September Poems

Michaelmas occurs in September (29th).
In the far north of the Orknies and other Scottish lands the Celtic culture celebrated Domhnach Curran – Carrot Sunday. This was the Sunday before Michaelmas when it was time to dig the carrots from the ground for winter storage. In the Northern part of the USA with our present delight in tiny carrots, and less desire to store them at home in bins… we do things a bit differently. The University of Minnesota has a factsheet on growing and harvesting carrots.

If St Michael brings many acorns, Christmas will cover the fields with snow.
Traditional English proverb

I walk in the September moonlight with the dogs and breathe the sweet smoky smell and see the sugar maples coloring the night and I look at the white stars so far away and wish a happy autumn to my friends all over the world. ~Gladys Tabor

In the United States and the rest of the northern hemisphere, the first day of the autumn season is the day of the year when the Sun crosses the celestial equator moving southward (on September 22nd or 23rd). This day is known as the Autumnal Equinox.

poem:
These bursting yellow pears I hold,
In burning hands so lately cold,
My quiet autumn day confound;
I feel my fingers pressing round
In quick delight – old thoughts renew…
Ah, who’s to say when summer’s through?
~E. F. Weisslitz

When to pick pears,”most pear varieties do not ripen nicely while still on the tree.”!

“After years of study, scientists have found that a really juicy pear is best eaten while naked, in the bathtub, so that you needn’t be concerned about the abundant juice streaming down your chin.”
~David Sugar

September
“The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel-
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
Burning brush,
New books, erasers,
Chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
Well-honeyed hum,
And Mother cuts
Chrysanthemums.
Like plates washed clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze.”
~John Updike

SEPTEMBER

by: Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)

The golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian’s bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes’ sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer’s best of weather,
And autumn’s best of cheer.

But none of all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air
Is unto me the secret
Which makes September fair.

‘T is a thing which I remember;
To name it thrills me yet:
One day of one September
I never can forget.