Skip to main content

Winter Barters

Chopped wood brings soup to boil.
Hungry nights bait steel eyed traps.
Evening light tugs at velvet shadows.
Summer poems travel under woolen wraps.

Frosty panes obscure coy pleasures.
Sizzling onions infuse a kitchen’s bouquet.
Gray days savor old love letters.
Rusted fenders feed a salted way.

Simple soups honor last summer’s labor
Razored winds chap purple lips.
Barren snow banks beget spring flowers
Arctic nights hang with shimmering slips.

Cluttered coat pegs announce new company.
Comatose hound runs in his sleep.
Sappy boughs pop a fiery chorus.
Stealth rodents cruise with nary a peep.

Winter barters settle around us,
shuffling softly as a saffroned nun.
We strike the bargains to inspire
that lackadaisical solstice sun.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend

  Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend And life a faithful pillow - a pillow to go flat, a spirit to drift off,  glaciers to melt and raise the sea. The blueprint is clear - Expect a tiny storm of mercy–  full of crows and bottle flies to debride the corpse,  to tithe the land.      And respect the putrid demise - things that fall apart make space for miracles.   Yet there persists the memory of breath rinsed in lavender and salt air. Then the dreams for blood and semen to revive, to metabolize  every tired, sad gospel into a hatch of octopus. Death confesses everything as she conjures her necrosis, as she feigns redemption, fools us with false devotion. She believes our defiance will set her free.   We must let grief to be the thread and needle to darn the rend, renew the cloth. then we can grasp the nascent green of winter wheat in spring.