Snow Work Poems

She's thirty-three, single,
her Mom babysits her
five year old son.
She reassures herself it's
just two more hours,
then it's the blessed weekend.
Which means delicious sleep.
She has no nest...

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trailers in the docks 
crooked tilted trailer doors 
poor yard truck driver...

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You fascinate clearly
Once you're out of your hive
Flitting here, landing there
Keeping gardens alive

There's a sweetness, and yet
Nasty sting so beware
Your work all consumes 
As you...

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I am now up and half asleep, 
quiet I must not make a peep, 
others are still sleeping like sheep, 
need to get dressed and...

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The idea of Christmas snow in Michigan is replaced with fog
Hot breath exhaled to cold lollipop trees
My blurry life-sized polar bear salutes through the front...

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Sun budges through sapphire sky and drifting clouds,
Melting away frozen snow-capped mountains.
Throughout forest heartbeat and trembling leaves,
Upon dappled nature's well-endowed breast.

The calm echo of the...

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Grab up some pine I cut up last weekend,
back creaks as I put it up on the block,
splitting maul flashes, in an arc descends,
sinks deep...

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I was a vivacious, aroma loving barista, laboring midnights in a coffee shop,
Offering tasty drinks to fellow night owls, while others dreamed of lollipops.

My work...

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In the old dark coal mine, brought cold feeling.
It was underground and very dangerous and hard work.
Wearing dark clothes, leather boots, and canvas hat
With a...

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The Good Harvest

Years ago I was a farmer,
And my neighbor had a field.
But he let it go to briars,
He was not concerned with yield.

As I...

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Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner,
That's how the song goes.

I am proud of this city,
And it has been sung about in many a ditty.

Each day...

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yes...
stirred day

april first so...
the winds are

spiraling snow...
in front of the

garage...
and front door...

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He may have been a rogue, but boy he had charisma
Liked by many he was, even with a feather in his hair
From job to job...

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At the Depot

As the snow flies, on a cold and grey December dawn
to waiting homes no mails are borne
from the depot.
Phil Bloggs, a mailman, scans...

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Last leaves have fallen from the sycamore tree
Leaving her limbs unclad, so naked and bare
While they wait for their new coats of cottony
White snow, and...

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