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SPRING – Vol. II

Swans overhd

Comes in on muddy skids

Ignoring the calendar

Shaving its low gray brow

Undercover of a high cloudy sky

Wet with anticipation

It comes in when you see & hear

The great white flock

Of tundra swans

Trailed by a few dark geese all

Bellowing goodbyes

From overhead

 It comes

The day you’ve had enough of

Of ice and frozen bones

The day you refuse to acquiesce

To your bed until the sun breaks the spell

Shaking off the coldest month

In the history of keeping warm

 It comes

The day you throw

Off winter covers & sing songs

Warm enough to overtake

The sorrow that is homemade

And unnecessary

 

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MARCH 3rd

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It’s still here; winter

Marching to that clove of seasons

We remain road-kill

Frozen, run over by ice and time

Clutching fingers stiffened releasing

Any vestige of warm memory

And all the light

That winter allows

To see war as it is

(Not the misguided

Miscalculations of man)

But nature’s

Mysteries of the obvious

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NOTHING COLD CAN STAY

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Today it will not be 60 degrees

A headline ripped from the

Tabloid of terrible weather

 

Hard to stay current in cold

Trying – even with chilly headlines

From the Gray Lady

Words in search of life beneath

Storm-gray water, brown mud that has

Rolled over unsuspecting souls with

Other places to be

 

All engaged in the struggle for

What was…

Blinking in disbelief at the instant of

What is …

And no clue as to

What shall be…

 

And the headlines

With their harsh reality prove

All the truth a soul can bear

 

Get up!

 

Stop flopping around

On that dirt floor of self

Screaming at the injustice

 

As if

Nature’s earth-shaking,

Watery bells

Are ringing the catastrophe

Of fear and suspicion for the first time

 

Get up

And do something