Category Archives: Seasons

The Challenge of White

26 Thursday Jan 2012

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Poetry is a fleeting thing and anyone is lucky
who can touch it.
James Tate

Clouds drawn by wild horses have passed by,
their thinness of breath brought a message to me.

Bright, burnished wings beat into blue,
beat into ice, ice-blue sky.

Sitting in shattered sunlight,
light through the window onto the page,

snowy, white empty page, I am here
trying to catch the wind of winged horses

shining crystalline in the sky.
I am here trying to say

what flight feels like
and what I love as it passes by.

Cross-country Skiing

26 Thursday Jan 2012

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looking around
you keep in mind the profound
surface of things
“House, Tree, Sky”, Martha Collins

Burnished with a hard blue wax, my skis
slip into these woods—the jack pine,

the juniper, the spruce. I’m learning
to glide, to relax, to pole,

not push, in the two-lined tracks.
Deeper into the woods, cold

whispers between purple shadows;
a cardinal in the throat of winter

holds the world stark white
against himself and sings.

The air, like a mint,
is formal.

The contours of winter, nearer
the deeper I go;

and the stillness I am skiing through
deeper still.

Bleue et Blanche

26 Thursday Jan 2012

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Starting over…
Thousands of drifting white beginnings
Showing me a new life inside myself
And the blue jay returns again

For my son Dave who left me this poem he wrote one winter
day when he was twenty-five.

The snow falls on earth
blanche.
A jay sits on my window ledge
dressed in blue.

C’est moi,
Je suis bleue et blanche,
I am blue and white.

Snow falls in my heart
La neige tombe dans
mon coeur,
but
I dance
doucement, comme une etoile,
softly as a star.

Je me dishabille
de bleu.
I undress myself
of blue.

Winter is the season when:

26 Thursday Jan 2012

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Capricorns are born
the moon washes its face in snow
train whistles are wrapped in scarves
my Scottish Terrier needs stilts
travel agents come at a premium
rabbit tracks record their escape
insulation is a must
the eaves of the house grow necklaces
the road leads to the ditch
and trolls cross the bed covers
comfortable in the house.

My Older Sister Can Harness Snow

26 Thursday Jan 2012

Posted by in Coming of Age, Seasons, Weekend Weather Chapbook

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for Shirley Ann Sidman Hogan
Shirley descends the stairs into the living room
riding in a sleigh of snowflakes and bows
from head to toe.
Her gown sparkles with the light of her smile.
Her date in his stiff tuxedo stands below,
hanging onto the newel post so as not to be
carried away in her drifts.
The front door thrown open they haul the sleigh
into the gathering winds of the night
and glide off together.

From behind the chair in the corner of the living room,
I emerge to climb the stairs—the steps
bare of any glitter now—
and walk through my bedroom to the window,
open it, and pull myself out onto the bare
limb of my tree where I linger

and then lunge toward a star
that will love me.

Still Life in Minnesota

26 Thursday Jan 2012

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As morning slides into afternoon,
I watch from my window
the waning moon, white
over the maroon trees,
flat against the thin blue sky
like long-ago figures
pressed on felt boards
in Bible school.

When the sun slips off
to someone else’s room,
west in the Dakotas,
fading forms
play against the walls.

Night arrives. Darkness,
my only guest,
dims the trees
and crowns my roof with stars.

Winter’s gone daft again

26 Thursday Jan 2012

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laughing hysterically
on the hillside,
shedding its cold
like the constriction
of winter clothes,
running naked
out the door.
The pregnant sun
is about to deliver
spring, and words
written before winter
poke through the snow,
some having rooted will flower,
some will not. As usual
the crab apple tree
awakens
like a beautiful princess
unfrozen from her last dance
blossoming once more
and I am jealous
all over again.

Iris in Spring

26 Thursday Jan 2012

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From green-ribbed
carriages,
one petal
at a time,
iris descend
for a brief visit;
wrapped in purple
shawls and lavender
gowns with deeper
purple folds,
they form
a procession
across the lawn,
and at their throats,
they wear jeweled necklaces
of ruby laced with gold.
Now center stage,
they ravish us
with their formal colors
as if they were showy sopranos
about to hit a high “A” note
on opening night at the opera.

Suddenly, a Midwestern Spring

26 Thursday Jan 2012

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Willows—
light green branches stir in the breeze
Rain—
washes the cracked ground
Christmas wreathes—
withere on front doors
Front doors—
stand ajar
Classic cars—
emerge from under tarps
Geese, geese—
so noisy we can’t hear ourselves think
Small boys with bats—
swing, trying to puncture high cotton clouds
The pond’s face—
melts its frozen frown
Naked fish—
appear in the undressed stream
Chickadees—
know why, know why, know why
Our spirits—
greening like the grass,
Our breath—
invisible again