By Northwest Writers


An Autumn chill is in the air,
the leaves are turning brown,
the berries' dropping from the bush
and apples all are falling down.

The Pine still wears his coat of green,
the Maple still her scarlet gown,
soon they'll wear a crystal veil,
and shining silver crown.

The field is dressed in a yellowed frock,
a frosty coat lies on the ground.
It won't be long when Autumn's gone,
and Winter's come around.

Rin Steketee


The frost that gathers on the pane
in a room of unlit fire place
appears as stars upon the glass;
a linen curtain made of lace.

Through the window, sheets of ice
adorn the freezing pine
and send a chilling sentiment
up and down my spine.

The morning sun presents itself
no warmer than the moon.
Outside, a frozen pond awaits
the warmth of afternoon.

Berry bushes shiver,
huddled in the dell;
there they wait the midday sun
to shed their crystal shell

Rin Steketee


Skilled archer, your arrow found its mark.
It pierced my unsuspecting heart
and left it bleeding there.
Deceiving cherub, you sent the pangs
of love into my breast:
an agony that I must bear.

No sword can penetrate my armor.
No adversary do I fear.
But deep inside this tortured soul
how fragile is my sheild.
Your tiny arrow pricks my heart
and causes it to yield.

I fight with all my strength to keep from falling
as many helpless mortals fell before.
You draw your bow and I quiver.
I cannot tell you why
for in my heart, my greater fear
is that you'll pass me by.

Rin Steketee


At its best it will sweep your soul away
bringing you to a distant land
where the warmth of the noon day sun
will kiss your face
and radiate pleasure throughout your very being.

Just waiting there beyond reality,
beckoning to all who inquire
to ride on its wings;
its flight is endless.

Sometimes you are carried off
into joyous fantasy,
or its gentle prodding lures you to your memories,
or cursed, you may be bludgeoned
by an anvil of despair.

The inner courts are filled with rhymes
while the outer courts are overgrown
with nonsensical lines,
only to fan the flames of curiosity

All the while your heart is tickled by anticipation
as you fly on the back of a poem.

Randi Spero

The Tacoma Writers Club holds meetings and workshops. Their meetings generally feature a speaker and a program. They meet at 6:00 p.m. third Tuesdays at the South Tacoma Library, 3411 South 56th Street. Their poetry division meets second Tuesdays. Call 253-566-0976 for more information or email poompa@aol.com.

Each poem on this Web site has all rights reserved by the author. Each is copy right protected.

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