The ground hog says
it will be early spring
but even if he did not,
the blue sky and balmy breeze
today asserted its own opinion.
poem-blue January 16, 2016
Outside, in the twilight
the world is black and blue,
like a sun bleached wrapper,
yellows and reds leached away.
Just an old wrapper,
a ghost of its former brightness,
as is this day, lightness fading
blue.
poem- grey day January 14, 2016
January is filmed
in black and white,
soft focus filter,
lots of white space.
Mist grows until
it fills the screen,
ready for the credits
to roll by.
poem-seeds January 1, 2016
We are planted
with potentiality;
white blanketed rest bids us wait
until spring gives us the urge to rise
to skies and find our fate.
poem-morning December 25, 2015
Somewhere,
children are laughing
tearing wrappings
squealing gleefully.
Somewhere,
some one is dining on cold pizza
in relative contentment
absent of relatives.
Somewhere,
snow is falling,
from a moonlit sky
and light is returning
bit by bit.
poem- new boots November 14, 2015
New winter boots
ready to brave the storms
fake dead animal rising from their depths
a warning to wandering acrylics or polymids
the woods are not safe for the likes of you,
when it’s new boot hunting season.
.
.
My new Sorel boots- found in the 50% off rack. (Probably because of the fake fur tops?) My last Sorels I purchased in 1986, but when DH painted the front door in the garage this summer, he re-coloured them for me into ‘red-pink spray’. Time for an update, I think. The old ones don’t owe me anything! I confess, I am contemplating taking the poodle clippers to the overgrowth, though…
poem- the day after November 12, 2015
snow falling
between the rain
the pavement becomes a black hole
sucking out the light
I return hoping
but the house is cold
and I must find
my own dinner.
poem-bring spring November 10, 2015
First snow
falls outside,
but I focus on spring
blooming on my ottoman
stems set in Aalto’s iconic vase,
a miniature Finnish lake,
and knit.
.
.
This is an Iittala vase designed by Alvar Aalto in 1936 and made at the Iittala glassworks factory in Karhula, Finland. Once upon a time, I lived in Karhula. (I learned to knit there, actually).
poem for Jack February 13, 2015
This poem was sent to me by my father-in-law, following the notice about Dusty’s euthanasia today. It’s so lovely I thought I’d share it with you. The author, Christopher Tatchell Winter, was my husband’s 2X great grandfather. I will check, but I believe it would have been written around 1900. (Ignore the way WordPress mangled the spacing in the first stanza).
.
.
Dear, dear little Jack, my companion & friend
Few now are my years, soon cometh the end
And I thought to have had you until I depart
But no more will I lessen the pain of my heart
My dear little dog, so faithful & true
I never shall know another like you
Much that passes for love may be but a cheat
But your love was constant & full & complete
No more will you meet me & run half a mile
To leap in my arms & my sorrow beguile
If but for a moment it then would depart
And sunshine & gladness would enter my heart
Oh, dear little Jack, I call you in vain
But why should I sorrow, why should I complain
It can’t bring you back, I know that is true
And yet all the same I will sorrow for you
And now at my door, you rest in your grave
And over it many a flower shall wave
In winter the snow on it softly shall fall
But no more will you answer & come to my call
.
The sketch of a Winter dog, presumably Jack:
poem- palettes January 1, 2015
Today’s sight
is a palette of black and white.
Today’s dichotomy
will be tomorrow’s
possibility
Shawn L. Bird 