The air feels different
Forgiving, even kind!
Chicadees & Robins flitting
From bushes to trees
Recon flights scouting
Proper nesting sites
A Bald Eagle flew overhead
This morning as I travelled
The motorway
Good luck!
A muddy penny, unloved, castaway
Zinc replaced copper
Time replaced need
Escape from Winter's icy womb!
Stitch ran to Minnesota to enjoy Halloween
He had heard he might find the Pumpkin Queen
She was nowhere in sight, but he got to see
A little snow, which never happens in Hawaii.
What does it mean to you?
When your own sasafr *ss is on the line,
the hope you had diminishes.
A Proud Boy is in your face
& has the final authority
A bad son shall end the likes of you.
With immunity he sheds blood
Crimson tidal waves of civil upheavals — never forget,
today's puff, may be your last cigarette.
An alien to you, to me you were sanctuary,
a perishing human am I, violently
I belonged, just like anyone.
the snow keeps falling
like it doesn’t give a damn
about speeches or sirens,
about men in suits
shaking their fists at the sky.
somewhere in Minnesota
a bartender wipes down a counter
that’s already clean,
because it’s easier than watching the news
crawl across the screen like a wounded animal.
I talk about order,
I talk about force,
I talk about saving the country
with boots and badges
and a stack of laws thick as a brick.
but the streets still smell like coffee and diesel,
still carry the breath of tired workers
heading home with cold hands
and rent due tomorrow.
the presidents come and go,
the flags get waved,
the threats get sharpened like knives in a back, with
and the people keep standing in line
cigarettes and the cheap lines of hope.
history doesn’t knock.
it kicks the door in
and tells you it’s for your own good.
"Minnesota Sleeps Beneath a Quilt of Silence”
A poem by Alan J Winters
The wind carves elegies in the snowdrift’s spine,
each gust a ghost of prairie time—
frost etching lace on windowpanes,
like memory’s breath on glass.
Cardinals flare like embers in bare trees,
red sparks against the hush of white.
Boots crunch through ice—
a rhythm of resilience,
each step a vow to endure.
Moonlight spills silver across frozen fields,
where silence blooms like wildflowers
beneath the aurora’s spectral dance—
green ribbons tangled in the cosmos,
entangled like hearts across distance.
Minnesota sleeps beneath a quilt of silence,
stitched with sled tracks and chimney smoke,
where childhood laughter echoes
in the crystalline hush of dusk.
Each flake a whisper from the sky’s cold heart,
falling not to bury, but to bless—
a transformation in stillness,
a journey wrapped in frost
these were adorable snow boots but they leaked
my socks are wet now and I think I’m getting frostbite
It is at least a hundred yards back to the house
why did I have to buy beauty instead of sturdy?
each step in this deep snow is miserable
My teeth are chattering now
Why does anyone live in Minnesota in January?
I cannot wait to get inside
I made it alive, my icy cold socks are plastered to my toes
I have difficulty pulling them off
I put two socks on each of my feet
Put on my cozy pajamas and start a fire in the fire place
Out the window I can see the snow
It is gloriously pretty from inside.
Twinkles and glistens, sparkles with bluing.
Maybe everyone should live in Minnesota.
mixed bag of misgivings misconstrued Mrs. Mulligan’s miscomprehensions misunderstood. Miserable Mrs. M. mistrusted Minnesota moderators’ misuse of mockery and mimicry. Monkeyshine mix up, monopolized moronic mood, a monumental mortiferous mistake made by many.
Moist sheets tossed aside
soaked pillows
Side by side single mattress
She was exposed drippings
Dime sack and tree rings brittle snowcats
Green sight meet brown peepers
Plumb late April Boreal Plains humidity
Abittor Unami eau de cologne electricity
Thin plain pink blanket on the window
Air conditioner recirculating
Salmon rays preen her face
Noon spring afternoon
the rain stopped the sun peeked in
Bare cucumber blooms sticky seeds
Hanging over pickled
The lard on her belly
She didn’t bathe
Just left my bleak studio apartment
Erotomania sweat,
Womb vacant,
Minnows swimming
Contraceptive implant
Wedding ring manufacturer.
