I have been browsing blogs and found that Thursday is Poetry Thursday. While I'd love to take part, I have reservations about publishing other people's copyright works on my blog. So, my contributions to Poetry Thursday will be a "mixter-maxter" (wonderful Scots expression). I intend to alternate between my own published poems (not unpublished ones as I want to be able to submit them for publication in the future, favourites by long-dead authors (not so many of those because I am a modern poetry chook) and links to favourites by current authors that can be found elsewhere on the web.
For today, my autumn poem that was published in "The Press" yesterday. Yes, it's autumn here in the southern hemisphere. (It might help to know when you read it that most New Zealand native trees are evergreen, even the broadleaf ones. They have devices like a waxy coating that keeps them from losing too much moisture in winter).
The Poker Players
A cold wind has passed
down the street on horseback,
shooting up the town,
lashing his whip.
The poker players have made
their declaration: “I’m out”
and flung down their hands
of various golden suits.
Leaves lie in drifts -the spade-like poplars,
lobed maples, and willow
pointed like diamonds.
The players stand about the saloon
grey and gaunt,
against a background of imperturbable green.
Kowhai, manuka, ake ake;
the natives are still in the game.
They are keeping their cards close to their chests.