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Bits of Poetry

~ Linda R Davis, Raven of Peace & Poetry

Bits of Poetry

Tag Archives: Winter

Winter Blind

24 Thursday Nov 2022

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Afterlife, Alone, Death, Death Poems, Eternity, Heaven, Hope, Ice, Infinite, Life, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Memory, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Sacred, Snow, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, The Universe, Winter, Winter poem

A white blanket was pulled over

Our homes, the earth, our heads,

As effortless as sliding on ice,

As uncontrollable as dying.

And, it was hard to see beginnings

Of fields, or endings of hilltops;

In that way, it was a blur of (also white) fog.

Who’s to say what lay behind it?

The infinite forever of lost souls–?

Just there, and there, look where

My finger is pointing, beyond the trees.

I see myself only as far as the fence-line.

All else sparkles back, a vision

Of what is here, and what has been here,

Always within the margin

Of what we can so easily see.

The Not So Little Things

29 Wednesday Dec 2021

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Aging, Death, Family, Fathers, Forgiveness, Happiness, Hope, Life, Love, Memory, My Dad, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Survival, Winter

“Weep for what little things could make them glad. Then for the house that is no more a house. (Directive, Robert Frost)

1.

The frosty backs of horses at the bale,

The red fence, framing the snow,

This is the beauty I found

In the extreme cold

of December.

And I remember

Wishing for it.

2.

Do you want to save this bird,

It was a falcon,

And it ran, with broken wing,

At the edge

Of a barbed wire fence.

He asked me, as he knew

I was a lover of wild things,

And a nurturer of broken wings.

I do, I said, I do.

Then, he was out of the car,

Walking among snow

And wounded bird.

I watched him from the backseat,

The car, I would someday wreck.

But that day, it was whole,

And we were whole,

And he returned, victorious,

Gloved hands,

Cradling broken bird.

3.

I don’t know why he gave it to her,

But she was in possession

Of his cowboy hat,

And she knew

I was the one who wanted it.

I was in possession of money,

And funny prankster that she was,

My sister knocked on my bedroom door.

She was having a yard sale in her room,

And I was invited to shop.

I can’t remember how much I spent,

But the hat became mine,

and I was wearing it.

He laughed when he saw me,

His big hat on my small head,

And heard the story of its quick journey

From her to me–

He’d given it to her for free–

But I didn’t care,

I wore that damn hat everywhere.

4.

Before I wrecked his car,

I slid his truck off an icy road

At two am, in a snowstorm.

I remember hiking to the first house,

And a man answered the door

In his underwear, staring dumbly

At me. I was desperate for a phone

To call my dad, praying he’d pick up,

Otherwise, I’d be stuck

With the undressed stranger.

He did, and soon my dad was sliding

down the dangerous hill,

In the car I’d soon wreck.

Next, he held his metal two-ton jack,

And ratcheted the truck up, and off,

And up and off, back

Onto the road, where the ice melted,

And the snow turned to rain,

And the sky filled with lightning,

But we survived, and now,

We can laugh at this story.

A Low Barrier Between Life and Death

23 Saturday Jan 2021

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Ash, Beauty, Bird Poems, Bowl and Pitcher, Courage, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Fear of Death, Healing, Hope, Life, Moss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ponderosa, River, Soul, Souls, Spokane, Spokane River, Strength, Suicide, Survival, Winter, Winter poem, Yearning

I wonder how many have plunged,

broken bodies against the steep,

unforgiving basalt, to flow far away

from the tether of this rocky outcrop.

There are worse places to die

than underneath a basking ponderosa,

on a glorious day in deep winter,

high, above the earth’s mucosa.

Here is heaven, its gods, the osprey and eagle;

they preside from piney thrones, regal,

and survey with indifferent contemplation;

from their perch, suffering is also celebration.

There are less noble ways to die,

than beneath the wings of geese.

See them glide peacefully

over the rapids of the Spokane,

rage of water in the ears,

shiver of blue sky, full sun.

Yet, if hopeless traveler made the steep climb

to this one, celestial throne:

its blood, a brilliant green moss,

its body, the bare, leafless skeleton of alumroot,

entreating with outstretched arms:

See, the promise of spring.

If they were to navigate loose rock,

on the treacherous path that leads here,

would it be enough to make them cling

to the rock wall in front of me,

this low, precarious barrier between?

This Pendant World

05 Sunday Apr 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Alone, CoronaVirus, Covid19, Death, Fear of Death, Grace, Hope, Loneliness, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Survival, This Pendant World, Winter, Yearning

1.

Grace,

where are you now,

embraced in loneliness,

poetry was a kiss,

now it’s this:

today, a fog—

from doorstep

to trees,

to sky—

all blended in white,

our world reduced

to blindness.

What Darkness Have You Known?

21 Tuesday Jan 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Aging, Courage, Death, Dying, Hope, Life, Loneliness, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Snow, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Strength, Survival, Winter, Winter poem

Imagine

if someone covered you

in ice;

how would you feel

in a chill

blanket of snow?

What darkness have

you

known, the kind

that can kill you,

your voice

silenced

in wind-drifts,

the hissing whisper

of winter’s kiss?

