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Poetry Prose and Other Words

by Ken Ingham

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Plea of the Pond

dusk is tune up time
each new April evening star
commands another member of the choir
to respond
one by one they audition
and I am positioned
where the maestro would stand
as curtains of darkness unveil
the pond

a bat meanders aimfully
against a waxing gibbus
devouring mosquitos
over the dark wet surface
from which this music pours
relentlessly
without intermission
that their transmissions
might be received
by intelligent life on this planet

several species voices weaving
in and out of synchrony
a few nearby, loud but wise
sense my aura when I rise
the decibels subside
and then resume
a dozen mantras
leave no room for thoughts in me
I become a channel for the plea
of the pond

ngelp! ngelp!
the Rana scream through me
who lingers for at least an hour
wondering how or why
we let so many ponds go dry
or sour from pollution
who sees the decline
in numbers of their kind
as cause for revolution