31 January 2012

White fluffy clouds,
Brilliant blue skies,
It is a wonder,
The snow is still falling.







Black water lake,
Still and quiet.
Splash of color,
On the surface,
With white petals.

30 January 2012

Crumbled paper,
Yellowed edges,
Faded black ink.

Stark white,
Crisp and clear.
Ready for writing.







Barren tree limbs,
Snow covered ground,
And it looks like
The woods are a graveyard.

29 January 2012

Snow falling , wind blowing.
Inside, feel the warm fire,
In the saftey of the blankets.






Tired, numb fingers,
waxy and red.

Luke-warm water burns,
thawing the iciles in the flesh.

28 January 2012

Gleaming spots of light
In the midst of a dark blanket,
Where the moon reigns.




A giant grey beast with ivory tusks
With a fear of a tiny gray rodent.

27 January 2012

Graceful flames dance in the dark,
Deceptive is the mesmerizing sight,
For the touch burns.



Sunlight peeks from behind the clouds,
Penatrating the oppressive forest,
Turning the darkness into light.

26 January 2012

Stone and Columns

Dirty natural stone,
Sterile man-made columns,
One against the other,
Standing in the same structure.





Birch

A white birch
In the black woods.

Only one bright speck,
Among the dark hundreds.

25 January 2012

Meaning

Fifteen words to make a little poem full of meaning...
But what makes the meaning?




Insomnia

Tired green eyes watching in the dark,
Waiting for the Sun to show her face.

Creek Poem

Green-tinted water rushes and rolls

Fluidly down the stream like liquid glass.

It flows under the bridge, over the rocks,

Around the gentle bend. The snow

On the riverbanks is a frame

To the transparent liquid,

Displaying the serene lapping water

As a painting.

It seems a harsh sound at first,

The rushing, crashing, eroding power

Of the water on stones sounds

Like a percussion symphony.

However, the longer listened to,

It transforms into a soothing

Piece of music, until the hearer

Finally uncovers the bubbling laughter

Of the water’s song.

The water is not the only voice

In this choir. The wind sings as it rustles

The branches of sleeping trees.

Whistling, it moves through the woods,

Sending snowflakes flying through the air

In their own little dance.

The ice accumulated in the middle

Of the creek appears like shelves,

Ice layered as it formed and froze.

Rocks peek through at higher portions,

Creating little islands of white powder.

There are shadowy outlines

In the deeper portions of the creek,

As if only hinting the existence of rocks

And larger slabs of stone. 

The ice water is frigid, numbing fingertips

And liable to cause frostbite with its

Deceptively soft, smooth current.

The air is crisp, the sun warm, and the silence

Beyond the river creates an atmosphere of serenity.

The water smells like pines and winter,

Fresh and clean and crisp.

Dancing on the surface of the water,

Only penetrating to the rocks below

In the shallower sections of the creek bed,

The sun glistens.

Answers

He hears every word uttered.

From hateful words angrily sputtered

To whispered words wanting in the dark,

To the tears of a bleeding, broken heart.

There is no voice quiet or loud

That He can possibly miss in a crowd.

Say your words. Scream if need be.

But do not hide. Do not flee.

This is stupidity.

Tell Him your worries and woes.

Tell Him the joys that make you curl your toes.

He is listening. He is there.

He hears every single prayer.

What is more, He’ll answer too.

He is never too busy for you.

For every high, for every low,

Wait for His word. He’ll let you know.

But for every wish do not expect a positive reply.

“Wait,” and “No,” He will also supply.

Not everything is do or die.