poetpotter

Another owner of my mother's original home had built a new house, and the old one was going to be torn down. Before that happened, the owner contacted the family members who had lived there and invited them for one last look.  This is what I wrote after I'd learned of the last visit. It was about that house that I visited as a child, what I remembered, and what I thought might have happened in the mean time One last moonlight A vacant house          dim as moonlight’s glow      in its west windows bare of brocade and lace once a proud house shelter from the heat and cold rain and snow hosting games of hide and seek laughter and song Sunday family dinner its doorpost etched with children’s growth a notch for every measure wooden stairs worn smooth by a hundred pairs of feet tearful good-byes at the front door thistle and wild carrot grow where civilized gardens flourished a...

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...

Even though we had a light snowfall this week, there are still many leaves to shuffle through as we walk down a street or sidewalk, as friends and I did in Paris, Ontario, this past Sunday. Fall, or autumn, as it's also called, takes us from summer to winter in a relatively short space of time, it seems. And so, as I think of the leaves, I'll share this poem I wrote in a poetry challenge with Poetic Bloomings Leaf Falls Softly No imprint when you land on grass and sidewalk or when blown about by wind and sodden by rain there’s a forgiving softness in your landing a hush before winter’s coming The only time you make a sound is crunching crispy under people’s feet and children’s play in piles of leaves. Enjoy the colours, the sound of leaves and pull out your warm jackets, hats and mittens. Boots too. Enjoy the outdoors as you're able.  Announcing my poetry collection, Travelling Light . A light-hearted look a...