Long Snowfields Poems

Days pass into the weakest of loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath the colored brush of Van Gogh. He links.
Comets trail snowfields of light pass agonized cypresses, schizophrenic concussion.
On and on, the wind...

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On this winter's night
                               ...

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Skiing Is… 

Skiing is…
Alpine thrill ride on four inch boards
Boggy in the bumps – a schuss to the lodge
Carving a turn leaving icy rooster tails in the air
Drag lift to ride on thick moving ropes

Skiing...

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The snowfields of my childhood
Are but memories today 
In mild winters where I now live
Fifteen hundred miles away.

But today I wakened to a sight
That took me back in time.
Bright snow lies glistening on the ground.
The...

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A chill wind bites coyly at exposed necks,
not yet draped in tourniquets of wool.
A wrapping of white, buries ribbons of asphalt.
The ways fills with metallic horsepower.
Goblets of slush like spittle fall, splat,
upon once virginal snowfields.
The...

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I awake, dull crusted in shadows,

to the swelling roar of hard rain on shingles
wetly dripp'd down rusted gutters,

air thick with cool moisture,
ozone sharp razor clean,

somehow, the sod grew a deep green coat in one night
as...

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The day my life changed in one moment 
 just one cursed moment, time betrayed  
 An injury they said would now never heal 
 a quadriplegic ,waist down you're dead.
 vibrant colors blurred...

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The white snowfields of my childhood
are but fond memories today
in mild winters where I live
some fifteen hundred miles away.
Today I wakened to a sight
that carried me back in time,
bright snow lies on the ground,
the trees...

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Nestled with the glittering elements, 
I ponder the immortality of the senses—
my lucidity twirls,
as pirouetting flakes through
sapphire mist amidst cyanic windstorms, 
drifting like arctic embers, 
towards cerulean twilight skies, 
beyond frost covered pains, 
littered across...

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I remember the snows of my childhood
Bringing beauty beyond compare
And also how hard it was to breathe in
Mouthfuls of that cold frigid air.

Galoshes and scarves and long johns to don
Before Mom let us out to...

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Ice-pick lighting,
headache inducing halogen,
white screen glows,
static blank heat.
Anti-matter, cold and desolate
as snowfields in winter,
enigmatic dreamless philosophy,
cryptographs of oblivion.
When dims the halogen,
the projector whirrs,
future enacted luminance,
expanding and imploding.
Blue and green slides,
entropic deliverance,
in architectural visuals,
structures of bleached...

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