Every time we hold our online open mic, TWOOMPH!, we say there will be half-time shenanigans – but what does that mean?!?

Well, one thing we often do is make a group poem in the Chat. Here’s our September poem for Autumn, for you to enjoy on National Poetry Day – and beyond…

Autumn is…

Autumn is Red Admirals on ivy flowers.
Autumn is water flowing again.
Autumn is leaf and conker and fog.
Autumn is darkness underfoot.
Autumn is Karak Chai and Cashmere hijab and stories.
Autumn is early prayers.
Autumn is conkers in my pocket and mash potato and condensation.
Autumn is permanent goosebumps.
Autumn is sundown and leaf blankets and damp soil.
Autumn is time to recharge.
Autumn is pencil shavings and rich stews and hands round mugs.
Autumn is a settling of souls.
Autumn is pressure and stress and a closure nobody asked for.
Autumn is mist and mizzle and sun breaking through —
Autumn is grey and crisp and flame.
Autumn is time for slowing.
Autumn is mist and fog and spiders’ webs.
Autumn is valuing small things.
Autumn is chestnuts and fire coals and lichen mould.
Autumn is a gift.
Autumn is pine, pot pourri, plums.
Autumn is pain slowly rocking the trees to shed in our sleep.
Autumn is fish and chips, puff jackets and leaves.
Autumn drops summer’s load and sighs.
Autumn is lots of helicopter trees that make you spin and fall into crunchy, mushy, and crispy leaves.
Autumn is nose-snaps and tea leaves and the embers of a giant’s fireplace.
Autumn is sleep after a long day.