Friday, January 31, 2014

CHURCH ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON

There's something holy about being in a room in the
Anglican church on a Saturday expressly to study poetry...it feels
sacred on so many levels, makes the words taste sweeter somehow.

Thursday, January 30, 2014

FULL MOON RISING

It's supposed to be huge; bigger than the Super Bowl
that's all over the news, all over the TV, everywhere
you turn actually. All one can hear about is this biggest
moon ever that's supposed to wax full and rise tonight.
The sky is as clear as a newborn's skin and I've been
waiting impatiently to see it, but there must be some mistake. 
The stars are brilliant but there's no moon tonight...no Luna at all.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

WHISPERS ON THE WIND










The wind is harsh tonight, filled with Arctic cold and polar iciness;
and when it howls full of gustiness and more winter to come, I hear
your voice, barely a whisper, in my ear, trying to tell me what it
was you needed me to know there near the end.


Tuesday, January 28, 2014

AUDREY'S BOOKS

The wind whips me wildly as I stumble from my car to the
store...It is lit up like Christmas even tho' it's just an ordinary
Tuesday night and I'm only going there to browse for books.The warmth I feel is fireplace-worthy at least.

Monday, January 27, 2014

IN THE EVENING









We settle in, content to be cozy in front of the fireplace,
letting the winds roar around the eaves, as we watch
television comforting in its familiarity.


Sunday, January 26, 2014

SUNDAY MORNING CHILLS










Waking to Sol blasting bright as summer, I am fooled until
I crack the back door to let the dog out. In seconds, winter
blows into the kitchen with the force of the polar ice cap
reminding me, it's still January and winter's not even half over.

Saturday, January 25, 2014

NOTHING TO FEAR
















In the dimly lit room, manufactured shrieking is matched
by a tiny girl's terrified cries as her father tries to prod her
nearer the exhibit. It is gruesome in the extreme. Realistic
plant roots that, when grabbed and yanked, reveal a shrilly
screaming devil-baby extruding from the ground. Shuddering
I turn away, more upset by the parental performance and
the child's torture than anything I've seen on display.