October

October

as the giant oak dies

its forlorn branches

fall in agony

upon the poet's roof

causing his pen to flinch

erin-cilberto

10/17/22

Reviews

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Jacob… Acorns fall and eventually stand Tall… A Poet endures as the Mind keeps thinking and writing… with a feathered Quill and the strength and agility of a Seagull. gently, Pat

[jacob erin-cilberto]

yes, yes. thank you, Pat,
j.

[Brianna Brie]

It takes a mighty oak to squelch a writer's pen! Clever write and it got a chuckle out of me.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you, Brianna,
j.

[duff]

A crash and scribble. My favorite time of year. Trees are full of emotion and you did it well here. Nice job Jacob.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you, duff,
j.

[softlyfall]

A literary contemplation on the organic nature of death? The poet feels it all then bleeds onto the page.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I like your take very much...thank you,
j.

[Light and ashes]

Great stuff.
...............

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, light,
j.

[Light and ashes]

You are always welcome.

[Chris Shaw]

Trees are incredible through all seasons when they are standing. In October the canopies of colour are glorious. However, falling trees can be deadly. No one wants a tree falling through their roof risking life.

Chris

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, he is going to have to cut it...but life gets like that too...we have to cut that which could be harmful in future.
thanks, Chris,
j.

[Chris]

Seems we have "lost" many ...things... through our years
and watched many more pass in review.
Tears - if just internal,
echo
with each loss.
Smiles follow each gain.
But we do hold each memory's moment
- so close...
so very close
that
sunrise bursts anew in our eyes and mind
and the coffee chills
unnoticed by stilled fingertips.

Chris

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I really like your poetic response, Chris...and by God, we sure have lost many....friends, celebrities, sports figures, newscasters...so many we both grew up with are gone...we survive...
j.

[John the Baptist]

I hope this one is simply metaphor. I hope the fall is just a season, not a disaster.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

yes, metaphor...but the culprit is a dead Oak that is getting precarious and is hovering over my house.
Landlord needs to get it cut down.
Or I will not flinch, but get smashed.
j.

[Elaine]

Yes. Very relatable to the fall of October and the sometimes startling way it leaves us.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Elaine. I appreciate your visit.
j.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Yes! It is that time of year when the nigh-wintry winds begin to blow, the nights get colder, the storms abound, leaves cascade like patchwork confetti, and weathered limbs crack and fall. It's that time of life, the season when bones ache from falling rain and the mind wanders over time's trestle of faded dreams, the train of time disappearing into the distance, smoke fading into the night. The poet's pen might flinch but ever scribes until the end.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, all of that....and yes, I guess I will write until I fall over dead...I think most of us will...it is a season for us that never ends.
thank you, Linda Marie,
j.