Seasonal Poems by Venetia Peterson

Here’s a selection of poems by Venetia Peterson, posted with the poet’s permission. Her work is timeless and scenic. The narrative takes the reader to a place of unconscious truth and leaves you with a touch of bitterness.

Foggy Autumn


Chrysanthemum

My face is born in the weakest light.
If I were bounty bound,
A fiber of calling praying essences
Then I exist in these matted fragments
As a suture in a tranquil light,
As a specter of scented summer orbs,
Defined as cut topaz, not cold, not burden bitten,
But absolved in this pale November.
Touch my velvet insecurities.
Envelope my curtain, a pale disguise. I have one name
That will awaken from rooted forgiveness
As frosts circle bends me to the peeling bells.

© Venetia Peterson

November

I am a swirl of burgundy and gold
The hoar of a stammering cold
I am the force that pushes stalwartly trees
To a frightened height then shed their leaves
My soul is contemptible, spiraling, stubborn
I drive the ambivalent into a nervous blunder
I war with cupid, tear at him
Bar his arrows from forging sin
I am November, with Scorpio’s whip
I’ll fog, sleet and make you slip
I’ll blow you all to my frigid feet
Then make you cry, lie and cheat
For today my venom will flow,
And on the thirtieth I will go.

© Venetia Peterson

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