Thursday, September 15, 2016

Winter





winter rain –
bicycles rust
in the tin shed











stone Jesus
with outstretched arms –
the falling snow











cold dawn –
huddled together,
rural mailboxes










snowflakes –
trout stir
in the clear stream










 


starry night –
out on the highway
a truck changes gears














between the treetops
and bright stars –
puffs of white clouds drift










cold front –
the wind pushes around
a child’s swing










sleet falls
in the gray dusk –
a church bell tolling












pink sunset
through the bare trees –
the river darkens













late night
with Ryokan –
I warm the rice wine










black pines;
a glittering sky –
ah, the cold!


















early snow –
one more winter
for that old horse









 
cold night -
stars so near
we speak in whispers













small town –
the panhandler
is wearing my old coat












ordinary once more,
the corner where stood
the Christmas tree










winter weekdays –
telling time
by the school bus














a fire barrel’s warmth –
towering above us,
the city lights















in a bare tree –
the thin cross
of a child’s kite










a solitary life –
a hole neatly dug
in the winter sod












in the bare tree,
tugging here and there –
a heart-shaped balloon











 
a graveside silence –
dead leaves rattle
in the limbs overhead











near the hearth
the sleeping hound
gives chase







running shy of words,
the late-night campers 
gaze into the embers









winter evenings –
warming ourselves
by separate fires









 

onset of winter –
taking a path
no one will share











a night of snow –
she keeps
to her side of the bed













admiring my new coat –
most likely the last
I’ll ever buy















 in the small print
of my calender  
Valentine’s Day 























graveside prayers –
my church shoes leaking
in the gray snow











sleeting;
in the restaurant window,
a family celebration










midwinter –
a sky the same shade
as the snow












overnight snow;
I choose a path
no one has taken














night of snow –
a log settles deeper
into the embers














winter solstice –  
the snowman dons
the scarecrow’s hat








 
between tree shadows,
the paved road   
flecked with moonlight











colder days –
everything  
clearer now











morning tea;   
a dusting of snow
has muted the sparrows











a valley of hardwoods –
through the snowscape,
a roaring river  











winter beach;  
a sparrow perched
on a rubbish bin











denuded by winter –
the prim
hardwoods











pale moon;
the ghosts behind me –
skittering leaves











cradled in the pines,
overnight snow;
empty-handed, the hardwoods







my new Christmas tree
rearranging    
the living room shadows








winding two-lane – 
the moon rolls around
the Appalachian mountains










winter walk -
a wire fence stitching together
two snowscapes










winter hardwoods –
light from a moon 
the color of snow










beech leaves – 
the last daubs of color
in the hardwood grove










calling again,  
after a week’s rain –
the owl near my window










a silent landscape;
under my boots,  
the crunch of snow










cold rain – 
the bus pulls back
onto the highway










like a teardrop –
a single star   
in the hardwood boughs












snow collecting
in the pines;   
empty-handed, the hardwoods











evening snow –
I boil okra,   
the color of summer










after days of snow –
stars    
glittering










pale moon;  
the ghosts behind me –
skittering leaves










a light snow;  
the smudge of a path
through the hardwood grove










daybreak –   
at the back gate,
the quarreling of crows










from the snowscape,
rising –  
a day moon










midwinter slush;
the gray breast  
of a chipping sparrow










frigid morning –
the harbor fog    
has unmoored the outbuildings










posting valentines –
I lift the little red flag
of my mailbox 








  

it sounds like the sea –
the wind   
through the pines










bitters winds;
the moon 
a sliver of ice










my old house –
cantankerous  
in the winter rain










after the snow –
only the wind,    
soughing through the pines










not much larger than a moth –
chickadees cavort  
outside my window












glazed snowscape – 
the sliver of a moon 
wrapped in mist










February warm spell;
the crocuses   
lift their sleepy heads










frigid night –  
a stray breeze
finds the porch chimes










moonlight    
on the snowscape
pales the night











last daubs of snow –
a sparrow hopping about
the brick alley  











midwinter –
rain blurs the other side
of the valley








  

shrouded in mist,
pines on the far shore;
ah, the cold!  












winter’s end –  
a yellow sun settles
amidst the naked trees










hastily arranged – 
the fatwood and kindling,
this frozen morning










skimming the withered field –
squawking crows;
their shadows  










stepping out
for another log –
ah, the stars!  










Sunday morning –
church bells unmuted
in the chill air










a north wind,
bitter on my skin,
ruffles the tops of trees










on distant mountains
the soft blur
of naked hardwoods












winter’s end – 
whitetail deer
drift through the hardwoods











winter ends –
here and there, dead leaves 
still cling










winter’s end –
a gray dusk
settles among the pines










end of winter –
small birds flitting about
the sunlit grove










on winter lawns,
dead leaves, like sparrows,
hop and flee











full moon
above the vast,
frosty fields










light rain –
in the hardwood grove,
foraging deer










winter’s end –
a redbird
in a bare tree










after the snow –
the sky
a deeper blue










birds on the wire;
snow falling
at a steep angle










walking the trestle;
snow falling
under me










moonlit snow;
the tinkling wind chimes;
ah, the cold!


























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