Hangers-on

The pale yellow leaves
seem painted on the tree
in water color,
revealing sclerotic veins
they spin and tremble gay
without telling or being asked
hanging on while those
whose time has come
drop as doomed snow flakes
striking the sidewalk
with hollow thumps,
a regular rhythm as
the ticking of a loud clock.
Visibly the holocaust moves forward,
the metamorphosis of a painting,
the tree becomes more pitiful
it's black nudity emerging from
yellow dabs in the unseen wind
tugging at the twirling hangers-on
and sending a dense swatch
of the fallen scurrying
across the street en masse
as a hungry mob.







Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 679 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2010-11-18 at 14:13

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


Esti D-G
Calling Autumn a holocaust is a bit strong, isn't it?
2010-11-20


Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
This text has been chosen to be featured on the front page of PoetBay. Thank you for posting it on our poetry web site.
2010-11-19


Rob Graber
I like especially the dynamic conclusion--the fate of the leaves hanging (as it were) on a struggle between tree and wind...
2010-11-18


countryfog
Rather than just images, you've added sound and motion to the scene and made a motion picture.
2010-11-18


NicholasG
Even mother nature extracts payment for the show! It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't start playing Xmas carols the in the stores, the day after Halloween.
Fine description Peter,
Thanks, Nick
2010-11-18