Snow Flake And Mountain
A snow flake came down, in turns, in twists, in blizzard company
Never lands, captured in an updraft, lifts up with other plans
A mountain positioned for a collision with the flake
Seemed tall enough to follow the movement of the thing
Aging in good time, conversant in snow and what it takes
Also knowledgeable in smaller matters, practicing due diligence
Waited, as mountains are apt to do, in these conditions
To receive the snow form with all its molecules
Take it to a final resting place along the lower face
Crystal flake continued though, on a sojourn to the sun
Still clinging to the upward draft
Not knowing what the sun might do to it
The snow floated, transforming into water
It drew closer to the warmth, to the point of vapor
But in a miracle of ice and cold, it fell or floated down
It drifted back to earth and hugged the mountain
Thanked it for a friendly wind and place to get some shade
Snow flake gathered whiteness on this little break
Came back to proper form
From the crystal core
And went on floating ever down for ever more
It would never reach the bottom
The mountain saw to that
It kept the snow flake by its side above the tundra line
Near a full grown pine tree whistling through the needles
Singing sweet lullabies of winter and storms gone by
Snow crystal glides in cozy circles about the pine
COPYRIGHT 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
POETIC LYRICS BY THOMAS L.H. ANDRESS
(Dedicated to ALL THOSE NANCIE KRANGES!)
This here's a TEMPO...for ALL THOSE FELLAS...trying to do what
ALL THOSE LADIES...been trying to TELL US WHAT TO DO!
HEY...BIG SHOT...WANNA CHANCE?
I do not know?
Snow burdened the weary leaves,
Drooping in view of the shivered fence.
There I sat blushing my knuckles,
Uncertain of movement around this chair.
I remember the etching stone,
With silent squeaks,
That circled my brain.
Grievingly aware of departing clouds.
There I sat with no muscle,
To find with sight a consuming abyss.
Littered with glinting, white eyes;
Like a madness scatters nails.
And then dark oversee,
Dark, blackest light
Spat out my eyes...
Burn an old barrel.
Snow burdened these weary leaves,
And I surveyed the depth of the fence.
For now I may hang out my hands,
Sitting alone on this frozen park bench.
Eskimos know 68 shades of snow
They count every flake
Green blue ones fill children with delight
Parents frozen like the dim light of day
Wait with edges of a knife for prey
They dare not move during the hunt for food
Faces etched like leather on fierce weather
In calmer times they sing
Pound igloos into shape before the pending storm
Mukluks on their children’s feet are old and worn
But keeps them warm on moonless nights
Against all odds for life
They hold together chanting on the wind
Stretching across all time and land
Singing about their past and colder weather
And yes, about the color white
Sentry huskies sway left to right in fear
And think of caribou
Soon the ice will cover everything
Settled in the deep
The people sleep
And dream of whale bones by the glacier sea
Love. For that I am here. And for that,
You are here. Beginners in love and life.
Lovers, with heart and faces made off matt.
Lovers, brothers, all roll the same dice.
Love everywhere, but lovers, go nowhere.
Poets and muses, all half-full-half-empty.
Lovers everywhere, but, love is nowhere.
Time, always slow, became an entity.
A feeling which one can't simply forget,
Yet we have abandoned it many times.
We all own the mighty cupid a debt,
In between all of these great lover's rhymes.
Yet we don't, we can't do what is not right.
No, we can't, let love adrift in the night.
I do not know?
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine trees crusted with snow
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces roughed in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and nothing that is.
I do not know?
Snow cascades from the tall pines,
Large powder puffs
Puff down in soft lunges,
Descending to earth,
A sort of soul for January.
They do not have words for it.
If they are wordless,
So, finally, are we.
It is as if they would say
What we say,
I mean what I say by being.