I wrote this several years ago, because I’d been seeing poets/writers using images and words about Fall that they “stole” from other writers/poets. No plagiarism, just unconscious repetition.
Happy Autumn, folks.
“It’s mornings like this;
The stingy sun trying to hold back
Even the warmth of its reflection
Flashing cold fire in the lake.
When November leaves drop in sudden gusts,
Like a red and yellow flock of birds
Swooping at once to ground.
Or even nights:
When winds reach wet hands
To take you spinning with random paper
Down back street gutters, under straining bridges
To clogged rivers.
The time of year, along with spring,
When poets must take care
Not to sing the same songs
Stolen from tribal memory.”
– Thomas R. Drinkard