poetpotter

Deep in winter, when everything is frozen hard, you'll know the feeling, I'm sure, of bundling up to keep warm when you do have to go out. Scarf, hat and mittens. When the trees are coated and the rooftops are layered with snow. Here's how it feels... The Cold Creaks Buildings creak and groan, it’s so cold; snow crunches under boots, shoes and tires,   hard-packed freezes words as they are spoken all that warm air escaping into the ether —frozen ether People hurry up the wind-scoured street wearing hats of fur, fleece and fabric hands in mitts, hands in pockets, scarves around neck, nose and mouth catching all that warm air to breathe back in but some brave the bitter cold foolishly with coat unbuttoned, unzipped no scarf, hat or mittens to keep them warm Will the cold wind whistle in their ears, freeze their fingers, freeze their nose, and frost their hair? will their breath turn to icicles— no scar...

Our winter is on its way out, I think. Signs of spring show up weekly. Buds on trees, a sighting of robins, green stems in the garden where flowers bloomed last spring. I'm ready for the warmth of spring and the promise of new growth.  Having said that does not mean an end to the snow and cold temperatures just yet. How I wish I had a photo to show this, but you'll have to imagine it through my words. This little poem was published by Good Times magazine several years ago and I still like it. I hope you do too.   Indigo Ocean Streetlights trail the sinking February sun even their glow cannot dim the sky tonight a vivacious quarter moon   blooms beyond its borders a jet winks and streaks past glittering stars sprinkled over an ocean   of indigo ink

photo by C. Wilker Today it's snowing, just the light snowflakes borne by the wind. Tracks in my backyard make me think that some rabbits in the neighbourhood had quite a time in the crisp clean snow. We could ask, what if they had a party out there, but I think this was a smaller gathering or one rabbit frolicking around having fun, making his own tracks. Then I think of fields covered with snow and of corn stalk stubble showing through. When I was small, we always seemed to have a lake in one front field, a place that was lower than other areas, at least  until Dad hired people to lay tiles to drain the water from the surface and draw it away. What I remember is skating on the small body of frozen (not deep) water with corn stalks poking through at intervals. Dad brought a few straw bales out from the barn that we could sit on to put on our skates. We played hockey or just skated around the stubble. My memory in a poem: Frozen weeds were goalposts where...