Friday, January 15, 2010


Slash of scarlet
bird in a mass of gray twigs
deer, like tree stumps blend
at rest on a cold cotton mattress
bough to toothpick painted
to the edge white to the tip
heavy laden and bowing to their Maker

a robin living on the piece of
startling green by the septic tank
picnic tables smothered and flying creatures
clutter and waltz at the feeders
sunless months our skin
as sallow as the sky
quiescent neighborhoods hibernate
in primitive search of warmth

on the silent journey
flakes continue like fairies lacking restraint
in a freefall to earth
circling down slower than gravity allows
and sometimes a tuft is released
from a branch carried by the cold
across our path in the unchanging
quarter pattern of the Ohio winter


Anonymous said...

I inclination not concur on it. I assume polite post. Expressly the designation attracted me to read the intact story.

Poetikat said...

You paint a wonderful picture with this, Diane. I liked this very much - especially the first stanza.

Ruth Hull Chatlien said...

Beautifully evocative. I loved the line "our skin as sallow as the sky"