, Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

 

The spirit of Autumn

a bike

Rainy day