“Autumn Winds” by Phillip Robertson is a charming poem that illustrates the cyclic nature of life. He uses nature and the changing of the seasons to represent his experiences. He was inspired to write this poem when he was sitting out late one autumn night and was watching the leaves fall on him. Phillip realizes that in life, there are lows and highs, but it’s really just a cycle. Sometimes you just have to ride out the hard times, before you can experience the good times. All phases in life come and go, you just need to have the strength to persevere through the tough times and enough passion to enjoy the happy moments. Joy and despair aren't permanent, if we remember that it will be easier to live through pain.
The poem has a unique rhyme scheme with no set rhythm. The first four lines are interesting because the syllable pattern: 7, 8, 7, 8. For a poem with no set form or meter it has many common schemes. For example, the rhyme scheme in the first four lines is ABAB. Then the poems continue on to CDED, which is again a fairly common scheme. The last eight lines are more unique, however. Lines 9-12 have the rhyme scheme FGAG, which mirror lines 5-8. These lines introduce new rhymes, while they also reverted to the first A. The last lines, lines 13-16, mirror the first lines with and ABAB format, but with a completely different set of rhyming words.
Phillip Robertson hasn't written much before. He is currently writing a few plays. He’s dabbled in poetry here and there, but he usually can’t find a pen and paper fast enough to write any down.
Even though Phillip doesn't write much poetry, he has always had a strong connection to it. He finds poetry speaks to him and can often comfort him in hard times. His main influence is Robert W. Service, but he also enjoys Robert Burns and William Blake. The first poem he can remember reading was “The Cremation of Sam McGee” by Robert W. Service
AUTUMN WIND By: Phillip Robertson
Autumn's wind, turns to winter snow These summer eyes have lost their glow Stars have crossed, our suns have set With wishful clouds we won't forget
But the grass is brown And the trees are dead And winter lies Like a fresh made bed
But these trees are old And don't impede Because they know The cold recedes
And with spring I rejuvinate And prepare myself My circled fate