Monthly Archives: December 2011

YEAR’S NADIR

Reclaiming what is mine but metamorphosed, different this time– a stretch sometimes to know that everything’s all right as waning light washes out the winter day and flaming glow grips silhouettes of things on the horizon low and daylight hours … Continue reading

Posted in Poet''s Rally, Poetry, Seasons, Week 59 | Tagged , | 16 Comments

THE HALF-GLASSED QUESTION

The proverbial glass half-empty or hall full did not stop to ask whether empty might not also be free, spacious, full of possibility. . . or full , quite confiningly heavy, burdensome, with hardly an inch of wiggle room. . … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry, POETRY PICNIC GOOSEBERRY GARDEN, Week 19 | Leave a comment

WINTER MORN

low slung sunshine slants down– a zing from blue above. . . beneath my feet– earth wet and grassy spanning, grounding– a squishy firm support, earth’s wintery, watery love and I between the two spark forth in just my very … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry, Quick reads, Week 19 | 4 Comments

REINDEER NAMES

Remember, little reindeer, the ones who call you reindeer names, may, in a day or two invite you to their reindeer games– be patient with them.

Posted in Poetry, POETRY PICNIC GOOSEBERRY GARDEN, Week 19 | 2 Comments

DECEMBER

Poor of light and poor of warmth but rich in dying, bright-colored crisp-baking, -frying last-gasping, slowly falling leaves. . . poor of time and oomph to complete the ordinary, every day and the celebratory tasks which are the year’s end-month … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry, POETRY PICNIC GOOSEBERRY GARDEN, Seasons, Week 18 | 9 Comments

WILD

Wild +++++the patience +++++of one +++++whose maintenance is rich +++++the boredom +++++of another +++++whose dream has sat so long, +++++it’s getting quite an itch +++++the crestfallen feeling +++++of disappointment +++++of not being seen +++++in a simple peek-a-boo +++++when the grown-up … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry, POETRY PICNIC GOOSEBERRY GARDEN, Week 18 | 2 Comments

SNOW

Snow a dream near my home so rarely ever falling maybe once when I was still growing my home canyon’s white blanketing– and I think next, decades hence– of flakes, perhaps a smattering while I was gone from the scene … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry, POETRY PICNIC GOOSEBERRY GARDEN, Week 18 | 1 Comment