The Poet is Not a Meteorologist

 From walk of Thursday,, February 7

A giant snow storm?
In my imagination.
The sun is shining.

"Winter's getting long";
"Be careful what you wish for"--
(Some useless statements).

Ribbed clouds in the sky;
Shadows falling on the road;
Where is the snow storm?

Buddha and shovel--
One is waiting for the snow;
Other's just waiting.

 

Iced tributary
Doesn't make it to the stream;
Frozen in mid flow.

 

The bench is empty;
It faces the empty house,
Filled with memories.

Down in the deep glen,
A man walks a big black dog;
Different universe.

A piece of tin trash,
Hurled by the side of the road;
 It's Budweiser Lite!

Not Three Unparked Cars

 

Blue/gray snow morning;
White flakes floating in my mind,
Soon to be falling.

 

A thick grinding sound
Passes by invisible;
Swiftly fades away.

 

One bobbing snow flake
Whisked up the road by the wind
Passes overhead.

 

The children are gone;

Maybe one child in a mile;
(What does the sign care?)

Not three unparked cars;
Blank spaces of they are not,
Have left their unmark.

 

Stones and logs are white;
Through trees pond is a blank sheet--
Late winter pallor.

 

They are teasing me,
These soft driving flakes of white,
Promising snow fall.

Pine branches dance
As wind blows deep from the woods,
Silent minuet.

Snow Receives the Sky

A dusting of white--

Bright light is shining upward;
Snow receives the sky.

The sky is ready--
It's a thick white envelope
Waiting to descend.

Mosaic in stones;
Two feet of different size--
Chronicles of snow.

Road's a white ribbon;
Sky's a mottled blue and gray.
Crows call back and forth.

Barking car drives by;
It passed me the other way;
Those dogs don't shut up.

A dog still statue
Stands watching me in the woods.
Then we both move on.

My loud overcoat
Talks to me as my arms swing,
Whispering, "walk the pace."

The flat stone is flatter
With layer of paint white snow--
Twisted dimensions.

A Flower of Ice

 

Coffee in roaster;
Fresh cereal in the bowl;
The sun is shining.

Rectangles and squares
Frame the sunshine and the trees
From my outside porch.

It only sits there
Gathering shadows and light,

Lovely useless shack.

Rising from the grass
Little birds flee to the pines,
Then dart across road.

A flower of ice
Blossoms in the rising stream--
An oxymoron.

Snow maid has fallen--
Only her butt remains;
Such indignity!

My shadow is long;
Telephone pole's is longer;
Cold wind from the woods.

Beneath ice and leaves,
Softly, whispers of water flow;
Sun paints the stone wall.

Their Shifting Shapes Still

 01/21/2013

 Blown by the rough wind
Clouds leave and sunshine appears;
Then it disappears.

 

Shadows on the road
Etched dark by the brilliant sun--
Then there is blankness.

 

Piles of dirty snow
Mix with the sunlight and clouds--
Turbulent morning.

Pines weave in the dark
As the clouds now gallop out;
Light is right behind.

02,01/2013

Grapefruit is shining;
Sun rays burst through the window;
I am hungry now.

 

Murmurs of morning--
Inside, air purifier;
Outside, distant plane.

 

My stream is rushing;
The sky is almost cloudless;
Alfred moos loudly.

 

Deceptive sunlight
Illuminates brown branches
With promise of Spring.

Beneath frozen pond
Autumn leaves lie slumbering
Like old drowned bodies.

Shadows of fences
Play in the morning sunlight;
Their shifting shapes still.

Racing before me
Leaf skitters across the road,
Fleeing from the wind.

Grizzled old boulder
Is growing its winter beard
Of white icicles.