The ice skaters turn and glide slowly
On the frozen ice
Oblivious
To the hunters, returning along the wintery road
Dejected and downcast
but the skaters go on skating
In their own little circles
In their own little figures
Some following and some leading
Under the grey, expecting sky.
Pausing at the outskirts of town
And looking at the scores of windswept roofs,
The lines of the gables braced against their burden
Of snow, falling sporadically,
Covering and blanketing.
Looking to the deceptively happy skaters
And those in the carriage or out on a walk
The happy cries of young playing tag on the ice
The hunter only notices; he can see the town differently, too
Huddled at the base of the hoary mountains
Rearing their stony snow-covered peaks skyward
Looming grimly, as the merciless wind blows about their feet.
Ravens sit mockingly in naked black trees
Rent of their covering leaves and stark against the snow
Or they wheel overhead, crying out harsh notes to the bleak crags.
Windows shut tight against the frost which daintily graces them.
The dirty, downtrod snow by the side of the road
Chilly air, in which his breath shows so well
And he scrunches a little deeper into his threadbare coat
And trudges after his miserably gaunt dogs
After his tired companions
Returning to a worn town
Bringing back only fruitless memories
Leaving behind only hopeless footprints.
Posts Tagged ‘Wind’
Hunters in the Snow
Posted: October 15, 1987 in PoetryTags: Circle, Dog, Happy, Hunter, Memories, Mountains, Naked, Raven, Road, Sky, Snow, Stone, Trees, Wind, Window
Tempest
Posted: April 30, 1987 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Earth, Leaves, Light, Love, Rain, Rock, Storm, Thunder, Wind
Cool wind whistles through the eves
Caressing, searching, rustling leaves
Over the horizon the storm does rise
A tempest which is reflected in your eyes.
A seething mass of whirling cloud
Approaching and reinforcing doubt
Resounding claps of thunder peal
With what forces do we deal?
Frightening fury, boiling mist
Natural power clenched in a fist.
The rain lashes like the Furies’ whips
From me identity and joy it strips.
Clutching at supports through blinding rain
A blasted shell is all that remains.
Yet your love is like a beacon through the storm
I see you beckon; my respect is shorn.
Caught in the deluge, unprotected like all
It is only the sound of your name I call.
Despairing yet hoping that I can hold steady
My energy depleted, my hands are bloody.
Beaten and battered, your light I look
Calmed though the supports of this earth shook,
Subconsciously surviving, the sky astray
Storms raging the heavens, turning them grey.
After it passes, the wreckage is assessed
Only to love can my survival attest.
To you I clung while the rocks were sundered
The earth split open and the heavens plundered.
This is only a calm before the hurricane
If you hold on to me, is there courage to remain?
Let me die, let me perish below
Into the never ending abyss I shall go.
When there is a crisis and you feel forlorn
Love can rescue you from the storm.
The Conch Shell
Posted: April 9, 1987 in PoetryTags: Beauty, Conch, Echo, Mermaid, Naiad, Ocean, Sand, Sea, Secret, Wind
Walking on the beach
I spot a shell.
It is beautiful
So I pick it up.
I ask politely
Do you have a secret to tell?
To the conch
In my hands I cup.
I hold it carefully
To my ear
Listening for echoes
And the pounding of surf
But that’s not all
That I wish to hear
A remnant of
A mermaid’s mirth
Splashes above
The ocean’s roar.
Startled I look
Hoping to see
A pretty naiad
Or a galley’s oar
Yet there’s only wind
And sand and sea.
My moment past
Set the conch gently
Don’t bruise the colors
Or break a spine
Leave it for someone
Else to come presently
And let them wonder
About their find.
The wind goes round and round the earth
Never slowing, never stopping
Seeing millions of people and millions of places
And rushing by, always in a hurry.
Always exhilarated and fresh, rejuvenated;
A harbinger of weather to come
Or a refreshing feeling, stirring the heat
Rounding the sphere we call home.
Moving, shifting, changing, revolving
Don’t you wish you could hitchhike?
The Ballad of the Coffee Stirrer
Posted: March 7, 1987 in PoetryTags: Blue, Fly, Grey, Life, Love, Memories, Nature, San, Sound, Trash, Wind, World
Upon the dusty linoleum floor
Lies a discarded coffee stirrer.
Weak and useless with a hollow core
Its memories only a blur.
It lies in wait for something new
Stepped on is a way of life.
A bottle cap with stripes of blue
Joins it in its strife.
Upon the ground, unnoticed by us
They stay without complaining.
Surrounded by motes of dirt and dust
Dents are all they’re gaining.
Lost and lonely, sad and forlorn
A plastic tube is all
What respect it ever had is shorn
In a world where all else is tall.
A bottle cap, just useless trash
Carelessly thrown away
It still feels humility’s lash
It’s chrome is dulled to grey.
Cap and straw, sitting together
Upon an unforgiving ground.
Hoping to love each other forever
Without ever making a sound.
But wind and nature will have their way
No matter what you can try.
The hollow straw was blown away
And a kid let the bottle cap fly.
So now among the piles of refuse
Present in all the world
A bottle cap’s silent tears break loose
And a straw is broken and curled.
Nature’s Path
Posted: June 1, 1985 in PoetryTags: Cloud, Fire, Force, Grass, Lightning, Nature, Night, Storm, Tree, Wind
Nature’s Path
Of conflicting forces;
From first to last,
Eternal voices.
A group of trees,
The wind is coming.
A gentle breeze,
Inaudible longing.
The clouds are rising
Upon the wind,
Scarcely realizing
The danger within.
Within the glade
The wind is stirring.
The grassy blade,
Secrets burying.
Pressure building;
Night grows near.
Lightning flashes
Its threatening leer.
A fiery streak
From the sky;
A burning tree
Is the reply.
The storm is passing;
The damage is seen.
Burnt trunk lasting,
Disrupting the scene.
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