Winter Song

holloway overhung with ancient trees n Cornwall
This entry is part 27 of 28 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2013

 

Insidious winds will blow,
and rain or sleet come down
to blur the fields and try
the patient shoots
that bide their time
beneath the loam—

And waiting seems so long,
and spring too far away
a memory of easeful time:
even the tree whose roots I’ve
coiled indoors into a dish
knows it is time to shed

what remnants it wears
of green— Austere
the habit of the season,
a growing lean. Cast off
the surfeit, give away.
Lean on the longer days.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Wintering

holloway overhung with ancient trees n Cornwall
This entry is part 28 of 28 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2013

 

Snow must be falling in darkness,
frost filling every crevice and vein.

Rain must be washing the curve of the coast,
sleet making cutouts of houses in town.

Someone will drink from a cup too hot to hold
before settling into night’s thick pelt.

Someone will press a forehead against a window
to see what aspect of weather has mantled a field.

Whose roof last glinted in sunlight? Whose boat
last pushed off from the pier in a glittering wake?

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.