In the Gallery

snowy branches

 

Winter’s brush, with frozen bristles

Decorates the thorns and thistles –

Weaves her words to paint a spell

That beautifies the weeds as well

As ever Solomon was dressed

In kingly robes and royal crest;

Her art, expressed in silver tones,

Becomes the flesh to drape bare bones,

Makes beautiful the cold mundane,

Declares the glory of her reign.

I, who humbly view her show,

Am lured, enraptured by the snow.

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Doing the Math

sprucebranch

 

And so we wait,

Wind crunching numbers

Multiplying grievance, dividing winter

Days into fragmented ticks of a frozen clock.

In addition, only the sum total counts;

But the square root of snow

Is a water molecule,

And so we wait.

Grading on the Curve

plough

He who puts his hand

to the plough and then looks back

will never plough straight

***********************************

Wind-carved furrows on the open prairie

Listening

frostyashtrees

 

Soft and still, the silent snow

Speaks in icy syllables –

Rosy cheeks and tingling toes,

Hibernating miracles,

Children carving angel’s wings,

Jingling sleigh-bells, frozen breath;

Holidays and lights on strings,

Life in temporary death.

 

 

Falling Asleep

frosted leaves

Turn the lights down low, my love,

And tuck me into bed;

Frost has woven wintry spells

To crown my sleepy head.

Snowy blankets settle soft

To cover drowsy toes;

Hibernation croons its song

While frozen dreamscapes doze.