A Poem For September

September

With what relief I greet your temperate
self, September, breathing
energising cool, diffusing quiet
light that’s merciful on skin
that flinches, eyes that shrink
from ruthless August grill and glare —
no more lethargic, sweaty sitting
out of time, just getting through

but living. Waking up refreshed
in airy room, quickening with
a working health I feared I’d lost,
I’ll pick up projects, mop up backlog,
move around with swiftness, vigour
as the season turns — September.

Dorothy Pope

Photo: Jonathan Borba

A Poem For August

Cool Morning

Mid August, even so, a faint hint, gift
of autumn momentarily - a sweet,
soft breeze. With slender branches trees entreat
a sift of foliage. Their fingers lift.
Then half a dozen paper leaves adrift
blow in and dance round summer sandalled feet,
though brief, their restlessness another fleeting
sign of imminent and massive shift.
The season’s on the very cusp. We’ll see
the great sun climb and midday will be hot
but morning now, as evening later, spares
relentless sultriness, humidity
with temperate caress. Long shadowed autumn’s
in the wings. The old earth cools, prepares.

Dorothy Pope