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

I know It Will Be Spring


I know it will be spring

When the geese take up and leave

Yes, they’re beautiful graceful things

Their droppings though my peeve


I resent the season

Migration filling skies

A calendar with reason

Even so tears my eyes


Autumn, but a slant of change

A casual cool correction

Beauty in flight high and strange

Season’s savage intersection

I remember the sun

On its loving summer arc

Children ever on the run

Sleeveless in the park

Grown to love warmth and ease

And even winter’s thaw

I see the cold an ugly tease

Catching me bitter and raw


Every day the feathered armada

Noisily hugs the shore

Summer is persona-non-grata

And I want it all the more


A Love Letter to February


It’s late I know

But the challenge was there

Write a love letter

I love you because

From 15 – south

Comes warmth

Even as the wind howls

Whipping Persephone

In lustful agony

I think it’s love

For I forgive

Your harsh cold

Dashing happiness

On the ashes of my

Invincible summer


I do love your silence

Not a sound from

Letters marching freezing

Over snowy mental-scape

Defying order

Scratching for purchase

Among the warm sacred

Hoping to build

Images in minutes

I know I should hold

You at arms length

You have mastered

The look

Into my eyes

Pacifying  desire

With a 40˚ faux spring

Senses in turmoil

Deaf to the rumblings

Of interrupted cruelty

The ultimate head-fake

The warm hand

Cold heart

The 40˚ offering


Even as you run away

Laughing and sunny

Hiding behind

The cold equation

Of the season


I am blinded by degrees

Of hope

Even as I know you

The Butcher

Of Beauty