It should be dark.
The sun is down.
Moon glow illuminates
a snow glazed world.
Silent night.
Holy light.
poem-caught November 10, 2020
Poor tree
still dressed in golden finery,
weighed down by winter’s haste.
.
poem- winter evening October 26, 2020
A pantoum for a winter evening
Soft snow falling
Mysteries in hidden faces
Lost memories calling
Eyes whisper with brief gazes
Mysteries, hidden faces
Warm glances, tender touches
Eyes whisper with brief gazes
Sweet comfort, hesitant rushes
Warm glances, tender touches
Fire crackles, hearth heat
Sweet comfort, hesitant rushes
In the silence, our hearts beat
Fire crackles, hearth heat
Lost memories calling
In the silence, our hearts beat
Soft snow falling.
poem- suspicious April 3, 2020
Somebody is messing around
sprinkling snow on the ground in April!
Too late for the fool. There should be rules about this!
We’re stuck inside, forgetting to wash, dress, or sleep.
Dealing with stress by baking and crafting, making new courses.
Things are seriously off-track, keeping distance with my hacking coughs,
but then outside the window, the final straw: snow.
That’s it.
This is shit.
poem-slowly coming February 26, 2020
Periwinkle sky
In the eaves trough tinkle the trickles
of melting snow.
Hope for spring
burst by tomorrow’s
forecast.
poem- Minus 26 degrees January 13, 2020
The moon lingers in blue sky,
listening to Styrofoam™ squeaking boots
on crispy, cold snow.
.
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Poem- Buried January 10, 2020
You are small
boisterous
black
bouncing
excitement,
eager for the ball,
but
the snow is deep
and when you chase
you
disappear
into a crystalline abyss.
Such gleeful eyes
burst from the bank
and shake off
that which buried you.
poem- solo December 3, 2019
One
.
tiny
.
perfect
.
snowflake
.
falls
.
through
.
empty
.
sky.
.
Intrepid?
.
or harbinger?
haiku- winter night February 12, 2019
Silent winter night
Snow falling peacefully ’til
the plough comes scraping.
poem- drifting December 10, 2018
Snow flakes drift by,
washing the world white.
Cold drips down my neck,
scarf scratching,
steps slipping,
breath billows in small clouds,
miniature factories.
Trudge through the flakes
filling the sky,
painting a picture of
a world wiped clean.
Shawn L. Bird 