January 19.19

 

Too old and crisped

to fight the wind

whose sport it is

to dizzy me,

I pretend

a diamond rink

in chassé with

Terpsichore.

 

 

January 16.19

 

Excuse me, Eminence.

I really must ask:

do you think you’re hiding

because of the mask?

Incognito

with that wing?

Camouflage

is not your thing!

You’re subtle

as an advertisement,

the scarlet feather

of self-aggrandizement.

 

 

With apologies to Nathaniel Hawthorne.

January 14.19

 

You don’t need a fireplace

to have a crackling blaze

there are other fires

that warm our winter days.

 

 

January 12.19

 

Breakfast is served

if you’re not too picky

if you don’t think slimy

pondweed is icky

if you’ll brave the snow

and duckgooseflesh

you’ll savor an entrée

delectably fresh.

 

(Well, at least I didn’t make any cold duck jokes.)

 

 

January 10.19

 

I would touch the stone

and read its hew

as the wind has done

and dew;

as arching cloud

reaches for sea

would I yearn toward this vastness

hoping it would touch me.

 

 

With many thanks to photographer Art Lindeman.

 

January 6.19

For want of a match

no fire is born;

fuel sits useless

cracked, forlorn.

Somewhere the match

explodes, flame-plumed

but dies in seconds

self-consumed.

Isn’t it so

in writer’s head?

We get cold splinters

in combustion’s stead.

 

 

Thanks more to photographer S.W. Berg.

 

January 2.19

Botanical high-rise

so long my wait!

your Christmas bloom

is a little late

but maybe you knew

you had my plan bettered:

to open with new year

in your own time unfettered.