Nature is on stage during Autumn’s curtain call. Trees take a bow and we applaud— a show of gratitude for an unforgettable display of beauty and art.
Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here is a poem from Robbie whose heartfelt words are a fitting tribute to Veteran’s Day:
The old man
Sits and carves
Entrenched lines
Like wrinkles
In the furl of his brow
Layers are stripped
Like mines
As he whittles in time
Slivers curl back as years
With shavings and tears
As remnants fall like shrapnel
To the cutting room floor
In disciplined craftsmanship
The essence of childhood
Is revealed in wood
As the toy soldier stood
The old man salutes what is lost
And what would never be understood
Photo Play Prompt: Take a walk among the Autumn trees. Snap a photograph of the breathtaking display around you. Or perhaps capture the delicate intricacy of leaves, bark, and branches.
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NOTE TO POETS: Looking for your Monday poetry prompt? On Photo Play weeks, it’s right here. Find inspiration from the photo in the post and respond with a poem. Leave your poem in the comment box. We’ll be reading. 
Photo by Amelie. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.
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Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!
Browse Whittles and Wood
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Sandra Heska King says
wave one last goodbye
burrow under winter’s quilt
hope to rise again
Prasanta says
The submissions for this prompt were all delightful to read. The selection above is so fitting and perfect for the holiday. I especially enjoyed:
Layers are stripped
Like mines
As he whittles in time
Slivers curl back as years
With shavings and tears
As remnants fall like shrapnel
Thank you for the prompts each week!
Robbie Pruitt says
Thank you Prasanta! This was such a great prompt with wonderful submissions. So fun to read all of these and to participate.
Kelly Chripczuk says
Her Favorite Color
She never wore red,
but when she died,
her coffin was draped
with red roses, soft
as velvet.
Robbie Pruitt says
Thank you all very much for appreciating and reposting my poem! I’m delighted and honored to have it posted here and am very thankful for so many who have given themselves in service to our country. Thank you and happy Veteran’s Day.
Robbie Pruitt says
Autumn Kaleidoscope
Autumn leaves
Colors floating
In kaleidoscope
On the dusky lake
Autumn leaves
A void in the trees
Blanketing the forest floor
In orange and red majesty
© Robbie Pruitt
Below is a fantastic photo called Lake Nockamixon, by a talented friend of mine, Michael Bixler:
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10204701531515934&set=a.3461320329502.160147.1165741851&type=1&theater
Richard Maxson says
Beautiful, Robbie.
Elizabeth Marshall says
Robbie, your poem is rich, layered, fragile and tender. Each line a revealing, as rings on a tree stump, stories of a life unfolding. I enjoyed it so. Thank you gor sharing your gift.
Robbie Pruitt says
Thank you for your encouragement and for reading it.
S. Etole says
not befitting beauty
she drifted
https://www.flickr.com/photos/45405642@N08/15620617976/in/photostream/
The leaves have all fallen here and snow covers the ground.
Robbie Pruitt says
Love those lines! Really appreciate the beauty in the brevity. The photo did not show for me in the link, but the word craft is sufficient for me. Thanks.
S. Etole says
Robbie, would you mind checking again? I think the setting should be okay now.
Robbie Pruitt says
Yes, very nice! There is a stillness about this photo. I’m inspired to write something for this.
Robbie Pruitt says
This is what I ended up with:
Copper on Copper
The leaf rests
In stillness
In copper color
In silhouette
It drifted to stone
And lay were they met
© November 17, 2014, Robbie Pruitt
S. Etole says
I appreciate what you saw in this.
Richard Maxson says
Interesting contrast this photo. I like the poem, it’s mysterious.
Robbie Pruitt says
Thank you. Thank you for your photo as well, may I use it with my poem?
S. Etole says
Certainly.
Richard Maxson says
https://www.flickr.com/photos/125528196@N08/15741437056/
Of Trees
I listen to the leaves,
those that fall, those that persist
on their dichotomy of stems,
in a wind that is nearly silent,
not the hidden fingers on a harp,
but rather those of the guitarist
moving unapologetically up and down
the frets, so that into the music he
weaves the agony of callouses.
Dissection never reveals the whole.
The fragile rings hide their stature,
as the trees mock their seasons,
brandishing their rattling bassinets
in Spring and in the throes of Autumn
drop their dappled dress exposed.
There are memories that uphold me,
fibers that vibrate from my searching
for the words to describe them,
words like houses made of trees,
that let the winds play at their doors,
and let the windowed light know where I am.
SimplyDarlene says
trees mock their seasons. <– iLike that. aLot.
Richard Maxson says
Thanks, Darlene.