Damp linens flung aside
sodden cushions
Flank by flank
She was damp
Nickel sack and bark rings
Verdant gaze meet hazel orbs
Ripe late April Northern Flatlands moisture
Slaughterhouse savory mist perfume
Slender dull rose covering on the pane
Cooling unit recirculating
Coral beams groom her visage
Midday vernal noon
the drizzle ceased the light slivered in
Naked gourd blossoms adhesive juice
Lurching brined
The toddler flesh on her abdomen
She didn’t cleanse
Just exited my one-room lodging
Infatuation perspiration,
Empty uterus,
Pixie sperm dribbling,
Contraceptive device
Marriage band fabricator.
Moist sheets tossed aside
soaked pillows
Side by side
She was wet
Dime sack and tree rings
Green sight meet brown peepers
Plumb late April Boreal Plains humidity
Abittor Unami eau de cologne
Thin plain pink blanket on the window
Air conditioner recirculating
Salmon rays preen her face
Noon spring afternoon
the rain stopped the sun peeked in
Bare cucumber blooms sticky seeds
Hanging over pickled
The baby fat on her belly
She didn’t bathe
Just left my studio apartment
Erotomania sweat,
Womb vacant,
Leprechaun semen leaking,
Birth control implant
Wedding ring manufacturer,
Laconic
Rainbow ribbons shadow white sofa, walls,
curtains. Pink rose and white snow.
Cockapoo’s desert tan.
Leota stacked her new books in a fabulous little pile.
She was thrilled with their freshness, it made her smile.
Finally at university, she could figure out the Minnesota charm.
It was reputed to invisible-ize people, so what could be the harm?
She flipped through the table of contents, wanting to find the page.
Minnesota charm is no longer viable. She stared at this in rage.
Surely one of these professors could teach it to her though, right?
She asked every one of them; begging with all her might.
It is forbidden, Professor Doolittle said. Do not ask again.
Leota witch went on a starvation diet, and got rather thin.
Why didn’t you ask me? Her mother said, when she got hospitalized.
I did not think you would know it, Leota said, totally surprised.
Her mother taught her the charm and she uses it all the time.
So if someone says they did not see you, please never mind.
Santa is on the road, ready to fly.
It’s raining in Minnesota, no lie.
He scratches his snowy beard with a sigh.
Reindeer and sleigh will not get very high.
Kids must get their gifts so he says goodbye
to Mrs. Claus and the elves that certify
the flight though it’s raining tonight. Red-eye
of chief elf unique, it breaches each sky.
Gifts must be delivered by North Pole guy.
It’s raining, no snow, unusual sky
with Minnesota travel that’s bone dry
of flurries. Request of Santa’s supply
though the weather is not frightful, no lie.
He came. He went. Cookies and milk bye-bye.
I loved the ebon-walk, past the twinkling houses of Christmas,
talking with my grandson- pointing, pondering, spending time.
Much better than spending cash, the ka-ching’s in kin-register.
With the younger boy, I spent time swinging my arms, like
a gorilla, playing an oculus game. “Follow me…follow me,”
he says, excited to have me follow him in virtual reality.
In a house with windows and doors, food and heat, a heap
of extraordinary love. A teen gladly gives up his room, his brother-
mostly shares…his. And we play cards like crazy - speed.
I watched each come home early. The younger navigating
new fallen snow, slowly…the teen scrambling to the door
to make sure, we were indeed still there. The parents,
wanting for normal, but their kids want that we never leave.
Jealous of the ones close by, they imagine we spend more
time with them. We do just a bit but not as much as they think.
Still all six are in my heart…always…each different…each fills
a hole, wholly a treasure, some hidden miles and miles away.
12/1/2022
digesting ballet —
prime rib and bacon, waltzing
Nutcracker taters
Tchaikovsky suite crescendo
fork and knife tenderizing
12/25/2021
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