Tag Archives: young adult

morning poem, February 1, 2016

‘       All else may change But not the rain It echoes all that has gone before The golden field, the scarlet door Have vanished into time’s dark store But the rain is the same And it washes … Continue reading

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The Coming Storm

. I see it now The first fine dust of it Outside my window Far away, the horizon is lost In white haze. They dread it, those people on the news How many inches? How many roads closed? How cold … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, December 31, 2015

In the deepest wood In the steepest ravine The creek banks were red mud walls The stream was rocky here And he stepped from stone to stone Some solid, others rocking with his weight. . He was dressed for the … Continue reading

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Afternoon Poem, December 29, 2015

On a warm winter day A young girl runs through the wind She has lost her coat And her long hair is flying backward As if in exultation.   Her fists are tight But she smiles Certain that one more … Continue reading

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morning poem, December 16, 2015

‘   White rain falls The horizon disappears in fog. Rainslick blackbirds duck their heads And cling to rainblack branches Swaying in the wind.   One bird, his colors muted By the dark afternoon, by the drowning rain Launches from a … Continue reading

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morning poem, December 11, 2015

  . From far away, the houses on the hillside look perfect Winter’s bare trees, above and below Are unfocused: the grey upstrokes of the painter’s stiff brush But the red-brick houses are square, their lines even Their white shutters all in … Continue reading

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afternoon poem, november 30, 2015

.     The rain-darkened streets the sky a vague mist spindly oak branches black wet even the wind is non-commital Weak gusts, this way, now that. . And yet the leaves on the crab apple are orange and red … Continue reading

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Mid-morning, Mid-winter

‘   The dirty-white sky And far away The treetops, brittle and bare and even Like the fine edge of some giant’s brush Pushing up the horizon Away from the damp earth. . I think that the whole world is … Continue reading

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morning poem, November 13, 2015

‘ Opening My Window At 2:17 AM .   The cold of night The stars so bright The cobalt blue The streetlights, too. . The whispering breeze The frosted leaves A lonely car A trainhorn far.   Copyright 2015  

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morning poem, November 12, 2015

. The beeches and the maples are bare But the cold wind rattles the leaves clinging to the oak Like the bones of a skeleton, they are dry and brittle And have no joy in either day or night. . … Continue reading

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