October is the Best Time for Poetry

But is the story worth it? I don’t know.

You’ll get a lot of mileage from the
crackle, crunch, POP!
Of the leaves, or the
sizzle! and then
fizzle! of the sausage at the tailgate

(With an added bonus for the crisp and juicy spurt
when teeth come down.)

But don’t do it.

There aren’t a lot of downsides to the
whistle of the wind, or the
natural alliteration of the
soft swift scudding of the
many small scales of a
mackerel sky.

Except that it’s overused, and trite, and said before.

You can’t go wrong with the rich, thick aroma of chimneysmoke.
You can’t do better than the SHARP TANG of oncoming snow.
You’re in great shape with wet gutter-leaves, slopping and heaving.
Everyone loves the evening of the year.

But you mustn’t. It’s cliche.

Write about love, if you must.
Write about preparation.
Write longing.

Write the descent into darkness,

Write loneliness,

Write the slumber of hope.

But please, friends, remember: do it without the autumn. October is overused. Please leave it alone.

I still write sometimes, and I have a buttload of already-written stuff. So there you go.

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