Tag Archives: winter

Afternoon Poem, February 16, 2021.

. The heavens are miserly this day Even with the snow The flakes blow sidewise In a mad dance I could count the petty few of them Even the sluices of heaven are frozen Like the doors of some abandoned … Continue reading

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morning poem, Jan. 28, 2019

The morning sun on the bare trees Dead in winter, but alive in the light

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Morning Post, January 24, 2019

It is not yet daylight as he opens the front door and steps into the cold.  His boots print the new snow along the driveway and the bare branches of the dwarf trees in his front yard cradle snow in … Continue reading

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The First Day of Winter

On the first day of winter he awoke and stood at his window and looked out on his fields wet with rain.  It had taken him longer this year to clean the banks and hillsides.  He no longer went at … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, November 21, 2017

  Outside my door the frost clings to limb and leaf To the grass and fenceposts In the morning sunlight all is shining white Only birds move, and they reverently In the frame of this perfect picture Their flight is … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, December 15, 2016

The winter light is white Not the yellow honey of summer But ice bright It shines across the frozen grass Blades upright, stiff as soldiers And plasters the east-facing walls Clean and cold. copyright 2016

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morning poem, January 14, 2015

    The winter sunlight bright on the water White riverboats resting at their docks Amplify the morning light, clean and clear Shining, Vermeer-like and silent On the mirror surface   Copyright 2015

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Winter Meditation

You wouldn’t know it to look at the pictures on the calendars or the stories in the magazines, but the best sporting around here is in January.  I doubt if anyone does it anymore, but back before the war, when … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, March 2, 2015

‘ THROUGH MY WINDOW   ‘ Through my window the world is silent, but moving Last summer’s leaves, still held by one side of the black oak shake and flutter against the last breath of winter People walk purposely along, … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, February 26, 2015

The snow now days old Is dirty and crusted. The streets are black and wet. The leaves on the oak are brown, as if rusted And there is no sign of spring yet.   copyright 2015

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