What have I done
To lose myself in winter
Where white covers my past
And confuses my present—
Even my future requires steps
Mark it out for all to see
So that the crime
Leads back to the criminal.
Does my ineptness
Dress everything in this season
Where sleep drifts through
Afternoons dim in light
And lamps and fires
Do all they can
To save us from depths
Yawning round every turn
Let winter consume us.
Let the snow
Show its darkness.
A quiet settled
Like a village
Over the busy suburb
And in my robe
Leaned out in sharp cold
Where chickadees called
And flitted branch
To bare maple branch
In search of offerings
Nuts and juicy bugs
Gifts from nature
Scattered as in a puzzle
A scavenger hunt
My eyes scanned the village
Quiet with exhausted Christians
Their avatar born again
As they rise to seek a feast.
Have you lost your mind?
Misplaced your head
Down the hall
Or under the bed?
Forgive me, but note this,
You’re still quite capable
Of major mischief—
Oh yes, we have seen
The bad boys
On the hill
Seeking every sort
Of riotous mean thrill
But come home now
Your mama’s got dinner
And surprise hoorah
It be a crusty old pie
Made of bad boy brains.
Try me he said
And slid the pistol
Across the bar
As if this were
A Wild West show
Or B movie re-run
When in fact we were
As moderns in suits
Atop a skyscraper
In a penthouse
With city lights ablaze
And a Pollack copy
On the wall
Where the literati paused
With canapés mid flight
To mouths agape,
Aghast.
For Peter Tietjen, friend & patriot true
Palpable, she said,
Evidenced by this curtain
Torn in its center
Lo, sir, an eye
And indeed the orb
Did appear in crystal blue
A wintry stare
Beyond the frosty pane
Yet even in haste
The footsteps lead
In footprints of snow
To a cliff’s edge
And there into air
As thin as ethereal
Stuff floating skyward
A cloudy blemish
That painted our despair.
Real or not
We saw the sun
And celebrated
With teepee talk—
Passing the pipe
Of ancient wisdom
And measured grace.
Less is more
And quakes rock
Soft earth water
Pulling down the victims
Who ignored warnings
And believed they
Of all people
Deserved special care
In a world of violence
In a dream without escape.
Present tense tells you all
Watch the second hand tick
Already a past event
Like everything else in life
The thoughts slip behind
Into the vast archive
A well of doing so deep
It loops around
And becomes a present
For another mind staring
Into the crystal ball
Itself a phantom
Of evasion and uncertainty.
What’s the hurry to please
When life is already done?
Enjoy the moment
And in ignorance revel.
Three to five inches
Of white stuff
Rain and sleet
Hunker down, weaklings,
Or bolster forth, Brave Hearts,
The pond has frozen
But not enough for skaters
No, we are dreamers
Of winter full
Still shy the solstice
And the three days
When the time stays still
Hovering betwixt longer nights
And longer days—
And lo! Our bonfires
Beckon the long night
As our faces turn
East in faith.
Scratch a thought here
And bare a fang
Losers line up
Individuals without hands—
Snow in wintertime
Food in larder
Bread in oven
Door opening to feast
Soldiers march in parades
Let me go outside to play mother’s face at window
Pained at time’s elapse
Father rounds the corner
Buzzards roost along the roof
Snakes crawl around like roots
This is how our weekends go
Just grab your socks
And don’t let go.
Close hands and hear me
Dust percolates in my veins
Snow melts by noon time
Was this enough poem
A scratch of wood ink paper
Or has my heart died?
New England winters
Demand fresh views of nature
But the blinds stay shut.
