January 2025
Doug Brown
dwbrown49@gmail.com
Bio Note: I have retired. Writing poems allows me to concentrate on a page, often for months that often ends by tapping the delete key. But if one piece works it can be a type of joy. I wish you all well this winter.
 

Full Moon, November
for Lee Bergman

Laying under a quilt mother stitched
Each night under the final diagnosis
Suggesting brevity.  Barbed anxiety rips
Raw flesh.

Moonlight slips through open blinds
Bathing an African violet silver
As animals prepare
For a long winter

A winter he will not see.
A science he lived weighs anchor and
Drifts as a fragile teacup and settles,
Glazed with roses and thorns,
Beside the violet’s clay pot;
A silver ocean blankets all comers warm.

Songbird, Winter

Fly away
Little bird,
Fly far away.
Winter
Is on the prowl.  Your
Autumn melody
Waking dull ears
Again, and even now.

Silage has been put up.
Howling winds
Fill our chilled bones.
Ice blankets the ground.
Upwelling sparkling cities
Crackle under foot
Listening into this day
Awaiting your return.

©2025 Doug Brown
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