Monday, September 22, 2008


A seasons bones tower,
tall sentinels hovering o'er
graveyards of spent produce,
leftovers to a forager,
skilled reaper of the Earth's

A morning's Autumn dew
lights tents of wee clowns
weaving and weaving...
what is it they secret away,
is it the knowing,
the pending doom
of a species locked in a time warp
of crystal towers
and frigid airs.

Small creatures weave
a secret we know not.
What if man's efforts fail
and we must weave
to exist,
weaving and weaving...
is it the knowing,
the pending doom
of a species locked in a time warp...
to survive is
the secret,
a secret
we know not...



High Desert Diva said...

I love your autumnal poem!

still said...

Absolutely soothing...thankyou!

paisley said...

lights tents of wee clowns
killer line...

and that first photo is haunting.....

Eve said...

Everyone is feeling the Ides of Fall. : ) We don't have a lot of change on the Coast, other than the temperture drops a little. Not much to mark the changing of the Seasons. It is the only drawback to living here.
I love your poem. But most of all I love the webs. I never associated them with Fall before. Interesting.

Hey Harriet said...

What a poem! And those photos certainly give the feeling of there being a chill in the air already. Especially the first one. It looks downright cold. Brrrrr!