Thursday, September 15, 2016


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

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 –
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

pale moon;
the ghosts behind me –
skittering leaves

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

my new Christmas tree
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 –

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 –
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

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!

an overnight snow 
has emptied
the sky 

above the plyboard   
the Milky Way

the white wing-bands
of a mockingbird 
in the bare gray woods

warm spell; 
sparrows rustle
the dead leaves

the stiff pines,
a blurred moon

ice in the tire ruts;     
wood smoke adrift
in the hollow

my shadow and I 
walking a tree trunk’s

first light; 
a walk   
among the birdsong

cold evening; 
climbing a hill
towards the moon

winter solitude;
steam rising  
from my sake cup

overnight rain; 
under my footsteps,
the muted leaves

a moon sliver, 
fading in and out
among the clouds

cold morning;
my every hammer blow
echoes across the valley

deep winter;  
the shush of wind
through the bare trees

morning walk;
a lone crow 
gives me an earful

during the night,
how softly
fell the snow

the moon 
above the horizon –
it’s like a crust of bread

cutting through
a bare branch –
the sickle moon

at the bottom 
of the ravine,
patches of cloud and sky

meadow path;
the whole blue sky
belongs to me 

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

in the valley of hardwoods
a roaring river

family plot;
my name
on every stone

my friend’s grave;
the hole in the snow, 
neatly dug

cloudless sky;
the crisscross
of vapor trails

the snowscape,

1 comment:

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