Drifting

Traceries of snow

have designed a landscape

upon my window:

The drifts below

make ideal ground

to hold the roots

of icy trees

that trickle down

from the tops of the panes.

Brightly coloured butterflies

pasted to the glass inside

to ward off birds

that might collide,

look out of place

behind the lacy intricacy

of H2O’s frozen veins.

It blows and wails outside;

the gusts of snow

do not subside,

the birds drop down

to no avail;

while I bide here

beside the fire’s glow.

 

Kathleen Mortensen © 2017

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Juncos

Little do they know
These eskimo-birds that pepper the snow
Outside my sliding door,
I wait for them to come every year.

The hardy tiny ones that dig at the snow
With their delicate feet,
Have nothing to fear from me.

Each morning before they appear on my deck
I throw seed on the snow that has fallen
While we all slept.

I’ve built them a place to buffet the blow
Of those winds that rise up from the deeps of the snow
To ruffle their tail feathers.

I keep them sheltered and fed,
Hoping that each day they’ll come back
And get me through the long days of snow ahead.

Kathleen Mortensen © 2016

Melancholia

The death of summer has me desolate.

Verdure goes gold, then turns  to tinder on the ground;
warm-weather birds have blown away
with the winds of autumn.

I have put my dear friends to bed—
sheared off their heads and abandoned them
to their sleep.

The first snow falls, leaving me cold;
a crow’s call cracks the sound
of silence.

Winter creeps in.

I have no illusions;  I am housebound,
until spring comes back.

Kathleen Mortensen © 2016

One of Seven (another sort of “snow” poem)

greyday

Lawren Harris “Blue and White” Painting from The McMichael Collection (click for source)

A Cold Exterior


He paints

with a cold eye,

the ice and snow—

clouds skating

on a summer sky.

A brick house,

its timeworn, mortar

wall—comes to pieces;

the chips fall,

to be scoffed up

by the mounds

below.

Top floor rooms

ablaze

with cadmium glow,

but steel-blue door

and ghost-white glass

below,

stand firm—

where someone bides,

but none

would go.

Kat Mortensen©2009 Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

The Best Laid Plans…

Dear Friends,

I had hoped to get to visit everyone who so kindly popped in over the last few days with such wonderful and generous (as always) comments. However, an impromptu overnight guest and a quite ill little cat, Daisy has put paid to these intentions. I will do my best to visit everyone in the next few days.
If you see me on Facebook, know that it is just my stress-reliever to harvest my crops on Farmville, or take out a few Mafioso in Mafia Wars. Don’t hold it against me, please!

Have a wonderful, wintry day (the snow is falling with alacrity here).

Kat