Snowman

 

Stone cold proof
for the need of creation,
silent sentinel
of something sacred,
birthed by clumsy young hands.
 
Rising triumphant,
totem of the season’s mischief,
destined to melt
into the blooming Spring.
 
Made human
with patchwork features,
almonds and bruised carrot end face,
soggy stick limbs claim victory
over freeze anonymity.
 
Never again another snow pile
but a life,
fleeting like ours,
destined for the storm drain
or brown grass,
and leaving us with its joy.

December Night in New York

Still glows

with blue-black embers
smolders its whiplash twilight
 
sidewalks are a slush minefield
poorly navigated
in the chaos of the
unofficial winter night
 
the glow of joy is all around—
some plastic,
some triumphant hubris,
and we forge our own
North Stars
and assemble them
for decorations
 
we journey
through these throngs
like wise men
we will never be,
to welcome the birth
of unseen miracles
in our sparkling city

Snow Language

 

The salt spackle splatter
of plow truck dialect
 
marks our caravan,
frost-hardened
from the industrial grime
of the cold
 
this underworld of harsh
allows our cozy fireplaces,
our gingerbread
 
the cruel season
also powers the firebrand sunset,
gives rest and time for comfort,
readies the earth for blooming
 
but first
 
delivers the pain
to make us stronger
with the sting of chapped skin
and brown dim
of night-sky afternoons
 
let this freeze
press us into its service
as we rush headlong into our winters
grinding through hard truths
and ready for Spring.

First Spring Day of Winter

flush-faced

in a winter coat

awkwardly cloaked

among the joyful strollers

ready for the rains,

the torrent streams

to build again

and make green

calendars and numbers

tell stale tales

while the sky

maps a better afternoon

dreaming in real time

of new, verdant days

ahead

Dance of the Frozen Devils

the good marrow

can be ice and snow

as we clutch hands

and brace

against the windy cold

the warmth inside

feels better

with a thawing face

only after such blustery violence

do we find our place

drinking it all in deeply

the close comfort

leaves us sleepy

but we spark again

alive at the freezing source

to dance with fellow devils

joyous

as life runs its course

First Bite of Spring

The first bite of Spring

is the cool chill

that doesn’t sting,

is spying the last piece

of melting snow

with a smile and a wink.

The first bite of Spring

is to smell the coming bloom,

to see that slight blur

of color that promises

to unfurl.

To drink in the Spring

is to tread that dangerous place,

and yearn to soak it all in

before it burns our face.

February Spring

disjointed sun,

breezy strolls

where should be

lashing cold,

something broken

on an axis

rusted and old

false joy,

a gift poisoned

with a bad whiff

of heat damage

time slides forward,

a broken ride

swinging heavily

to an abrupt end

we keep our eyes sharp

to find

pockets of shade

to build our fortress

Winter Thrives

let it pain us to the bones

the wind like splinters

that fires the soul

solid strength

piling higher than snow

savor the chilled air

the frost breath

that finds you there

to chase the skies

to fight, to dare

the hard, the cold

is winter’s great flower

breathe it deep

to gather power

Winter Night

the sweet bite

of a hard wind

alerts a certain kind

made strong

with a sharp

winter’s mind

pace the cold streets

unbending

feeding glorious

waking dreams

unending

let us be

unbound warriors

burning for the night

made immortal

with the star-glazed

machinery of might

Quest for Cold

Bring us that air of steel,

the punching breeze

that makes us real.

Thrive in crystal bold

blankets of white

that let us draw from the cold

to give us might.

Let us have the joy

of breath like ice

a little longer.

Give us the season

that makes us stronger.

Winter in Queens

in warren dens

of clutter

dust mist

swirls a dance

as needle winds

scream past

draughty windows

burrowed

above the hard streets

where America gets molded

one rough day at a time

the rough clay

drawn from hard lots

crafted

over patched blacktop

and spotted sidewalks

scramble down

teeming streets

stop-go, packed-hell

commute

lets us daydream

our way

to destiny

Double Winter Anger Freeze

an angry glaze

on the outside world:

frost under foot,

hard ice hiding slickly,

snow air punches faces

crooked footprints

steals and preserves

our vulnerable moments

we can enjoy this

only when locked inside

our lives endlessly

tear and churn

the real world

will watch us

freeze and burn