Repositioning the Id

The new year
is about to turn a page;
the month for lovers is upon us.

The weatherman is calling
for snow. We salute the ground hog
wishing

he could be
more revisionist
instead of mere reactionary.

Come hail or high water
we wear time on our sleeves.
The heartbeat of extravagance;

a new day
laced with celebration
of great expectations.

Caught in the grasp of winter
and hoping for spring,
we stand at the door

waiting to embrace February.

Continually New

Oh those brilliant days,
promised and soon here,
as soon as the polar vortex
has done its thing and gone.

How predictable the unpredictable;
the cold has chastised one and all.
Snow is on the way again, too soon
to hope it is the last one of the season.

January’s icy fingers have grown
gaunt and mean, even the gentlest breeze
is a sharp retort. Just seems there is
a lot of spleen to vent.

Take heart, my friend,
this winter is wicked, it’s true,
but the earth is turning its face toward spring
and the sun is continually new.

Gently Used

Bargains galore,
slightly used but gently,
aisle after aisle
of cast off memories:
Estate sales
Gifts that didn’t fit
An emerald ring
with a history untold
Fine crystal
imperfect with its tiny chip
but still with a sense
of elegance–
that rainbowed glass
like the bargain hunter
in the faded dress,
peering into the prism
of her past.

Considering Perfection

a perfect soufflé
and the hill
is hidden in ice
another cancellation
you’d have to be a snowman
to endure a day like this
grrr to the brrr
but wait, maybe
there is hope for it
keep the sun, even at a slant
save the scent of pines
flocked with snow
keep the quiet
and the expanse of white
come August when the heat
has reached unbearable
let your mind wander
to this winter day
and sigh
at its perfection

The Adjective Objective

Oh, adjective,
your pretty shades,
though resistant to fading,
have bled my noun
into oblivion.

What once stood tall —
a house turned mausoleum,
passive in the haze of ornament —
leans into the wind
with creak and clatter.

Nothing is so profound
an adjective will not alter it.
Careful now, use two
and the comma
fights for dominance.

Precision is what matters.
The measure of the merit
is like winter mercury;
“cold” hardly suits
in the midst of this gelidity.

Shadows of a Season Passing

Bare limbs and bird song…
The sun finds gold in newly fallen snow;
another week of freeze until  February.

The lore of a groundhog is a grand distraction.
We feast on the fruit of our labors. No need
to rue the withered bloom; spring will come again.

Treasons, tensions, masquerades;
seasons pass.  Each must take the litmus test;
how much difference will it make

a hundred years from now?
Priorities evolve, dissolve; trends change.
Pray we pick our battles wisely.