Taylor Brooke McCoy

Writer, Reader, and Person With Opinions

Seasonal Poems

Lovers of the Year

The smell of August

still hangs on the breeze,

but the orange tips

of maple leaves

wave to its back.

“Farewell, summer,”

September whispers.

Cloudy days and rain

bring small shivers

and breath, hung in the air.

August makes his conjugal visits,

but soon September is alone with us,

and we cherish the promise

of musty sweaters

and mismatched gloves

and rainy days

under the covers,

waiting till October comes.


The Vibrance of Winter at Christmas Time

I open the lid of the bench

and the smell of closed up artifacts

meets the air about my face.


Crayons, broken, smushed, puzzles

with pieces missing,

crumpled, torn up coloring books

I want to crawl inside

and close myself in.


As chocolate chip waffles pop

from the toaster, the box TV

forecasts snow, crackles

as the antennae shifts.


Inside, warmth

and purple, sparkle crayons.

Outside, a white-dusted garden

put to rest by Winter–

Beloved, both.


The Pumpkin

Incubating among

pumpkin guts, draped in strings

and seeds, Life grew restless.

Among fruit,

grew a weed.


Fall slumped over the weed

with raindrops and chill air.

The pumpkin neared its death

under the season’s glare.



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