Winter Meditation

Winter’s eve drawing nigh,
Dark clouds hover, January sky,
Fading firelight, flickers gloom,
Dancing barefoot ‘cross the room.

Huddled shadows hushing night,
In your arms hold me tight,
Sharp-edged snowflakes fall so still,
White frost clings, nearby window sill.

Longing for what’s not there,
No comfort found, my rocking chair,
Sitting still, motionless,
Holding on, memories caress.

Brutal cold winter night,
Full moon shining, oh so bright,
Sitting still by the fire,
Surrender there, all desire.

Winter Paints December on Lake Erie

If you look closely, you will see
The masterpiece Winter painted
Along mighty Erie’s shore
In the darkness, well into the early morning light

You will see his fondness for ever so subtle shades of gray
How one by one he bends, sheaths the tall ornamental grass
In rounded silvery whiteness
And how he paints ripply footprints at the water’s edge

If you look closely, you will see
The fluttering gulls in the distance
Seemingly small, yet not insignificant
Every detail a pixel of life

There’s more, if you look closer
If you’re willing to brazen the biting wind
Like the pile of jagged sticks, and mossy green rocks from summer
Now a single creamy white ice sculpture

And if you hold your eyes and heart wide open
You can read the painter’s signature
Written in the battleship gray sky—
December

Ode to a Snow Storm

Whispy flakes of snow dart about
just outside my office window
Their helter skelter determination impresses me
Though I can’t but wonder why
in this world, obsessed with management and control
there are no snow architects to guide the flakes
in their building of monotonously white mountains
that will invariably snarl, strangle and suffocate our poor cars
as they endeavor to take us homeward
Hopefully before the price of gas hits 4 bucks a gallon

Attitude most certainly makes a difference in life
and it does when it comes to dealing with snow jobs
including those inflicted by passive-aggressive co-workers
and Mother Nature herself, who claims her right
under some dubious 28th Amendment found in the small print
of THE Divine Universal Constitution–
a book yet to be published in a language I comprehend

I’ll do my best not to question the Divine Right
or Left for that matter
What are politics but nasty boils on our behinds
that no matter how we sit, we feel their pain
So we stand, waiting for the snow to end
while the fools, fruitcakes, and boil-butted lunatic drivers clog up
the exits, intersections, and interstate entrance ramps
For what reason I ask?
Perhaps to see the evening news, reporting what we already know–
a nasty snowstorm has hit Cleveland
making the evening commute home miserable, and
if you missed the weather at 6
you can catch the talking heads on Facebook 24-7-365

Needless to say, I have kicked off my shoes
and let the fools honk and curse each other
while I sip a flavored coffee, nibbling the last of almost stale Christmas cookies
And who knows, maybe I’ll nap till 7
and dream of cities with winning football teams
and places where the sun always shines

Note: Thanks to Jennifer Dillinger at the Cleveland Clinic for the idea for this poem

November Songs

Rust colored leaves
Lonesome naked trees
Waving branches, wild dancing fingers
Reaching upward, gray skies, dark clouds above

Early snow, sparse gatherings here and there
Thin streams of streaky smoke
Lazily drifting from red brick chimneys
A sorrowful wind howls cold and lonely

In the distance, two bright red cardinals
Chirping November songs back and forth
Songs of plenty, winter solitude, thanksgiving
Melodies reunited strangers sing

I hope I never forget
How October brought us here
Just to hear the wind
And strangers sing November songs