Along with reams of short stories, and longer attempts at fiction, I’ve written countless poems over the decades. The bulk were written in my teens and twenties and I literally have folders full of handwritten and typewritten compositions.

I’d been threatening to put a selection into print since the mid-90’s. I remember discussing it with an old girlfriend in ’95 but a number of things always seemed to stop me. Part of that was not really being sure if I wanted to share them with the world, part was never having the time to go through what was amounting to thousands of bits of paper – ranging from typed and formatted finished compositions to hand written stanzas on the back of paper bags, or anything I had at hand when inspiration hit.

A few years ago I finally got round to sorting out a collection and published them under the title “Wild Card Symphonies”. Consisting of three smaller volumes of my work, “Wild Card Symphonies”, “Cry To Me”, and “This Graveyard Heart”, the book totaled just over 120 poems. You can buy a copy (plug plug) through Lulu on one of the links at the bottom of the page if you like what you read and want to have more.

The Autumn People

Take me down

To the depths of your imagination

Take me down

To the hollows of your soul.

All I wanted to do

Was to say hello to the autumn people

And live a while in anothers dreams,

I wasn’t seeking answers

Or selling my questions

For dreams or for gold,

I wasn’t about to convert the chosen

To my wishes and ideals.

But the suffering you convicted me to

Was worse than any hell.

—

It wasn’t I who betrayed the colours

Or sold my soul in the rain.

My only guilt lies firmly in believing you

And in walking through Rome in the rain.

I remember our conversations with angels

And the thoughts that you stole

That you sold second-hand to sinners

So that you’d never need to grow old.

“In the blood of the believers

You’ll drown because of your screams.”

Well I don’t intend to be so damned

And will escape the reaches of your imagination

To the arms of the autumn people,

Into the warmth of kinder dreams.

—

I’ve tried to be an angel

But I am just a boy

And the knowledge of such frailty

Is enough to turn me from the seasons,

Enough to make me follow your lead,

And sell myself forever

For the sake of the death of romance,

For the sake of another dream.

Take me down

To the depths of your imagination

Take me down

To the hollows of your soul.

All I ever wanted to do

Was to say hello to the autumn people.

(THE AUTUMN PEOPLE; By A R J Abranson; 06-02-96/17:15 + 11:13)

My poetry anthology, Wild Card Symphonies, is available to buy now on Lulu in both Softcover and Dust Jacket Hardcover.

—————————

Wild Card Symphonies, Cry To Me & This Graveyard Heart are Copyright ©2015, Angus Abranson. All rights reserved.
Cover design by George C. Cotronis (Ravenkult Studios, www.ravenkult.com) Copyright © 2015 Angus Abranson
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
No reproduction in part or in whole without prior written permission from the author of the copyright owner.