The Exchange

Playing the Exchange

Yes, it's beautiful
this landscape of white
broken by the dark tree lines.

The wind howls
the snow accumulates
like bull market profits
only to later melt down to a trickle.

Logging trucks tear up the dirt road
jeeps slide down,
otherwise silence,
cold slippery ground

and isolation--
anthropomorphized into a punishment for sins--
each roof-chained icicle is a bead
on winter's rosary--
fingered in penitence
melted into the spring of forgiveness.

Pilot Light Moon

Pilot Light Moon

The old woman wakes in the full moon night
to the sound of a cat
bird in the lemon tree.

Feet on the floor, glasses
found, outside
into the dim lit hills.

Above, Cassiopeia,
beneath, dry leaves, the scrape of bricks
against bare soles.
Within, a flame flares
as if her feet were a match against the rough.

Past the well
around the pond
into the woods where
under the branches of the ancient maple
where the squirrel sleeps
she lies on a bed of moss
and dreams.

photo courtesy of Willow. Read more poems and stories based on this photo at Magpie Tales.

Overlooked

That day
we set out at noon
when the sun was high and warm,
Maisie, Tunisia and I.

Harold had cleared the pond.
We heard the scrape of his shovel
up to the house. Mama
bottled hot chocolate as we
gathered our mittens and
sharpened our skates.

It was our last winter together, we three cousins.
Maisie soon married a man from Alberta, Canada
where she proceeded to have twelve children
and five dogs.

Tunisia contracted tuberculosis,
was sent to a sanatorium,
and never returned.

And I, I took my camera,
the one Harold used that day
to capture us,
and moved to New York City.

You will not have heard of me
though I did well in my time,
the little camera a heart beating
in my hands,
my eye, awkward at first but later
sharp and witty.
As good as Imogen Cunningham I was,
just overlooked.

Photo courtesy of Willow. Read more poems and stories based on this photo prompt here.

Storm

Storm

Brush laden with Titanium white,
the master pointillist in the sky
paints,
dot-dab, dot-dab.

One snow drop after another
kisses the earthen canvas,
until the path is buried,
the branches bowed.
dot-dab, dot-dab,

Winter birds huddle in the cedar.
On the porch, the old bell
chimes in the wind,
a slow, somber tone,
dong, dong, dong, dong.

At dusk,
the painter
caps the tube of paint, scrapes the
pallet, cleans her brush
in the swift immortal stream,
satisfied and complete.

an exercise to use these four words: bell, kisses, immortal, branches. Otherwise I would not have used the word "immortal" which was a difficult one. Too heavy.

A slight abnormality

Her eye turns inward
seeking the truth.
One tooth is missing,
no nutcracker on the left.
A scar graces her ankle,
lawnmower out of control.
Her heart is aflutter,
perhaps it is love?

Her body--no centerfold-- is yet a work of art.
It does not chart a path by
rules and regulations,
formulas and protocols.

Her body evolves, flows, spirals and,
like a river,
finds its own level
in the container called life/death/life.

That Part of You

The crescent moon
waxing behind clouds.
The ice,
thin crystals separating
pond sludge from air.

One leaf clings to the branch
flutters
and lets fly.

Away, away
tumbling across the crust of snow.
So fragile

ephemeral
like the ephemera you collect
that part of you
sensitive, artistic
hidden behind rules and regulations,
tightness and fear.

Now, a scrim forms between you
and what you might become
inviting surprises
inviting a different path than envisioned.
What do you see? What do you see?

Off Course

Our sleigh was horseless,
paint peeled, rusty runners,
the name all but worn away.

Our ride was harried,
steep upward climbs
gleeful downhill careenings:
a wintery marriage.

A hot passion:
the twang of your guitar,
the flare of your welding torch,
the scratch of pen on paper.

Amber liquid, glass after glass
tender eyes shifting to pain.
For ten years we slipped and slid

and then:
the steering broken
the crash echoing among the hills.

Photo taken and shared with us by Willow. Read more poems and stories based on this photo at Magpie Tales.