Oddments

In search of story


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March 16.21: Coping

YESTERDAY

The gods of winter rose

against the fragile spring,

roared and raged in angst,

spat ice on everything.

The lilac buds all shivered,

the ducks could barely quack;

spring appeared forsaken,

winter had come back.

But winter gods, those bullies,

with eyes so cold and shifty,

know their days are numbered:

today it will be 50!

 

 


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March 7.19

 

When words die

and lie

lightly in brown piles,

and slatted benches

hold no one

in their arms,

will the stones remember

warmth

of blood and bone,

do they

hearth-like

hold the meaning?

Or does meaning lie too

in the dry brown

awaiting its ride on the scattering wind

leaving the stones to their empty cold?

 

 

Thanks more to photographer S.W. Berg.

 


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Connections: November 19.17

Like wingbeat

a million splashes

each the size of one cricket note

but together rising, falling

in hypnotic patter

tell the time

of in-between

neither fall nor winter

but cradling interlude

to hold the year

one minute.

 

 

Dear reader, ever since I started using this new computer, I’ve noticed that the photos in my blogs come and go. Sometimes they’re there, and sometimes they’re not. Please bear with me. I have no idea why the photos sometimes don’t appear. This one is supposed to have a photo in it, but it doesn’t at the moment. Perhaps sometime before the end of time I will figure out what’s going on. Or isn’t going on, as the case may be.

 


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Connections: September 15.17

I am so old

that I can remember

a time we decorated

only in December.

What were we thinking?

Why didn’t we see

the whole twelve months

celebratorially?

 

 

Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives

and to the D.J. Berg sense of celebration.

Connections