poetry, eh?

I've been debating for some hours whether to do this or not- but what the heck; what's the blogosphere for, if not shameless self exposure? Just ask Deanna and Vanessa!

Yeah, I've dabbled in poetry. But like others, it only seems to come when I'm miserable. Not writing these days; too busy.

This was written for a woman who was not there. She never saw this. The event was exactly as described, but the romance never happened. This was the 56th written for her. Musta been pretty miserable, huh? :-) She's gone; but the day and the poem remain, and I have Spice and Smidgen to walk with now.

  Fifty six 11/12/96

I can see nothing lovely
that does not bring you
at once
beside me.

This morning it was the year’s first hoar frost
and true winter’s first sunrise
slowly raising the curtain
on my woods.

all the silent twigs
covered in crystal mirrors
threw a thousand tiny suns
in every direction

and each step I took showed
yet a thousand more.

A bluejay oddly kept the silence;
but landing on a top branch
shook free a cascade of sparks
drifting in dream motion
down and through.

then to bind it all forever
a young eagle
not yet bald
came slowly
skimming
only twice flapping
in frozen air,

wingtips just above
treetops;
spreading
three
calm
screams
into the still.

and you
walked beside me
through it all

Did you know?