Voyager, Be Still

Early on, ‘neath starlight with a blanket wrapped around,
We talked and cuddled softly in the night.
Making plans ensuring that our future would be sound
Taking time to look up toward the light.

“See how many stars there are that shine above your head?”
I asked you as I took your hand in mine.
“Those are all the chances we will have in years ahead,
Years to let our growing love to shine.”

Then I watched a wry smile curve the corner of your lips,
Gazed into your eyes as my pulse worried.
Reaching out, you took my chin with tender fingertips;
Told me that our love need not be hurried:

“Ah, my love, though there’s not time to do all that we’ll wish,
As long as I’m with you the world is ours.
Heaven sent this sky tonight so I could see with bliss—
So don’t ask for the moon. We have the stars.”

--“Don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars." –Bette Davis, Now Voyager

Snowburn

Stand within the whirlwind tasting flakes upon your tongue
Feel the full embrace of winter’s fury
Wallow in the snow banks piled as if you still were young,
Joyous in the moment of the flurry.

Take the day, stay home from work, and bask in Nature’s glory,
Romping as a child among the drifts.
Build another memory, a chapter in your story,
One that grips your spirit firm, and lifts.

I met the world in winter; I was born a solstice child,
Every year I greet the seasons turning,
Never have I once wished for a winter that was mild,
‘Tis the snow that keeps my soul from burning.

A Little Winter Snark

Mother Nature's in a tizzy
Laying down the snow
She's been keeping pretty busy
See her flakes a' blow

'Course, this morning it was raining
Temp was forty-four;
Mister Cold Front came complaining,
"It's December, w----!"

Affronted by such garish jargon
Mother played at nice,
Offering Sir Cold a bargain--
Turned his ass to ice!

Father Winter watched with humor
At her clever fix,
And, to make the storm a boomer
Threw sleet in the mix!

But then Jack Frost flew quickly in
(Lest he be left out)
A' drumming up his mighty wind
To blow the snow about!

Mother, so proprietary,
Could not stand it longer
Adding hail to make it scary;
Proving she was stronger!

Now, of course, it's near two thirty
In the afternoon
Driving home will be quite dirty
Mother: grant a boon!

Resurrection

Fall is dead.
Winter rises howling from its grave,
Stinging tempest, banshee
Of ice.

Wailing dread
Frigid spinning pestilential plague,
Arctic necromancy
Device.

Gorgoned trees
Stand immobile frozen in surprise
Watching crystals grow on
Windows.

Horrid breeze
Howling, moaning, tearing at my eyes;
Winter gathers its breath--
And blows.

Deafening,
The fury that assaults my senses,
Gathering armfuls of
Tinder

So, dreading,
I watch his rise without defenses--
Resurrected: Old Man
Winter

Last Gasp

Sixty and sunny a week after snow,
November rebels for a beat
Hear the birds revel and bask in the glow
Of Autumn's reluctant retreat

Indian Summer, the short lived hurrah,
The seasonal spring in our step;
Nature's attempt at a faint Shangri-la,
A last gasp before Winter prep.

Ode To A Spider

I watch the nimble spinnerettes; a spider spinning strings
An avid agile dancer going through its flow and ebb
Particularly placing strands about the tender wings
Cocoon constructed carefully with mortem in its web.

Oh, black and silver phantom sewing life up into death
O morbid fate that mother nature brings
How fragile is your cosm unto which I blow my breath,
Then *splat* because I cannot stand you things.

October Branches

Amber branches turning slowly
Capturing October's yawn
Dropping winter's warnings lowly
Cover high, reflect the dawn

Birch and Elm, and Sugar Maple
Fingerpainting morning hues
Cling to heaven as you're able
Hasten not with seasoned cues.

Venture slowly on your journey
Breath your last upon the bough
'Fore you end your earthen tourney
Dangle while I watch you now.

Wait for me, oh turning branches
Nature's dances taking place,
Neighbor reds and greens in chances
Paint anew the Autumn's face.

Time Flies

The boy and girl can’t get enough
Of play in hip deep grass
They kick at dandelion tufts
And watch the motes drift past

Time stops as green and white enfold
These children who collapse
From joy, and staring up behold
A thousand beating flaps

Of butterflies ascending high
Among the fickle flecks,
Parading blithely in the sky
The children crane their necks

Until the sky returns to blue;
The boy turns to the girl
And whispers, “I’ll do that, will you?”
So they begin to twirl

And play among the hip deep grass
Dancing like butterflies
And as they do, along flits past
The summer’s greatest prize.

I Remember Cattails

I remember seeing cattails four feet tall
Ducks in feathered flurry swimming round
Skirting skipping stones I picked from a wall
Little boy camping with his hound.

Sitting by a cove on a small fresh lake
Young enough to think the trees could breathe
Eyes wide open to the sips they could take
Catching every rippling, rustling heath.

I remember cattails rustling in breeze
Standing on the shore, tiptoe peering,
Waiting and watching eager as you please
Knowing by croak that frogs were nearing.

Owls hoot offbeat and hide in deep forest
Flurried feathers still circle cattail cove
Puffy clouds at peace beckon in chorus
Did I vow from there I would not move?

Fifty Arms At Yoga

Spring comes soon. It’s

Not quite here yet

There are trees behind me, and in front

Mud that sun will dry

Look, up where leaves will be:

Fifty Arms at Yoga

Jutting out from every side

Balanced.

Holding

Breath,

And waiting.

This is a "shape" or "form" poem. The lines are arranged to emulate the "shape" of what the poem describes--in this case, a tree.