Winter’s march

 

 Snow
 White
 Fluff floating
 Veil of frost
 Kisses the ground
  
 Cobbled streets
 Shelter cold dust
 From icy breath
 Virgin white tendrils
 Crawl through fissures
 To bleed grey at asphalt’s edge
 Into swirling wisps
 To dance amid dead leaves
 November’s final breath
  
 Snow
 Ice
 Pellets beating
 Crystal powder
 White wave crests
  
 Country roads
 Ribbon through field
 Drawing shapes
 Upon whitened plain
 West winds hasten
 To erase the disturbance
 From dead cornstalk stubble
 Crawls the cold to reclaim
 December’s annual demise
  
 Cold
 Still
 Frozen solid
 Alabaster
 Blanket folds
  
 Janus reigns
 This lunar cycle
 Facing forward
 Looking back
 Icy mass settles
 Imposing paralysis
 Civilization defies
 This humbling reproach
 Of January’s regime

 Then in February's throes despondent 
 Cloaked in illusions and blanket warm
 An accidental correspondent
 Weathers the remaining storm
 To March, when crocus stir from slumber deep
 And frozen tides will soon abate
 Still much of life remains asleep
 More melting they await  

Hibernation

On southwest exposures the icicles weep
Crystal  walls to form this winter keep
of snowy caverns for those who sleep

For days that Sol should grace the skies
Cast dancing prisms before their eyes
The light captured in these pillars gleam
and pass unnoticed by those who dream

Within their burrows the hearths still burn
Neither day nor night do they discern
as they await the fertile earth's return

Aching for the comfort of her womb
with fruits of her harvest they entomb
Evade the touch of that frigid breath
and there remain, even unto death

For nights within night the shadow will fall
When earth and sky, in darkness all
Hear the restless breath of snowy squall

Behind glacial windows the flames shine bright
like flickering eyes in the night
The crystal walls of this winter keep
hold their watch in darkness deep
for all of those who choose to sleep

No one

on the predawn airwaves
awake and alone
huddled about heat vents and blankets wrapped
while the house still sleeps
sharing waking hours with the milkmen
the furnace wheezes and sputters
the coughing fit of fevered dreams
in unquiet slumber of vague dread
between two states of being
and in neither understood
the native grows foreign
spoken freely to deaf ears
it could have been different
if only you had let me breath
anonymity is precious to shield the projection
when they think they know who you are

Psalms for nihilists

wave form visualizations
form and reform
vague shapes ever changing
like smoke into a bottle
mostly inert with little active ingredient
inescapable encounters with the unfamiliar
pregnant with rationalization
and projection
malice or sympathy
either untold
we should assume indifference
when anti-matter comprises most
of everything that is

Rex pupa

Our treasures are not staked
in the coin of your realm
Our labors more value
than the price of your swindle
You think that you rule us
but you're all owned yourselves
The only difference
now we all know