No autumn this
chill and solid rain
no mellow fruitfulness of fruit
already fallen shrivelled in the heat
the brusque shift brutal

the slope too steep
we shiver
no autumn flame fading
from fierce to mild memory

leaves blown already brown
sink beneath the torrents
to an ignoble end
sludge beneath heavy boots.

The ocean rises these days
to wash away the sun
the dust of summer
with melted ice in its breath
the ground bones of glaciers

and the world changes
the rough beast we have woken
slouching not to be born
but to devour our prattling
and sabre-rattling idiocy.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

13 thoughts on “Chill”

    1. Thank you! I’m pleased you caught the essence of the poem. I admit to the Yeats allusion, but not guilty for Eliot. I’m not familiar enough with his poetry to borrow from it 🙂

    1. Torrents of it. I don’t mind the rain, but the temperatures have plummeted to well below seasonal norms. We had almost 38° a week ago, a couple of days ago it was still comfortably warm around 26° and too warm at night to have the window closed then today…12°! It is freezing!

  1. You’ve caught the abrupt and unnatural way of the seasons’ turning these days. I wonder if the will eventually bleed so totally together that they disappear? (K)

    1. I’m dreading the ‘extremes’ scenario, and the erratic nature of the swings between them. High winds, high tides, floods, fires, freezing and scorching. We will adapt, putting the heating on of the a/c but the wildlife and plantlife won’t.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s