It occurred to me as I sat down to write a poem about my favorite season, that the poem I would write and the one my kids would write would be quite different.  So, you know, I wrote both.

Me

Walking on an October day
A golden sun warms up my skin
The nippy wind swirls at play
And chilled fingers find pockets to snuggle in

My feet meet leaves to crush below
The soft crunch-crunch so satisfying
A flock of geese avoiding snow
Honk their hellos and keep on flying

My eyes raise up, behold a feast
Spectacular views on every side
Rich gold, bright red crowns every tree
And flaming orange burst out with pride

A whiff of smoke drifts through the air
I hurry home to fireside
I breath the scent: a meal to share
Of bubbling stew and apple pie

Rich flavors roll across my tongue
The tang of cider, sweet and tart
The fresh hot bread like when I was young
And pumpkin everything to thrill my heart

Them

It’s cold, my jacket feels so itchy
But these pumpkin guts are fun and squishy
I like the sound my mother makes
When I jump in the leaf pile she just raked
Those leaves are red and gold and brown
I watch them dance as they fall down
Then…what’s that smell? It’s apple pie!
Let’s go inside, make the fire high
Let’s drink some cocoa (the stew you can keep)
And tell ghost stories until we sleep.

Good-bye tiny toddler, good-bye timid tot
Today a tough ten-year-old’s all that I’ve got
Three times taller and talkative, too.
Thrill-seeking, tricky, tyranical you.

Tripping through troubles I can’t terminate
Trying out teenage tricks and temporary new traits
You’re testing your tethers (oh my traumatized heart)
But it’s time for your own thorny triumphs to start

So take off!  Go tackle the trickiest tests!
Toil up the tall mountains! (Til you’re tired, then go rest.)
Torpedo the terrors that stand in your way!
Try new things! Oh, ten-year-old, trounce life each day!

The air is charged.  It’s hard to breathe.
A living fire drops from the sky at will.
The wind whips by. Hair whirls to the dance.
Power rages on all sides,and only I am still.

From a distant hilltop, the beauty unfolds.
The sun lights curtains of rain to rosy glow.
A streak of light: thin, fine, alive.
Power echoes faintly as gentle breezes blow.

“What should we do today, baby?” said Sam.
“Urg, burgle,” said baby, and burped.
At first Sam was doubtful, but Urg was quite close,
So they went and stole ice cream to slurp.

“Are those sirens?” Sam asked as they finished their treats.
Baby smiled. “Ickle google!” he shrieked.
So Sam got out his laptop and read about sirens
As police came up, shouting, “Stop, thief!”

Soon baby and Sam were both locked in a jail cell
Their companions were scary indeed
“Dug bug,” whispered baby. Sam saw what he meant
And he swatted the roach off his knee

The insect flipped straight in the face of a huge man
Who shouted, “Apologize please!”
“No, no,” grunted baby, and Sam quite agreed
“It was only an accident. Geez!”

“Now how shall I kill you?” roared the big man.
“Ishy squish,” baby said to his hat.
“What an excellent notion,” the big man said, nodding.
Then he sat on Sam, squashing him flat.

Quite a bit later, the cops let them out
“Let’s go home,” said Sam, quite a bit thinner
“Burgle fish!” baby said as they hobbled away.
Sam considered, “Well, we do need some dinner…”

Please lower your voices
No startling noises
Step lightly, just take off your shoes
Please contain your emotions
No swift, sudden motions
Better yet, just sit still and muse

Yes, you see those sweet babies
Want to cuddle them, maybe?
Don’t think it! They’re finally at rest!
If you wake them, they’ll leap
“Feed me! Feed me!” they’ll cheep
And I’ll kick you right out of this nest

Once again, photos by the magical, marvelous TSDG.

The trees of the forest gathered to consult
Knowing nothing of melting polar ice caps
It had not escaped their leafy notice
That the lake was rising higher day by day

The willows broke down weeping at their loss
So many scattered seeds just washed away
Without seedlings what future could there be?
The poplar was fed up with so much drama

A few brave ash trees thought it time to fight
With mighty roots clinging to brown earth
They might take back the land the water claimed
Poplar felt the proper sense of horror at a war

The wise old oaks spoke last and practically
The time had come for choosing a new life
The forest should retreat into the higher hills
Leaving the valley to the all-consuming lake

Following their elders, the trees all shifted
Leaving the banks alone and casting seeds uphill
Poplar thought them all so many sheep
To go to so much effort just to stick together

So poplar stayed as the forest moved away
He dabbled roots in water happily
He did not miss the trees with all their talk
Or notice the earth beneath wash down to nothing

Poplar was quite alone when his wood began to rot
But still felt proud that he had held his ground
Better to die in the same place you first took root
Was his last and most self-satisfied reflection

Image courtesy of Evgeni Dinev/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

If I could see through your eyes
Would everything look new?
Would trees be friendly giants,
Clouds be ships on oceans blue?

If I could hear with your ears
Would strange languages reach me?
The secret code of crickets
And the humming speech of bees?

If I could taste with your tongue
What wonders would I find?
Plain water trickling downhill
Turned to nectar that’s divine?

If I could breathe with your lungs
Would I fill myself with air?
Would I run and run unstopping
With the wind tangling my hair?

If I could laugh with your voice
Would I giggle heartily?
Would I let go of my worries
And finally be free?

Timothy Harrison Henshaw
Told everyone what to do
You wouldn’t think this would work out for him
But he always knew how to get through

Our Timmy demanded a pony
But his father said, “No, thanks.”
So he yelled and he screamed ‘til his face turned blue
And his dad went and emptied the bank

“Give me candy all day with no dinner”
Timmy said to his mother the health queen
Then he ripped up her favorite cookbooks and more
‘Til she showered him with jelly beans

“Don’t ever give me any homework,”
Timmy told his new teacher, who snorted
So he faked dreadful sickness and puked on the floor
‘Til her lesson plans all were aborted

One night Timmy, tired from bossing,
Knew morning would come again soon
But the light was too bright for sweet sleep to approach
So he got up and glared at the moon

“Go away now” said Timmy quite firmly
But the moon just sat still and stared back
So he screamed at her calm and unmovable face
‘Til his own voice gave up with a crack

“You’ll regret this,” he whispered with venom
And he filled up his squirt gun with paint
Then he shot it at her to mess up her white face
But she beamed on, untouched by his taint

“I won’t have it!” croaked Timmy in anger
“If you don’t go away I’ll be sick!”
But the moon sat in silence as he retched and writhed
And did not worry even a lick

At last Timmy gave up in exhaustion
He flopped on his bed with a sigh
It was oddly relieving to not get his way
And he slept with the moon standing by

So when you see spoiled, bratty children
Don’t worry that all is lost
Because sooner or later in everyone’s life
Is someone who will not be bossed

Image courtesy of nongpimmy/ freedigitalphotos.net