2.26.2014
black escalade stuck
in the snowbank
bleach blond driver
tight on her cell
when you’re going
sideways
four-wheel drive
don’t mean nothin’
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2.26.2014
black escalade stuck
in the snowbank
bleach blond driver
tight on her cell
when you’re going
sideways
four-wheel drive
don’t mean nothin’
————————-
2.23.2014
celtic bangles plaited
through their intricate
meanings
of lives and gods woven
together, into the tapestry
of creation.
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2.22.2014
a dozen deer leap across
the road, through two foot
snow, to disappear down
the hill and on out across
the length of the frozen
lake.
sheer joy. in numbers,
grace, frivolity, solidarity,
natural flow of family.
brothers, sisters, aunts
uncles. whatever.
do they think of it as we,
or does their attention
raise to some different
calling.
the great elk that summons,
enobles, lightens their
load, sharpens their
instincts, warms through
the shudder of their silken
flanks.
for each a life and a life
force. voices of the One.
————————
2.20.2014
serious snow, not fooling
around. branches touching
down to the ground.
serious blowing, wind downing
trees, time to stay home
and say pretty-please.
———————
2.19.2014
watching steps and tastes
taking care to enjoy yet
not overindulge
so simple to say, so
long unworked, the
years adding
pounds to inches to
sighs and persistence
of thighs
until the scales and
pain say slaughter
weight
and the prospect is
all too clear for
piggies
and bacon is not on
ones own menu for
a future
nor the heart attack,
back attack, pain attacks
track.
so step away from the
counter, put down the
greasy spoon
better to have snarfed
and lost than to become
the snarfee.
————————
2.18
whiteout winds cross the
highway, ice track grooves
twist tires, treachery by
nature limning what we
can do whether we know it
or not.
cars strew backwards, slide
swipe, fling wide into the
drifts by centrifugal forces
that four-wheels into drive
scatter
on moving sideways.
so carelessly we assume
we can handle it all, as if
explorers of profound
power, rather than
lillies of our own valley
gone to seed.
caution, caution, step lightly
little tiger, lest biting things
arise
to put you in your place
as a puppetized player.
—————–
2.17
dry cracked deep frozen fields
wait for snow that may never
come to save them
at least not in time
I wait in my hotel room to watch
my son sing a song of sixpence
while the crows flee the fields
for warmer clime’s and mothers
mourn the distance.
it is a hard world where crunch
dried clots of earth can take
a farmer to weeping, and grace
appears oddly without asking.
———————–
2.16.2014
kitchen smells, toasting
oats, oils, sugars, sweet
nuts
grandmother kitchen
aromas, cookies and
kuchen
a small child licking
fingers of buttered
sugar
small doses that tell
you heaven is real.
you can taste it.
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