Winter grey
Cassius-lean, persistent
racks the eye
hollows the heart.
Spring peridot
damp, plump, insistent
declares a lush Heigh!
in gladsome
Puckish
impart.
Monthly Archives: March 2016
Connections: March 30
In the old house
meaning where I grew up
there was the swinging door
never closed in the same way
that other doors closed
neither latched nor locked
nor quite at rest.
This is the date
my son was born
my father died
and today
I think of the door
that swings both ways.
Connections: March 29
The keeping room
old-fashioned place
where all were held
in homey embrace.
Gathering, warming
by hearth and by heart
not valued for size
but as cozy rampart.
Predictable, safe
filled with the known —
it’s in my head now;
I go there alone.
It isn’t this tidy
compartmentalized
but rather like dreams
unrealized:
those who are now
and those who have been
and things that have rusted
and cracked and worn thin.
Things that I touched
with little girl fingers
kitchens and people
whose cinnamon lingers.
My keeping room holds them
for how long I can’t say
but I hold tight and hope
they won’t fade away.
Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives
and its Vernon Hill Gallery.
Connections: March 28
Can this indeed
become a leaf,
this hairy
pink extrusion?
Are these the
infant maples,
these shy demure
protrusions?
So innocent they seem
like babes
but they are in collusion
with all the other
newbies in
pollenical effusion.
Connections: March 26
Star-coiffed eye
bright Cyclops
beaming from
its humble copse,
silent canary
bravely first
dulcet fanfare
immemorially rehearsed.
Thanks yet again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
Connections: March 25
Look deep
a patient pillowy brown
abides
under raucous whorl:
the old woods’
tides.
Ancient story
of early-spring ground
expected
but still
never failing to astound.
Connections: March 24
Fuzzy thing
with little green wing
sightless
seeking light
plain deceptively
bursting imperceptibly
magenta
bunting’d tight.
Connections: March 23
If this be barn
I think to myself
the cows are milked
by gnome and elf.
Can such an otherworld
storybook mime
really exist
in this place and time?
If I tiptoe around
not touchin’, just lookin’
would someone say Kommen Sie
for warm apfelkuchen?
Would Goethe move over
the Grimm Brothers share?
Could I touch a past
so reverenced there?
More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
Connections: March 22
Home’s where you make it
be it ever so terran
a burrow’s a castle
if it’s yours for spring lairin’.
Cool muddy counterpane
perfect day bed
were it not for the neighbors
who stomp overhead.
Connections: March 21
The procrastination tree
with particular economy
in early spring forlornament
sports old Christmas ornament
unapologetically.
Oddments 