The
Blowing Prophecy
by
Michael E. Strosahl
Already
the winds have chilled,
already
the leaves
that
waved through summer
have
dried and come loose.
have
been carried away
to
the fields edge
to
cackle with those who fell before,
to
crackle stories
with
the chaff of corn stalks
who
warn of the coming harvest
that
is sure to claim us all.
The
fragile bones of
unshielded
bean pods
rattle
as they shiver
in
the cool of a breeze,
quaking
with the rumble
of
the trucks and combines
that
will soon
thresh
out the gold
grown
from soil and sun
and
cast off the dust
of
shells and stems
to
be blown across cleared land
as
the blackbirds descend
to
look for the forgotten—
those
lost souls of autumn—
before
they too are chased,
to
flap away
on
the zephyrs of November.
Michael
E. Strosahl
is originally from Moline, Illinois. After moving to Indiana, he
joined several poetry groups and traveled the state meeting many
members of the Poetry Society of Indiana, also serving on its board
for several years. Maik (as he is known) has appeared in the print
version of Flying
Island,
along with appearances in Tipton Poetry Journal, Bards Against Hunger
projects, on buses, in museums and online at indianavoicejournal,
poetrysuperhighway, projectagentorange and adaysencounter. He has
recently relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri.