Camera frost  crystal trees

   

                                                Guy

On a Bus Headed North

20 below, everything fades to white,

fields stretch to a white horizon

each tree, woodlot is rimmed in frost

and the white non-light still holds

against an unseen dawn.

On the snow mantled farm the

red buildings bleed to rose,

the yard light shines like a grounded star,

and if I could stop and walk

up the long path, pass the granaries,

the black on white piano key

repetition of fence posts,

would I be a mysterious guest

a magi, or merely home?

But we continue north to a grey,

shuttered city, waiting for spring to come

and open it like a can.

Sometimes a Falcon is Not a Single Edged Sword


Magpie eye, magpie mind, always tempting fate

a blue black jester, wings arched in a graceful fall.

Time and the world conspired to create

violence and beauty wrapped in a strident call.  

King among cattle, nothing you won’t steal

a lonely egg, fallen chick, any sad mischance,

life offers so many, for diversion, for a meal

There’s always your own agenda to advance.

Yet at the height of your triumph, in fading light

another blade equally hard, equally honed, took

you broken to the ground, only one shape ascends

two ill fated lovers launched on one final flight.

And I found your feathers here by the foot

of the power pole where the fence ends.

                                                        Guy