Snow

A gentle falling
Of so much down.
A sleep, a dream, a cloud.
The muffling of sound,
Winters silence.
A sleep and a dream of clouds.
But waking is no dream,
This cloud’s not what it seems.
I was asleep in this dream of clouds.

The Plight of Penguins

Aimlessly we are marching towards the sea.
Forcing luck, we say we’re bound to blue skies.
We’re told there’s no ocean to hear our plea,
Vehemently we strain our wings to fly.
Skies above: the opposite of shelter.
What’s left blue, now grey; a common constant.
“At least no rain!” says snow in mock laughter.
We gather against the raging onset.
A killing edge formed between tide and shore.
We are many swallowed and few returned.
They are waiting for us, whom we adore,
There are mistakes some fear we can’t unlearn.
In spite of our current plight, we press on,
Surviving each day till the next new dawn.

My Favorite Season

I long for the days to grow shorter.
The heat to fade and the cold to grow harsher.
Spring only leads to summer, and fall not close enough,
Throughout the year, too much tangled up stuff.
Give me the storms and rain and snow,
As long as their wind remains cold.
Until the sun grows cold and gives us less light,
I’ll pretend I’m sleeping, I’ll pretend it’s night.

She Contemplates

She is the watchful in the dusk,
While we’re the waiting.
She stands in the forest dark,
While we’re preparing.
A friend of the ravens and the leaves,
Of melting snow and fallen trees.
Patiently we wait for her to awaken the bees.
Sleeping winter wakes
Springs fluttering eyes, their first look take.
And we the waiting
Gather the first flowers her bees pollenate.
While she, watchful,
Of where to send her first rain,
She contemplates.