Watermark

March Sonnet (1991)

The full moon glides across winter's night
as February now concedes to March,
the month between the seasons, fickle skies
that now are mellow, now are cold and harsh.

The crocus tentatively tests the air
that taunts with whispered hints of summer warmth;
the daffodils, the tulips, debonair,
all toss their yellow heads with wanton charm.

But winter only rests, it does not sleep
and bears still hibernate in mountain caves.
The snow will come again, and cold and deep
will bury woods and gardens many days.

So treasure this fine darkness. Take your time
to sleep and dream till March makes up its mind.

Sunroom Orchid

Vertical

A large bird flies over the skylight. Friend Abigail sees a flash of light; I see the wings' dark shadow.

On reading my Solstice Letter, Abigail observes that most people live their (busy) lives "horizontally", along the surface; but I live "vertically"; that I have the time and space this requires.

Time. Space. The gifts of illness.

Later, I find this at Vivid:

Lent

go out
    into deep water

A Little Silliness

Athena


?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

I got the same result as scribblingwoman, even though I did the quiz three times, changing some answers to still-true but not-first-impulse.

I doubt that those who know me would say I am "Easy to get along with, Easy to understand"; but perhaps I am wrong.

Winter Graces

Three Comforts

I have received much welcome encouragement lately, just as my energy began to fizzle. First, Erin, whose work often consoles me, found my poem Secrets "a comfort": Vivid - Erin Noteboom: Two comforts.

Then I received an email from a man whose writings on haiku have kept me constant company over the years.   He had discovered my Small Poems, and wrote to tell me:

I find the web site delightful . . . I did explore some of the other pages, which seem to have some fine writing, though not directly related to haiku. . . I like the work very much . . . your pages are elegant.

He gave me permission to quote him here, and said "sign me wordfield."

Then, yesterday, the most surprising of all: Fried Man: The littlest microbe:

Just for the heck of it I've decided to link each day to a low ranking interesting microbe in the N. Z. Bear's blogosphere ecosystem.

These people are the lowest of the low and I figure they need all the help they can get.

Today was slim pickings - I actually had to go back past some of the blogs I rejected yesterday. But I found two. Normally I only do one per day but I like both of these and I make the rules so I can break them. Here's the second.

Please welcome, Watermark. Right now you are blog #7,779 but one link from here should jump you up a few thousand places. Hopefully I won't be the last person who links to you.

Watermark is something a little different - a poetry blog.

    There is light now
    in the mornings. . .
. . .

Good stuff, no?

Also consider some super-short poems, "The moonlit field is haunted by the brush of hunting shadow wings...", and a short meditation on ducks.

Check it out - it's good stuff!

I am astonished by all this good attention, so pleased I'm pink. 

 

Eve in Winter

February

There is light now
in the mornings. I wake
away from my dreams.
It is snowing. Trees
stand straight, colorless
against the white sky.

I cannot seem
to begin. Snow
fills the corners
of my house. Silent.
Glistening. Ice
on the mirrors.

I have been
in winter forever.
I cannot see
your face. Frost
blurs the pictures
in their frames.

 

small poem

     awakened
by freight train whistle
     the full moon

snow

   

the shadow
     of snow
     on snow