Marcy Terwilliger says
Robbie my friend, it’s so good to see you here, saw the poem on the face book feed, beautiful. I also like the second one you posted as well. Hope all is well with you and family, you inspire me as usual. Love, Marcy
Robbie Pruitt says
Hey Marcy! Thank you for reading and thank you for the encouragement, as always. The family is doing well, thank you for asking. And thank you for your inspiration!
SimplyDarlene says
I got a twofer deal out of this prompt. Images and poem and my site. http://wp.me/p1sn25-2i8
Poetry only – read below…
autumn daze chilled out
yonder, reflected, shining behind her
as dishes sudsed warm
(lather rinse repeat)
she took her way, slow –
as rays leaned low; she changed
clothes: sweater, knit
hat, woolen underthings – in town
she found the creek-sliced park
overflowing with fallen
things. she kicked colors around, flying
them atop frozen grass; scuttled up
a gnarled tree, safe! as a sea of leaves
rode sunset’s glow, don’t giddy-up the majestic
(take her easy, gentling the bite)
crisp with morn’s snow skiff – just
a kiss of winter days (and
nights) to come; home
at last she drove
a nail, hung her lantern out.
Marcy Terwilliger says
SimplyDarlene,
Girl, I really like this autumn poem you have laid before my eyes. Getting dressed in our warmest clothes, the words so smooth as we ride along taking in each sight. So personal, as if you invited me along.
Richard Maxson says
Darlene, your poems are journeys, whether just out in the back yard or a trip into town. I loved this one, loved the creek-sliced park and “don’t giddy-up the majestic” is classic!
Elizabeth Marshall says
The Bride
Blushing
Flushed fall foliage
Ushered
Down the aisle
Winter
Waits
For wispered vows
Sacred
Ceremony underneath the bent tree’s
Boughs
The earth committs
To spin and never stop
For better and for worse
In Winter and in Spring
And every season in between
This
Is her solemn vow
You may now kiss the blushing bride
Marcy Terwilliger says
How delightful, you have made me smile.
Richard Maxson says
Elizabeth, loved the sounds in this and the sentiment. Our daughter just married in July so this rang so true.
Bethany says
What a lovely piece of art you’ve created. I can see and hear it:
“For whispered vows/ Sacred/ Ceremony underneath the bent tree’s/ Boughs”
Marcy Terwilliger says
Brewing Time
Autumn,
Time for a brewing.
Host of friends come calling,
Even ones that have died.
Let the Spirits rise.
Fling open the doors,
Scatter old cups and saucers about.
Open the windows,
Let cool, crisp, air move about.
Kick off your shoes,
Come dance to the beat of a drum.
Candles flicker,
Everyone hums.
Richard Maxson says
Marcy, we just had an evening like this with new friends at the Stone House a local brewery in Eureka Springs a couple weeks ago. “Let the Spirits rise” is a wonderful line in context!
Bethany Rohde says
Changing Views
That maple tree at the front of my lawn
is missing pieces by the handful.
In June it offered a full bouquet:
an overflow of top-down green.
I ducked under a lower branch
and stood inside its canopy.
I let my body’s weight fall
back against the scruff of bark.
Wooden arms reached out toward me,
toward my neighbors, toward the street.
Yesterday, when the school bus left,
I stooped back in my leaved den.
Those same branches, ripe with autumn,
relaxed their grip on stems.
The wind punched out clusters
in the nutmeg shag above.
Through those holes
in my roof
cold air fell
all the way
down the back
of my collar.
I peered up through a skeleton of sticks
and found
shifting windows of liquid blue.
In that dome of floating lakes
two twig hands kept overlapping
and spreading apart again,
like someone feeling her way out
of the dark.
(Previously on AllNine and VerseWrights)
Marcy Terwilliger says
Leaving Autumn
Hearing colors
Seeing sounds
Red dances with leaves,
Peeled back bark
Inspiring visual to see.
Spiritual color blue
Propels to the clear sky.
Yellow an Irish tin whistle,
Like wind blowing by.
Autumn is passion
Shine on those red heels.
Prance as she walks by,
But hurry still.
Winter is coming,
Snow Geese take to flight.
Let there be,
Peace tonight.
C. Shepherd says
The dying leaves-
A symbol of inside.
Slowly suffocating,
Broken heart
gassingon says
whittles and wood
once we were all good
all smiles and soft and new
akin to the new spring
advancing quickly in view
as soon as March is in
like a soft new skin
things start out fresh
seeing through the mesh
and heat and the suns retreat
from summer and autumn too
turning again to winter
oh how I wish we too
could each spring be renewed