Holiday

I'm going to take a break from new writing for a while. After some recent focus on poetry, the prey ("poetry" anagram: "to prey") has been kind of reticent--basically, I've been trying to write a "good" poem, which is almost never a good idea--so I need to focus on other things until it comes out of hiding. I might post an old poem or two, just for fun, but don't look for anything new for a while. (I know, that really ruins your day.)

Snow Ghosts--IN PROGRESS

Snow ghosts
sifting down from warming boughs
in powder shrouds,
small echoes of the storm that passed
this way.

This seems somewhat weak on its own; wondering if it might be combined with the "Snow Days" piece from a few days earlier, or some other piece.

Early Spring

A slightly different version of this poem appeared in The Morpo Review in 1995. (I have to admit, this particular view of spring is not the best one to present right now, when you may, depending on your location, have had just about enough of winter.)

Blue sky's an intrusion
when the cloudy dims
and branches softly wave
their welcome to the rain.

Then the sun's a stranger,
and the yellow light
is hard upon the poor old snow
that waits for water cold
to wash it down the drain.

Rain turns all to smoky day;
the grey clouds close my eyes
and turn me
back in memory
to moors unvisited, and that grey rock:
green lichen on the craggy rough.

These tired beginnings
are like sleep:
When seasons change
we want just five more minutes to remain
ourselves
before becoming something new.

July 27, 1995 - January 20, 2009

Any Plant That Grows

Slight, but worth it (I think) for one line.

Any plant that grows,
sometimes,
you just don't want to step on.
God knows, the world has weeds enough (and thyme),
but let's be honest:
There are days
when nothing is accomplished,
and even in a parking lot,
a seedling trying to make it
earns our praise.

June, 2006

Everything Reminds Me Today -- IN PROGRESS

Everything reminds me today
of dreams I can't remember.
These quick and poignant jolts
are disappointing catapults
that throw me when they fling me
nowhere.