Sunday Morning Kitchen
February 3, 2014 § Leave a comment
it’s a blinding light cast
across the wooden floor
sending a sky full of dancing dust
upward and spinning
it’s a cup of black warmth and steam
between my palms
with some cinnamon because
my dad always makes it that way
it’s a soft paper floating
from hand-to-hand
dancing around the table
so everyone can catch-up on the news
it’s the refrigerator’s gentle hum
a heated stove-top whistling
a gurgle from the dishwasher
a beautiful appliance symphony
it’s a proud glass window
with fingerprints illuminated
showing off the outside landscape
shining light on our eggs
standing on my backporch at eleven pm after a snow storm
January 31, 2014 § Leave a comment
silence and a soft cold
the yellow landscape
tricks eyes into thinking
it’s dusk, highlighting objects
that go unnoticed most nights
at eleven pm
and a whispering echo
moving from north to south
gently lifts moisture from the ground
glittering
and moving quickly
like a school of frozen
fish in a pond
of yellowy light
it sends ice on a journey
of purposeful patterns
of bending and swirling
and pieces too small to see
touch your face
their cold surface pricking you
for only a second
before melting away
to another place.
Existence
January 26, 2014 § Leave a comment
Standing with your forehead facing west
your feet sinking slowly
into the watery sand
and your eyes trained on the brightest star
falling lazily from the sky
sinking slowly like your toes
into the shimmering mouth of the sea
that awaits hungrily below to swallow the day,
it’s at that moment, when the star seems to rest,
for just a bit, on horizon’s edge
and a line of light traces where the silky pool
meets the sky,
and earth’s edge,
perfectly curved and round, appears
and for a second
you remember
you’re standing on a planet
floating in a galaxy of rocks
among a vast confusion
of time and light
in a foreign universe of matter
dark and violent
enigmatic
and miraculous
and then you blink again,
and it’s nighttime
and you’re back on earth.
Cold
January 19, 2014 § 2 Comments
It’s going to get cold tonight
according to the birds,
and the bits of frozen rain
beginning to fall.
And it often does this time of year.
But the cold tonight is somehow different
because my house is especially quiet
and my walls are especially thin,
but just for tonight.
The wind brings the cold and
I can hear it, the wind that is.
Better than usual because
I’m actually listening
and Saint Sebald is searching
for stillness, to no avail.
It’s not angry, or spiteful.
Nor jealous or guilt-ridden.
Simply powerful. A howling
that is much more triumphant
than tyranical.
A cold that speaks not of barren
tundras, shivering bodies,
but of an awakening. An urging.
Seize it. For the cold too, will pass.
Tree Wonders
January 14, 2014 § Leave a comment
I wonder about the tree outside my window
and how long it’s been alive
and marvel at the way it almost touches the sky
and I guess it does
people say I’m tall, but I’m nothing
compared to the tree’s majestic height
I wonder what it thinks of all of us below
how small and insignificant we are
scurrying back and forth
as aimless as ants
does it wonder why
we are not still
and I wonder about its roots
extending through the earth
in purposeful patterns
but making the tree
inherently still
unable to drift as the leaves do
that gently escape from it each fall
does the tree wish it too could drift
away from all it’s seen below
or does it pity those who will never know
the wonder of staring at a single sky
but still seeing the world
Anomaly
January 12, 2014 § Leave a comment
Even though it is winter
I must be very clear,
I do not want to talk
about the weather, my dear.
Your complaints, they are often,
my patience is not,
so I implore you to please
not involve me in your thoughts.
Not that I don’t value
your researched opinions
of how the wind chafes your skin
of how you couldn’t find your mittens.
It’s just that I want to hear
something that’s more of a thrill
a topic that doesn’t involve
the weekend’s incoming chill.
Am I being too direct?
I’ve been so lately when I speak,
but it’s really not my fault,
you see it’s been raining all week.
Joy’s Whisper
January 11, 2014 § Leave a comment
a happy spirit,
who feels the wind,
cold and gentle,
prickly,
who finds peace
in skin that shivers
and hair that dances
in circles and patterns,
who exalts in its trembling
whisper, moving
across the surface
of crowded cement
and lazy pools of water,
rejoices.
For the wind
makes life
change, and change
will not cease,
as long as a spirit lives and breathes
deeply and exhales silent waves
of joyful wind.
our lonely meadow
January 9, 2014 § Leave a comment
once upon a clouded night,
peace fell from the sky
and your dahlias,
quietly sighing with dew,
were its only witness.
the peace that was
crept away to abandoned corners
and showed its face
to those who listened,
singing to them in quiet tones.
the peace that was, lived calmly
among your slowly blossoming dahlias,
painted red with life
and surrounding us in simplicity,
though we were blind to its call.
the peace died calmly
as your flowers did
upon the birth of autumn
and its glow was not missed,
as though it never lived.
a wind once danced through fallowed fields
and brought us the song
that slowed time and made us shiver
and the quiet resurrection
felt like a shower of hope
that covered our faces
as those raindrops did, gently landing
in our lonely meadow.
rosepoems 