Ode to Winter

I've always wanted to keep my writing hidden in books until some great unveiling much later on in life. But as I rework and digitize pieces I realize I want some of these to be read, to be shared, to be discussed, to be thought about, to be loved, and to be hated. I have worked years and years on countless pieces from haiku poetry, to prose, to short stories, to vignettes, to novels, and so on.

For the first piece that I will share with the abyss that is public I have chosen a lighter piece about the season that is upon certain regions of this globe. I find it quite fitting as this year will be the first time away from the daunting New England winter, but nonetheless, I am very much immersed in the season elsewhere. Either way I present:

Ode to Winter

That gloomy beautiful New England season peers over blue mountain tops

and the inevitable crush follows in the coming weeks

When the trees shroud bare

Revealing naked earth unbound by colors of spring

Black and white newsprint swallows the slow world of cold giants

And out of scraggily branches sulk iced telephone lines

Above tree tops the gray clouds hover

The ceiling of life sways in the shallow sky

In the brief moments of their absence

Dull yellow rays move across vast planes for an afternoon

The sun trembles with long bleak shadows securing a shortened presence

Ice caked forest and frozen concrete shimmers in the wavering light

And when the mysticism of warmth moves to another world’s summer

The stars that have been painted above for centuries glint in the chilled air

The winter man’s eye beholds such glistening diamonds

Puffs rise out of brick steeples in the blanketed lands beyond white hills

Dotting cozy caves glowing in the valleys under pine

In the silence of it all you can hear the mountains and sky breath into the wind

The exhalations lonely roams ever so daunting

The tension of the moon elongates the matter

As friendships briefly fade for the season

And backyard towns spark only memories in our minds

The dim kitchen light warms our bellies

With a hazy evenings wait providing flavorful bowls

The travels through hallways and stairways of our home

Has come to reflect the captivity with ill-faded colors

The walls seemingly set in fog

Sunsets are photographed through frosted window panes

And the following alien nights creak the wooden skeleton in the dry wind

A loving soul lies besides through Hecate’s deepest hours

Only to awake in a false summer’s warmth

Arising with soar joints to stand upon cold floorboards

We stretch our minds to embrace

The crystal crunch we humbly enjoy