Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Memory Stamp

a dinosaur amid digital funds
i enter The Bank
pennies rolled in my pocket
passbook in my purse
it amounts to little
in or of interest
     but
if their digital data dives
down into oblivion
i have my paper passport
to not enough money
to pay for much of anything
     anyhow
stamped on the pages
is more the memory of money
of entering The Bank
passbook in hand
peered at by tall tellers
    who
welcomed allowance in but not out
deposited not debited
not even for that very special
something
saved up for
weekly plus pennies accrued
over time in miserly interest


Saturday, March 28, 2015

Another Snow

The old snow
stiff as ice
yesterday,
lured creatures
out of holes
to think spring,
climb around,
shed patches
of fur, down,
musically
twitter, sing
                 spring
                          is
                            just
                                 around
                                           the
                                   corner.

Friday, March 20, 2015

A Flurry of Spring

The geese are wearing snowshoes
on the first of spring in March.
They crane their necks, and look about,
and cackle, "Should we go back south?".

It's that time again!

Just a couple of weeks until National Poetry Writing Month! I will post my poems in my blog and at the NaPoWriMo website.


http://www.napowrimo.net/

Sunday, March 1, 2015

March

Light snow drifts like smoke from clouds.
The garden plan looks good on the paper
white as the snow on snow.
Is the raised bed three by six?
Four by eight?
The garden
waiting in expectation
for spring's nurturing . . .
snow white hoops arch over
hint at the garden buried for now,
Light snow drifts like smoke from clouds.

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Last Day of February

melt water trickles underfoot
cold white sun lights my face
winter wind still blows

but there is hope

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Winter: Dusk

Dampness in the air
hints that spring
lurks somewhere
under all this snow.

But the cottontail
is still and watchful;
he ekes out meager meals
of fallen seed
beneath my bird feeder.

I will watch for him
to not return,
like the dove spurning the ark
when it found dry ground at last,
only then will spring
spring unfurl.






My earlier poems are still available at Poetic Splatter .