poetry & things


Early snow

The drape of blue, green vines

that hung and fell with beads of water perfume

of birds and flowers long since bloomed

Chilly winds lift feathery fronds

of red and rust on autumn ponds.

A shadow of summer 

where sandhill cranes have flown.

A fallow field hazy in its gold and brown

stiff blades and grain that brace the cold

Alas snowflakes

soft as feathers falling down.

Cold moon of winter

Early in the dark hours 

where no birds have flown 

before the flicker and hum of stars 

silence where daylight sweeps away 

the cold occluded moon 

amid barren velvet white

stands a silhouette of trees

iced and caked in winter.

Winter park

In this park there are birds atop ice cakes

stiff mittened kids, cold nosed and half froze

they slide on paths of glass, toward home.

A small stream cuts through this place,

black water, humming with coots and ducks.

Long toothed icicles waiting to impale the earth,

beneath our feet, we crack and shatter tiny frozen ponds,

revealing muddied blades of grass, green as in summer.

A myriad of birds in the sun, come to puff and quiver,

but soon the mountain clouds will come to shroud

the day, the sky, so cold, a frost in grey and silver.

Winter and spring branches

These winter trees

cold and shouldering winds

their bending branches unhinge

falling limbs crash and break the snow

further still a secret world of mud and bulbs

that in the spring blooms of tulips and violet mossy lawns

and too, the sun that comes to warm and fills with green the tree arms

this wooded home that breathes with sheltering birdsong.

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