TheBanyanTree: clock-tober

[Mike Pingleton]

the fountain frog is drooling

its pump is clogged with leaves

and mother spiders spin their final

webs among the eaves

toads are trapped in window wells

walnuts fall like diving bells

and pock the ground

while squirrels bound to

gnaw their bitter shells.


autumn builds its vivid scenes
gardens die in ruined dreams

poets in their hammocks swing

and cock an eye

as summer flies away

on clockwork wings.



the solstice wind is speaking

in long sibilants and spray

and dusk extends its cloak a little

earlier each day
fretting over fading green

knowing what the cold rain means

poets crawl on window screens
they peer inside and

hope to hide from

frigid winter scenes.