untitled poem

loading...
it is autumn I dream the tree has turned to words the smell of apples rotting in the grass drifts up to me as rhyme…
Sign in or Subscribe to view this content.

it is autumn

I dream

the tree has turned

to words

the smell of apples

rotting in the grass

drifts up to me

as rhyme

heard once

in another field

before my eyes

the world turns

red

turns

gold

the sun is

getting in

the next to last word

of the dream

Jim Bishop of Bangor has taught at the University of Maine in Orono for many years and also served as associate director for Franco-American studies. This poem is from his book “Mother Tongue” and is recorded on his CD “Jim Bishop Reads.”


Have feedback? Want to know more? Send us ideas for follow-up stories.

comments for this post are closed

By continuing to use this site, you give your consent to our use of cookies for analytics, personalization and ads. Learn more.