Call and Response

The planet’s dial
clicks another turn
as the air cools
and we move into autumn.
Walls of stone step down
into the changing tide,
steadfast in their ancient vigil.
With the thirst of brown grass
trees thrum their cloud songs
drawing end-of-summer rain.
Beside the shore
a quiet blessing,
mantras repeated
waveless as an orca
through the silence.
Life it is, I call to the sea
and from the sea life returns
as a flight of crows
pass in morning light.




photograph by Louis MacKenzie






















Reading of “Call and Response” with music by Jefferson Airplane


6 Responses to “Call and Response”

  1. Tom Figel says:

    Don, your imagery is strong, well-chosen for the season change you share with us. You help us hear the silence amid the noise.

  2. Stan Grindstaff says:

    This morning Don, I breathe with you, gentle undulations as lovely as your poem, serene & soft & silent…

  3. Patrick says:

    Your words soothe my tired soul!

  4. Edward Haimes says:

    The seasons here in the Northern hemispheres are truly wonderous. The changes in the color of the deciduous trees splash amazing color onto the landscape. As it is expressed in the Bible, there is a purpose to every season. I think of the Salmon returning from the sea to their original spawning grounds, ending and beginning simultaneously the cycles of creation. The only creature on earth who has tried to thwart this process of purpose has been man, damming the return cycles. How blessed we are of the awareness of cycles that we may again participate fully in the creative process. Thank you.

  5. Veronica Lim says:

    Hi, Don, the photo reminds me of Louisiana—maybe not Cane River Lake, but close! Thank you for this lovely poem. Autumn has arrived here in Fort Collins, Colorado, too. Most trees are still wearing summer clothing, but some have shifted to the apparel of fall, creating a delightful contrast. My rabbit brush is just now blooming, and welcoming honey bees to its golden feast.

  6. David Barnes says:

    Very good Don. It’s all comin’ back to me now—this thrum in the silence without disturbing the silence—waveless on the tide

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