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Free Verse
Smog Retribution
To-day
the heavy heat is visible
clinging like molt
to veiled birds, bewildered flowers,
the cat stretches endlessly as a python
beneath a chair,
the old stones of the house remember lava.
I turn on the fans and hear Icelandic geysers
steaming the air.
Aproned ladies in summer kitchens
once faced infernos to make pies,
I reach for salad and water,
green betrayal of old cuisine,
wonder if the fields will resign,
curl up and wait another eon
while we feed them our failures
with our bones.
End Of Year
Heraldry
There are the reds
and greens,
return-of-light blood on field of renewal,
the white of bare bone trees
rooted in brown composted life.
No rattle of leaf, shake of sheave,
only the wind's banshee lament.
Saltless tears of a grey-eyed sky
pooling frost-white
on bowed heads below.
Illusions Of
Transformation
I melt with the
icicles
leaving the eaves in silver stealth,
running away from the gated porch
into riverward rivulets
gathering into crusading creeks
toward frond-flagged banks,
dreams of liberating launches
opening winter prison.
Everything stretches,
trees lift unladen boughs,
earth claims resistless snow patches,
the sky is higher.
Rocks exude locked spirits,
shimmer with un-limed genies,
purple ghosting of unborn wood violets,
un-peeping of longing tree frogs,
water-wishes for new life
flood the ruins of winter.
Restless as the ice-freed river
I need to wear willow catkins in my hair,
believe the eternal lies
the warming winds whisper.
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