December 2024
Bio Note: I’m am writer, photographer, painter and printmaker. My visual art has been widely exhibited. I’m the author of three novels and my poetry has been published in a number of literary journals, including Verse-Virtual.
Nov. 2, 2024
Orange October,
like a russet leaf,
has fallen and lies crumpled
on the ground.
The house is chilled
this morning and,
nudging the air aside,
I move from cold room
to cold room, taking stock,
making marks in the dust
on the furniture.
There is a fine melancholy
to this waiting, this anticipation
that brings on a twitch, a shivering.
Outside, men in grey drift by,
heads down, hands stuffed
into jacket pockets.
I don’t want to think
of another season passing.
I don’t want to think
of the raw drafts
that bleed through the cracks
in this old house,
reminding me
that as winter approaches,
a bleak darkness awaits.
I don’t want to think about it.
At all.
Winter Wind
A mixture of snow and rain. We sit here, in the house, grousing about the two months more of winter we must endure. What is there to hope for? That the days will get longer? That a new year will bring new beginnings, peace? Right now, I’ve gassed up the snowblower, moved the shovels next to the doors and compulsively listen for the furnace to kick in, while outside our windows winter rattles us with its rendition of Chopin's Etude OP 25-11.
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