Wednesday, March 30, 2011

 Camera frost  crystal trees

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

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.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

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.