Category: Winter/ Cold
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haiku for late autumn
sock hat, gloves and coat starry sky, walk in the dark crisp the silent night 12-2-20
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slow cooker
the last cricket played his bow I wondered if he knew night would bring a killing cold the moon was full and large but I did not stay outside to watch it wake and rise dinner simmers in the kitchen I read, ‘After Ruben’ by Francisco Aragon I smell it from my chair 12-1-20
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Sunny spot
Hot summer days I sit barefoot in the shade Cool fall days I wear long sleeves and shoes Seek the sunny spot In the yard to sip coffee and think of home Of sock hats thermal underwear, gloves and warm coats Of shoveling snow On winter mornings before school Of throwing snow balls At yellow…
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chilly day
a chilly day an old Idea past its prime we gained an hour don’t waste it rain washes air and trees and the sidewalk that leads to and from our door 11-1-20
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sitting in the clammy dew
Out under the trees where groundskeepers never go leaves stand thick around a bench with a cracked slat of faded wood On this foggy bottom morning I carry a notebook, a pen, a new book to read and coffee in my blue cup I sit upon the dewy bench sip warm coffee open the book…
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40 Degrees
Poem #4 of a Concrete Mary series Against the chill of morning I put on shoes and my son’s jacket Robins and sparrows scavenge seeds Call back and forth from fence to dewy ground In high grass along the fence A lone cricket chirps Squirrels and chipmunks in fur coats Do not mind the approach…
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Crystal halos
(for an old college friend, Terry – stay well, my friend; I will see you on the safe side of summer) ‘Crystal Halos’ This morning, a bird woke me with insistent calls of “Pick me, pick me,” outside my window I sat barefoot on the porch watched light shimmy down from tree tops to run…
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Birch tree
a birch tree grew in my neighbor’s yard I would peel paper thin bark write letters for the wind to read snow would bend graceful arches of slender limbs to ground the winter – when ravaging ice snapped it at its base I quit writing messages to the wind 2-23-20
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Iowa
When crows fly off to winter in Mexico the woods grows dumb with grackles in trees Flocks of pundits that do not give good omens or laugh at the straw men caucusing in the fields Buzzards take their place along the fence watch squirrels play in traffic hoping for a meal 2-4-20
My husband's poetry 