"She refused to be bored, chiefly because she wasn't boring." Zelda Fitzgerald

Friday, February 17, 2012

Poetry Friday: A Winter Poem

Happy Poetry Friday to one and all....hope you have a great weekend...maybe even a long one for those whose employers observe? Am still feeling a bit of the February doldrums today. The only thing that really seems to keep it seriously at bay is home renovation and cleaning projects. (Yes, I am a walking hormone riddled cliche.)

candle (Photo credit: JustyCinMD)

Every single weekend can't be a marathon of painting and dusting, sometimes other activities call. Am writing a winter poem today to boost the enthusiasm for the season that can not be entirely blotted out by home improvement projects and re-organization plans.

Winter’s Tail

The living room air smells faintly burnt
The ashy, cozy scent of December and January
Months of smoke whorling off the spacious mantle.
The frozen metropolis holds my mate and so
I sit here, boys in my lap, pacing storybooks
Watching winter pass, night after fiery night
We light the hearth to launch my husband home
Post-dinner sparks to return our human cannon-ball

There are mad, snowy caterpillars crawling all our sills
Green tips on the potted lemon taunting in the sunroom
I clatter all the dishes loudly, shuttling them into a rinse
Then kiss children dream-ward and I drain the tub
My sponge swims tired whorls up the sides, the air
Still enough to hear the drain gargle away to a hiss.
I pour myself a sultry cup of solo chai, drunk feet-up
The spoon's final pass is the sharp ring of a holy bell.

The house does the jig of the season, panes rattling percussively
A hilarious interruption of the silence, lest it all feel too still
I dim the couch-side light elegantly, a candle burning on the table
I swathe my hips in the couch throw and imagine the train hurtling on
I check the back porch switch and watch light fern on the walk
And sit listless with my book reading that same line over and over
Until the back lock chatters and suddenly he stamps in grinning,
His hair all twisting whorls dusted with the glint of sugar snow.

If you want to read other poetry contributions, original or that real, published, high quality stuff....jog on over to Gathering of Books for the round up of great links. Its a good way to tell your brain TGIF.
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