Posts Tagged ‘Snow’

If a minute were longer then so,

long enough to wonder

if my decisions will be transparent

or if they will last and people will know.

And long enough to wander

through the dark streets at dawn,

through the narrow streets accompanied

by a body of yellow fog,

and walk until the morning yawns into existence,

and then proceed through the halls I have come to know,

but with each step

I continue to grow, as all people do,

in that unseen way.

 

And who am I to leave something

more than ephemeral

on an otherwise simple scene, on an otherwise

simple day? Is it right

for me to ask for a bit of permanence,

to ask for more than a footprint

in the snow or in the sand?

Is it right for me to deny something grand?

Is it right for me to ask

for nothing more than the seemingly infinite warmth

in the clasp of a hand?

For, in a minute, what I announce

will be read, forgotten,

or- perhaps- renounced.

 

In Isolation

Posted: June 15, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

In Isolation

my Ideas flurry-

like snow- and congeal-

with Focus, sans Worry.

Summers is here and the sun bares down.

I could impress upon people the value of rain-

silver fingers drumming, the sky without frown-

but they see it as a pain,

something to avoid. I would dance in it,

but instead I sit

inside and read poetry. When I was young

I would open my mouth to the rain

the way any other child would catch snowflakes on his tongue,

and I would spin for raindrops and drink them in.

Summer people watch the moon wax and wane.

On bright mornings I wince at the sun

and whisper you win.

Yellow fingers sweep the clouds away,

extend to brush my skin-

I feel the gentle, warm caress.

The world illuminates:

houses, fields, trees, lakes brightened.

Snow dissipates, ice dwindles in drips,

both glint all the same.

Here is the change

as everything wakes from cold slumber

and will stir into flower and fervor.

In this whiteness there is desolation.

Ferocity abounds while ice plummets

to where a birdwatcher would make his or her observation.

But now the snow plunges into summits,

hiding landscape from humans at their windows.

All one can see are tiny white comets,

and in this instant, that is all one can know.

Windless stillness,

silence.

Sunlight slices through

dense clumps of silver.

Light perforated

only by gray, almost transparent

shadows- long and thin

shadows of trees.

The earth is wearing out its

white play-clothes.

They have gravel stains,

dirt stains,

and the beating heart

of its grasses is turning

as it enters REM sleep.

Earth is dreaming of when

she will burst from the womb,

naked and beautiful,

and will grow its emerald hair

long.

And will decorate itself in jewels of color-

blossoms

and leaves.

Wind takes the lead-

I follow. Arms- flutters

of snow- guide me

 

to and fro

with the bending of pines.

I feel warm in this cold place.

 

Nature is strong. I do not mind

following. I step in time

to winter’s music.