Winter wears on my patience.
Dim dreary days – the grey
grinds and grates the spirit.
Sleet slushes the street.
I don’t even ask for spring.
Grant me a blizzard
or a biting freeze with inky skies,
just something
to lift the weariness
that has wormed into my mind
and paralyzes.
2/12/2018
The sun slowly rises casting a glow
Wherever the fog billows light reflects
Water slushes from the unknown below
Mist wanders leaving a path for effect
Everyone can go beyond what they know
Leaving nothing of this scene to defect
Beautiful nature shows this scene lovely
Light enhanced fog brings about wistfully
Russell Sivey
today his pickup has made its point,
seems no place and time, no weather
can be more apt for that purpose
than this wet, sloping dirt-road bend
right smack in the muddy middle
of a desolate cornfield somewhere
in the heart of a lightning-lit night,
right in the eye of a nasty storm;
a few minutes ago, it roared,
but then it wouldn't move an inch;
its engine faltered, missed two beats,
whimpered and then finally died;
drenched in rain and desperation,
he works the clutch and battery
as he tries to coax back to life
the ignition, but all to no avail;
he gets out fuming mad, cursing,
slams the steel door, slushes away
in the soft mud, shivers in the rain,
glancing back, he sees his pickup
sitting on its shadow, chuckling,
seems to him with malice, gloating,
triumphant in its metallic conviction
that it has driven home a hard point !