Fake Snow

A pale sun on a thin frost,
Winter was weak willed this year.
More than cynical, this season
that has seen it all and descended
into entropy.

As if bored with the whole deal
and sick of its own children,
Winter shunned January,
turned its back on February,
and waits now to pounce

on March, to pinch crocus
and daffodil at the first hint
of bud.  Disgruntled with doing
the expected, breezes blew warm
when there should have been wind.

It’s all a precursor of more gray,
I have no doubt. Even so, April
will turn its face toward May
and flowers will bloom.
There is no denying Spring.

Time Is the Longest Distance…

“Parting is such sweet sorrow…”
Will wrote, and he was right.
Alas, I, too,
must take my leave but unlike R and J,
I shall return refreshed and ready to catch up .
No sluggard, I, but duty calls me to away,
no far off destination, no exotic isle,
just mundane chores demanding of attention.
O, woe is me! Prithee, fellow bloggers,
I shall return…less than a fortnight
more than a week, I think.
Too soon to tell the span so causing
of consternation, but return I shall.
On a more modern note,
as MacArthur said,
I will be back.

See you in a week or so.

The Widower’s Valentine

In vestiges of dream, you are here again
beside me on this counterpane of down.
O Love, that tyrant Time, has lost its wings.
Ever young, you are here again to read to me
a sonnet from the Portuguese’s pen.

Your golden curls cascade as they did then,
ringlets twined and coiled escape their pins.
Rosebuds, shy but proud to be laced within
such radiant locks, glow with pleasure
at their lot.

My Valentine from heaven, may dawn be slow
in its arriving. Slumber, you will keep; this is no time
for sleeping.  The nightingale has just begun to sing.
Tomorrow, (he continued) I’ll awaken from this dream,
but for now, My Dear, you are here again.

Come morning, beside the cast off clay
where the widower had been,
there was a weightless feather
from an angel’s wing and a single
silken petal, new from a rosebud’s bloom.


Let Your Light Shine

For the sake of love
and love alone,
no  other aim,
in its celebration,

there is a spark
that does not die
nor fade to ember,
nor rise to flame.

Such is
the gentle force within,
the peace
when war surrounds,
the hope

of human hearts,
the warmth
of each beat’s breath,
Such is the saving grace
of man.


A Winter Set of Mind

Time, where do you go?
I turn my back and you
have flown to some far off land
that I can barely remember.

Those days of spring, we know
will come again, but now
I am a spectator
with a winter set of mind.

Who am I kidding? There is
no such thing as winter when
blossoms begin to bud
the limbs,

When the sun shines longer
every day, and night takes
early leave, subdued
by dawn’s pink blush.

Moon and tide and gravity
all have their pull, a certainty,
but an internal joie de vivre
will beat them every time.

So, if you’re feeling
a winter set of mind, delve
inside to where your special store
of light resides.

No matter how gray the sky is,
there comes a time
when a winter set of mind
gives way to spring.

The Sounds of Winter

Winter has its own alphabet,
its own vowel sounds.
Sorry Vanna, it is a whole new game,
a vocabulary that one can’t understand
in stilettos.

For instance, take ‘crunch’.
The hint that you get from saying it
is no match for the joyful act
of boots breaking the crust
of frozen snow.

The sound of biting
into a potato chip is entirely different,
a mere shadow of the sound.
It is all a matter of syntax
and experience.

And then there is ‘swish’…
The uninformed might think
that’s the sound of a taffeta skirt
leaving the room, but winter
knows that’s not so.

‘Swish’ is the sound
of tires, safe with thick tread,
in bumper to bumper traffic
displacing the slush of winter
while turning the corner with a ‘swish’.

And, those who think
a wolf’s call is a howl must never have heard
February wind announcing an impending blizzard.
The wolf’s call is certainly eerie, but
the wind makes a statement of intent.

The sounds of winter
are many and distinct, but difficult
to hear from the comfort of your car
with the radio blaring and a cell phone
glued to your ear.