To Be in Paradise in October

At home the leaves are falling
crimson-orange through greying sky,
where misty morns are gleaming
or wind and rain are squalling.

At home the leaves are falling;
they rustle in the grass.
My sisters, laughing, screaming,
through autumn-heaps are crawling.

At home the leaves are falling;
bitter wind grows biting cold,
and my father is complaining
that this weather is appalling.

At home the leaves are falling.
Here, hibiscus bud and bloom,
but I lie on beaches dreaming
of my fiery maple sprawling.

At home the leaves are falling,
golden spirits on the wind
whose death next spring’s redeeming
in the sleeping soil is scrawling.

At home the leaves are falling.
When I stand beneath my trees
my blood with hope is teeming.
Autumn, promise-like, is calling.

Weariness

Weariness like a grey cloak I wear.
Strange that what brings me joy
can still exhaust me. There’s days
that music lifts my heart and days
when practice drains the blood from me.
A mistimed kiss can kill a budding romance.
The sun knows when to set, and stars
do not intrude on daytime’s reign.
I try to learn their gifts. I chafe.
Rest is elusive through the weariness.

Alena Casey is a poet, writer, and mother of four from Indiana. Her poetry has been published with The Road Not Taken, The Society of Classical Poets, and The Author’s Journal of Inventive Literature, among others. She can be found at strivingafterink.wordpress.com.