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Bits of Poetry

~ Linda R Davis, Raven of Peace & Poetry

Bits of Poetry

Monthly Archives: February 2018

If Snow Could Form Into Tree

24 Saturday Feb 2018

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aspen, Aspen Colonies, Aspen Trees, Dreams, God, Mothers, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Shades of White, Spirits, The Perception of White, White, Winter poem

If snow could form into tree,

It would be the aspen.

Snow, one of a thousand

shades of white,

The perception of light and brightness–

And Spirits, rising up like like colonies,

Covered in it. The snow. This aspen.

Our hopes. Our dreams. The good dreams,

That is. The ones where fairy god mothers

Float down and save us.

Did you know, aspen bark heals?

They say it takes away pain–

Like a friend, a lover, my mother

rubbing my back until it burns.

And, like a child, that’s what I want it to be.

Yet, its naked trunk rises like winter–

So unafraid, so unalone,

So rigid, intractable and distant.

Yes, if snow could form into tree,

It would be the aspen,

And the cold, white stillness of what seems

A winter that won’t go away.

Winter Hurt

22 Thursday Feb 2018

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The aspen is still again,

Its arms are bare again.

Yet, the small sound of chimes,

betrays a slight breeze–

As a coyote makes its way,

Through the snow, to our barn.

The wolfhounds pick up her smell

And there is barking,

And the crunching sound of paws

Lunging over hard pack.

This is the season

When coyotes mate–

They are hungry,

They are cold,

They are desperate.

And I wonder,

Is the aspen desperate, too–

Roots trembling, like hands

Held together for comfort–

Saying, It hurts to be this still.

It hurts to be this bare.

It hurts to be this hungry.

Winter Rime

21 Wednesday Feb 2018

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Aspen Trees, frost, hoar frost, Poems, Poetry, Rime, Winter, Winter poem

The consolation of cold:

Rime on the branches,

Aspen lifting their arms

To worship the day.

The Passing of Billy Graham

21 Wednesday Feb 2018

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Billy Graham, frost, Hell, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Rime, Winter

The aspen is clothed,

Its limbs reach toward heaven

Alight with rime and worship:

A great one has passed

At ninety nine years–

The lives that are touched

At ninety nine years–

Mine, my grandfather’s,

The time overlaps,

spreads over the landscape

So that all are touched,

All are clothed.

It is zero today,

And I wanted to write

That hell is cold–

Until I saw the aspen

Clothed in hoar frost.

All the world has become

The aspen, outlined in ice.

Will I Wake In Spring?

20 Tuesday Feb 2018

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Tags

Aging, aspen, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spring, vulnerability

I said the aspen was naked,

But maybe it’s me that’s naked.

The older I get,

The more naked I feel,

Like the aspen stripped by winter.

Its bare limbs standing still

In the fog, are they my limbs?

How terrifying!

How vulnerable!

How lonely!

Will it wake in spring?

Will I wake in spring?

The Consolation of Cold Days

19 Monday Feb 2018

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The consolation of cold days

Are the morning skies

Awash in Fire.

The naked aspen,

Outlined in blue,

And white, and gray,

Has found some solace

In its own beauty.

In the Bleak Mid-Winter

17 Saturday Feb 2018

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“In the bleak mid-winter

  Frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron,

  Water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow,

  Snow on snow,

In the bleak mid-winter

  Long ago.”

The return of winter,

During Winter:

As we slept

It snowed eight inches.

Eight inches.

Enough to obliterate

The grass, starting to green.

I dreamt

Of being abandoned–

And woke to find

you’d been up since 4 am.

The House was warm,

As if the furnace

Had suddenly become efficient.

Too efficient, I thought,

As I watched the light

Gradually increase outside.

You see, there was no sun.

Not in this bleak mid-winter.

You’d say it was white,

But I’d say it was gray–

A tinge of darkness–

The unknown, like a fog

Near the barn.

The aspen,

Its white body–

elegant and erotic–

Naked in the snow,

Stripped completely bare

And framed by the fog–

Was so still.

Yes, it was still as death.

A corpse,

And, if it had started to dream,

It dreamt no more–

Unless, it too dreamt of being abandoned.

The Wind Speaks Winter

16 Friday Feb 2018

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The aspen’s branches are bare,

The wind speaks through chimes:

Winter, winter, winter, it says,

As if it knows no other word.

Did it forget the crocus,

Its alien spathe piercing the ground,

petals struggling

To escape the cocoon?

Did it forget the wild irises,

Dotting the pasture,

Tall, elegant, blushed in plum?

Or, the branches

Heavy with apple blossoms,

And the apples,

The gelding ate from her hands:

Open hands, the juice of the fruit?

Today, it plays dumb.

The bare tree waves

Its empty arms,

While snow shifts and drifts,

And the outside chandelier

Swings like a crystal pendulum

Trying to divine,

Will the cold ever end?

While the wind speaks,

Saying, Winter,

Winter,

Winter.

A Valentines Day Poem for my Lover

14 Wednesday Feb 2018

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You extend your right arm

For me to come in and lay down.

We’ve done it, like this,

At least five thousand,

Four hundred seventy five times,

The exact same, wonderful way.

And always,

You are the first to disappear,

Leaving me to your heart’s beating,

The rise and fall of your chest,

Its hair tickling my nose.

I think, should I die before you,

You will remember this,

And no lover will quite take my place–

Not in this deepest intimacy.

Did I say I love you—

Before you went away in dreams?

Did I say I love you?

 

 

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