Your soft, flowing, frigid blankets
float softly on the river.
Frightened at how dangerously hypnotic
the spell can be, I step silently
away from the river’s edge.
River Ice
All posts by spanishwoods
Soil
This post was inspired by whattheducks.com
for Blogger Action Day, Save the Soils (which was yesterday)
I don’t think of you as often as I should.
Your deep, dark richness and heady,
earthen smells lay hidden in humble silence.
Is it too much to write about how we’ve all
sprung from your warm, nurturing embrace?
Perhaps that’s overly dramatic for this
tiny collection of words in your honor.
Suffice it to take a small moment of honest
gratefulness for your ever-providing
and life-sustaining nature.
Wednesday Morning
Morning daydreams chase the falling snow
in swirls of good intentions and solid ambitions–
with a sprinkling of old books, soft music and
cups of hot, honeyed tea, I settle down to
work with the pup at my feet.
Gypsy
Remember the time we danced at the fire?
We threw rocks on the water while holding hands,
we watched the moonlight
rain on the caravan’s tin roof,
we hummed soft songs at midnight
and rocked ourselves to sleep.
Must have been another lifetime…
Around
Wrap yourself around me
and keep me warm.
Winter Thoughts
Thoughts in winter stumble with
a stop-action rhythm
both jarring and comforting.
With hard edges and delicate skeletons,
they push to the forefront of consciousness;
greedy, needy and completely camouflaged
in the light of the cold January sky.
Some things that entice
milk chocolate
red walls
fresh snow
the smell of coffee
blue light at daybreak
warm blankets
new notebooks
the setting sun
The City
gowalkingtunnelsstreetspeoplecolors
signssmellscarslightshornsbuildings
voicesarrowsnumbersmetalbricks
glassfoodlanguagespigeonsdrinking
smokingtrashcandybroomstrains
shoppingneonelmocamarasanxiety
exhaustexhaustionrevolvingdoors
coatsmusicrunninghatsclocksalleys
truckssewerssteamcloudscursingcold
hotsmilingeatingarcadesshopsoffices
computerswindowspolicechildren
strollerssupermanstrawscirclesmoney
lettersvertigofastforwardrewindstop
Shadows on the Snow
two versions: infinite stories
To Be
I want to be the mallard on the river,
the patch of blue sky between grey clouds,
the sweet, tiny greens on the table,
the anticipated phone call.
I want to be the hand lettered invitation,
the stitch on an antique tablecloth,
the steam from my cracked tea cup,
the curly apostrophe between the “r” and the “s” in “lover’s”.
spanishwoods 