MOTHER WINTER
The windswept fields,
Stark and barren.
Snowdrifts rolling like
Dunes of ancient times.
Some see lifelessness,
Devoid of all hope.
I see a loving mother,
Pulling the blankets
Up close to her child’s chin
Blessing the child
With her brilliant smile.
Some see life smothered,
Struggling to break free again.
I see the child’s eyes
Closed in peaceful slumber -
Resting.
Mother gently strokes her child’s forehead
And dims the light -
For a season.
SONNET OF THE COMMON
I have no need for extravagant things –
Sparkles and shine mean nothing to me.
Give me the dull, the boring, the brown
Earthy things, growing green and free.
Others may fawn over silk and brocade
Jewels of exquisite taste and color.
I’d just as well wear my threadbare jeans
And a faded t-shirt, soft, like no other.
I know those who love ancient red wine
Paired with tender filet mignon.
Hot dogs and burgers char-grilled
By my love, are better in my opinion.
Give me the simple, the common and plain,
These are the things I’ll choose again and again.
FADE
A bouquet of vocabulary is blooming upon my page,
Fragrant, aromatic, wafting up – provoking the senses.
Words pungent and exquisite, caustic, and melodious,
Bittersweet and velvet soft, caressing and spurning my heart in turn.
Words – harbingers of possibilities, causalities, and sadly, generalities,
Gardens of infinite and sumptuous fare on which the impoverished soul may feast.
Words are weapons and lovers, seizing me in their firm embrace,
Burgeoning like roses, enticing me to drink in their beauty, but – OH! The thorns...
Causing me to surrender then sequester as I strive
To comprehend their intent upon my feeble mind.
I hunker in utter darkness, stroking the petals, willing the scent to not diminish
Yet the more I clutch the fragile flowers, the more their vision slips away.
SPROUTS
The future rests in my utility room.
I peer in anticipation,
Hoping to witness the miracle.
However,
The stillness lingers
Until I go to bed
And it must be then
That the miracle appears.
The beat of life potential is almost palpable
Pulsating beneath the tender soil.
The energy of beginnings radiating from
The scent of raw earth
Speaks to me
With a soundless embrace.
Hundreds of them.
So fragile – delicate – joyous in their reaching out –
Trays and trays of hope on warming mats,
Close to sunny windows, secure enough,
So they won’t get pushed over
Or dug into
Or eaten
By the cats.
PLUNDER
The chickens are out.
After a long winter of confinement
They explore the land like Vikings,
Digging, plundering, laying waste to carefully applied sod.
The parade of ruddy bodies
Fat and feathered, wobble awkwardly after their leader
The one who chases me with neck outstretched -
Thinks I'm a wayward hen.
The treasure hunt becomes more complicated.
No more neat rows of smooth, brown gems in boxes.
The world is their nesting box
And now, I am the Viking.
I hunch down with my rough-hewn sack,
My spade a weapon to wrestle tufts of crabgrass
And thick weeds which hide
The precious bounty from my pillaging.
NAMELESS
Our favorite barn cat gave birth last night.
Four perfectly formed kittens -
Two dark, two light.
My children smiled down on them for a while,
Giving names that suited.
Today, we could tell there was trouble.
The huntress was pacing and agitated,
Yowling and upset.
We discovered her secret...
A fifth kitten yet to be born.
A delivery stalled.
Blood soaked the towels with its crimson bloom.
Tiny paws peeked out.
Hours passed, yet no progress.
It was time for drastic measures.
My eldest is not afraid of messy challenges.
She grasped what she could, and pulled the kitten out.
It may have been dead already,
Or it may have been due to the effort
Its body stretched out as if life had asked too much of it -
Already, before it was even born.
Nameless.
So as not to be grieved too hard.
INDECISION
Trembling little leaf,
So scared of dying
Congregates with like-minded leaves,
Hoping to stave off the inevitable.
Shaking and fearful, clinging to hope.
Confident in community.
Until
The hard frost swings its scythe.
A choice must be made.
Either stay here on the slumbering tree, in the open air,
Whipped by the northern wind and its death sentence
Or
Fall to the ground
And be covered in the comforting blanket of snow
Transformed into something nurturing,
So the next generation of life
Can find its roots.
MORNING HIKE
The crunch of my boot on snow startles a small animal.
Rustling underbrush and snapping twigs
Give evidence of its flight.
The trail is starkly white – icy and uneven.
Cold, fresh air pierces my lungs.
I’m awake!
I trudge through the drifts,
Shouldering my heavy pack.
Somewhere near, the scent of woodsmoke.
I’m annoyed
Because
I want to be the only one here.
Except for the tall, bare trees,
Silent sentinels,
Observing my passing,
I bow my head in respect,
And plod on.
LIVING
Plastic containers for leftover food
Placed in precision on the refrigerator shelves.
Boxed this and boxed that –
Life in a box.
Clean clothes folded and stacked,
Arranged in drawers – just so.
These square walls,
Solid and sealed,
Protecting me from the elements.
The furnace runs dry and hot
My bones crack.
No draft of fresh air,
No breeze to sneak in and tease me.
I long for a touch of the wild –
Anything to break up the monotony of normal.
Crouching in the woods
Foraging like an animal
Cooking over a fire
Eating the real things that the earth births.
Getting dirty and not caring
Wearing the same clothes for a week.
Exploring places where only the foot can lead,
Swimming where danger may lurk.
Living – not just being alive.
TUG O’ WAR
An icy stare raises the hackles of an approaching lover.
Cold, slender, winter fingers grip the Earth firmly, refusing to give up ground.
Warm winds wind their way around, caressing, stroking, pleading.
“Give up the disputed property – your lease is expiring.”
Her grip tightens with frigid urgency – “NO! This is still mine!”
A long, unyielding embrace of the Earth chills to the bone.
The lover’s hot temper flares as he reaches out with
Desire to what is rightfully his, with swirling winds and lightning cracking.
A shrieking gale flattens the
Earth as the woman releases her fury -
“Never! Never will I give up what is rightfully mine!”
Enough. Steady, radiating, relentless heat pulsates through in
Waves of shimmering warmth. Melting, softening – releasing resistance.
Spent, the woman opens her hands and blows the Earth a farewell kiss.
She recedes to her hidden places to rest and regain strength for the autumnal fight.
WAKING
I lay in huddled silence,
My husband’s arm a fallen branch.
The gentle rumbling of his slumber comforts me.
The cold, dark room tries to sneak under the covers.
I quietly roll over, peering outside.
My bedroom window becomes a stage.
Slowly, black curtains open to a gray entrance.
Gray bows out to indigo,
Indigo dramatically introduces violet, fuchsia, and rose.
Coral clouds prepare the finale.
Suddenly, gold reaches out, arms open wide -
Imploring all to embrace another day.
Everything is new.