The Day After A Fight

21 Thursday Feb 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Cabin Fever, Fight, Forgiveness, Loneliness, Lovers, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Quarrel, Sun, Winter


Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It’s all right

I feel your love on my skin, like the sun
after days without sun,
the feel of its heat on my face,
the brightness in my closed eyelids
when I lift my head to absorb,
thank, and worship it for coming back,
lighting up the snow’s fine crystal layers,
melting the icicles on the front eve.
On days like this, I can almost forgive
winter, how it took away our joy,
shortened our few, precious days,
slowed us down, almost killed us,
but we survived for this reward:
radiant skin brushing radiant skin,
bodies ablaze, awash of flame.

Memory In Winter

09 Saturday Feb 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Aging, Azaleas, Children, Death, Flowers, hydrangeas, Life, Lilies, Love, Memory, Mothers, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Winter, Winter poem

Winter returned, unbroken,

and I bought azaleas, hydrangeas

and stems of lilies

to stand against white windows.

How like memories,

these flowers in winter:

smiles, laughter, love,

eyes, cheeks, toes, and fingers.

Mama, mama, mama,

I hear them calling,

as I cut their stems.

The Secret Song of the Dead

07 Monday Jan 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Afterlife, aspen, Aspen Trees, Conversations With Maggie, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Eternity, Happiness, Heaven, Hope, Infinite, Life, Loss, Love, Maggie, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Winter, Winter poem

Looking back, I see you

looking back, smiling,

I say your name,

as if to summon

the dead to life,

and it works,

for a moment.

It’s winter,

and the earth feels

like your absence,

the once living things,

here, but not here.

How many times

did you sit

next to me looking

out at the aspen?

And now, here it is

bare again, waving

its naked branches again.

Today, it looks like

it’s doing The Twist,

and, I think, it hears

a song I don’t, no,

a song I can’t, hear.

Looking back, I see you

looking back, smiling,

your secrets, a dance,

a song that plays

while the world listens,

and twists to a secret melody,

it cannot hear.

Conversations With Maggie 3

22 Wednesday Aug 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Conversations With Maggie, Happiness, Joy, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spring, spring poem, Winter

3.

When winter is deepest, we long

For the warm days of spring–

the birds, the buds, the piercing of snow.

Yet, the warm days are inside us

like love, waiting to be resurrected with joy.

 

The Aspen’s Happiness: First Day of Spring

20 Tuesday Mar 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

aspen, Aspen Trees, Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Birds, First Day of Spring, Loneliness, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Robin, solstice, Spring, Winter, Winter poem

I think the aspen is happy today,

The way the robin perched

On its bare branches.

The skin of her feet,

The skin of that branch,

One warm body pulsing blood,

The other pulsing with spring sap.

To be touched after so long,

As your buds begin to break

The surface of what separates:

Your ability to drink of the sun,

And that long and naked loneliness.

Second Winter of Winter

01 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Bird Poem, disappointment, Future, Hope, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Winter, Winter poem

The second Winter was the cruelest,

The way it buried our hopes.

Even the ground had opened its mouth,

Like a baby bird, waiting to be fed.

I swear the grass was starting to green,

And I’m sure I heard a frog that night–

We sat outside and said we smelled spring.

We were wrong, as we always are

When we try to divine the future.

The only animal who tries to divine the future—

The only one who knows disappointment

In buried grass, bare branches, and silence.

Winter Rime

21 Wednesday Feb 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

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

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

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.

The Cold That is Loneliness

15 Thursday Dec 2016

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Loneliness, Love, Poems, Poetry, Sin, Winter

The cold that is loneliness–

Ice, snow, hunger.

Did we care

The days had shortened?

Dark mornings,

Dark afternoons,

We stumbled, it’s true,

But don’t we all stumble,

Slide on the ice–

A dangerous toboggan

Of metal and glass and rubber

Just sliding,

sliding, sliding.

Where will it stop–

Against a sign, a bank of snow,

An oncoming car?

We turn the wheel

Left, then right, then left

And tap on the brakes,

Hoping they will catch

Onto something solid.

 

My love, turns out

You were the solid thing

On which I caught.

His Own Springtime

21 Sunday Dec 2014

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Cardinals, Death, Monsieur du Miroir, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Omaha, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spring, Winter

A few words might satisfy

The feverish yearning of my soul

for some master-thought,

That should guide me

Through this labyrinth of life,

Teaching wherefore I was born,

And how to do my task on earth,

And what is death.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, from Monsieur du Miroir

 

 

When the shadow is lifted,

There’s the only the boy,

And the first thing he does

Is become a man,

(Maybe sensing himself for the first time)

The buffer is gone; it’s him alone,

And a great wonder swells in his mind,

What can I do?

His eyes focus

On the yellow of the weeping willow against snow,

The sun caught and frozen there,

And he hears and turns his head

toward the cardinal whose red coat flashes

In front of him, like blood against snow.

He thinks of his dad standing amazed

at that same blood-red plumage,

And the man before him,

and before him, and so on.

There is nothing he can do now, at this time,

Except reflect and build energy

toward his own springtime,

And picture himself budding there,

His roots laid deep in the soil of his ancestry,

Their many failings,

(He still feels it)

Their many successes,

All of it now merging.

He knows, this will be his own final push,

Man, alone, stripped,

Stretching his whole being toward a sun

That is so often obscured,

So often, radiant and warm.

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Death Death Poems Dying Hope Horses Life Loss Love Poem Poems Poetry Soul Souls Spirit Survival Yearning

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