Poor little pansy!
It tried very hard
to bring some springtime
into the yard.
Unabashedly sunny,
its bright shiny face
promised big change
with diminutive grace.
I’d rail at the winter
my dander bestirred,
but I know that the pansies
will have the last word.
Thanks yet again to photographer S.W. Berg.
Apple walnut cinnamon pie,
winter oven, my, oh, my.
Syrup’d slices, cinnamon dust
rise through nose to memory’s must:
oilclothed table, rolling pin,
floured apron, floor and chin,
pigtail peelings, glowing stove,
maybe nutmeg, maybe clove.
Coming in from bitter world,
boots well stomped and scarf unfurled,
amber warmth starts deep within
like radiator through my skin.
Kitchens of the long-ago,
swathed in early evening snow,
hug me still because I spy
apple walnut cinnamon pie.
Huzzahs and thanks to photographer S.W. Berg,
and kudos to dessert chefs at McCormick and Schmick’s, Virginia Beach, VA.
What memoried fragrance arises from this photo!
As this hectic season hurls us into next year,
I wish you, dear reader,
some sanity from a warm and spicy kitchen.
Hey, cold robin!
It’s winter! Did you know?
You think “early bird” means
worming in the snow?
I get that winter’s
the first sign of spring
but you’re pushing
that red-breasted harbinger thing.
Child-tree
frail, lithe
bids the good-bye light
stay.
The grasses lend their wool
musty-hued
but night
and winter
will be.
Many thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.
A Michigan winter is very white
wrapping every thing in sight
with cotton.
The snow relentless after fall
summer’s distant warmth is all
but forgotten.
Thanks to Mary Jo Bassett for this lovely image of Michigan winter.
Black on grey
Dies irae
mourning tree
suppliantly
lifts its sigh
to snow-choked sky.
Good-bye, January, at last.
January ends!
Huzzah and hooray!
This dark dismal winter
creeps on its way
to February, March
and perhaps some sunlight
away from this ominous
sunless blight.
I’m counting on February
and know I will stew
if someone sneaks in
a January 32.
While winter creeps in
cold and unfeeling
the pet bougainvillea
cavorts to the ceiling
scoffing at frost
in leafy profusion
flaunting its tentacled
optical illusion.
More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives
and applause for the D.J.Berg Green Thumb.
Like winter water
mocking the sky
with the truth
of its own dullness.
Like winter water
damned to eternal slowness
seeking
somewhere
to be warmed.
Like winter water
so cold it numbs itself
stops blood
takes breath.
So memory
leaching warmth of the present
with winter water
of the undead past.
