My mind is a
Blind winter,
The wind of
inner thoughts,
thrive like a wild child,
Heart beating louder
Like thunder,
Chills spines
down inside,
Shaking, cold,
And still holding
Onto what kills me.

I can’t find a place
that’ll keep my
face warm,
In this blind winter—
I’ve been following
the whispers
of bitter souls
I conjured—

“You’ll—
                            die—
       alone—
                        in—
the—
            snow—”

I’ve been following
Traces of snow of
rewind tapes—
To moments
left paralyzed…
I feel lost in time…

In the blind
winter snow…

unlovable heart with a lot of love to give  in
no one still born to perceive it
black heart ;still not beating
locked in my room screaming and dreaming
getting this **** in

parallel universe where
i don't get beaten
by the birth givers that really didn't mean it
Man emienem is all I got ;
apart from this half pound of ***
that will make my blood here clot
stuck in a lousy hospital
ain't got the cheddar to em back
money and fame ain't all I lack
Don't even have my parents to have my back.

i met this woman with nice ol' heart
but maybe all these problems
is just gonna make us grow apart
But i really wanna love you man
just give me a shot ,
just a chance and maybe a dance

my friend came by the other day
as a leaf in the wind he has blown
from street to street
            town to town.

a wanderer he may be
but not at heart--
he longs to be attached
to a tree
                               any tree.

in spring and summer the leaves
     are green and
                              attached.

summer slowly dries them out as the tree
                    prepares for winter.

my friend the dry brown leaf
blows in his perpetual autumn.

we all grow in our own time
and season:

winter dormancy

         spring regeneration

                   summer fulfillment

                             fall  preparing for the
                                                  
          ­  inevitable
season of death.

these seasons of the soul
are the very essence of our existence.

     they teach us

        temper us

        fulfill us.

but there are those who do not see
the purpose of the seasons.
to them winter means only

                             cold

                                       snow

                       desolation.          

spring means only

                    rain

                mud

                            flooding.

summer means

                             beauty to mock
                                the heart in
                                     winter.

i trust in the wisdom of the seasons.
nature teaches us lessons in her cycles.

let the  l
                e
               a
                  f
fall to the ground.
let it rot into cold

    stark

                        winter

           desolation.

spring will come.

bleak gray will become bright colours
                  of spring.

the beauty will fade again but will
reappear in winter's own stark beauty
though it may be cold and gray.
then spring will come.

          spring-will-come !!!

Crows on wind-blown corn
citizens of winter

A naked branch awaits the spring
    when vernal vigour will awake
      the cuckoos calling on the wing.
A naked branch awaits the spring
    like distant soundless whispering
      around the icy listening lake.
A naked branch awaits the spring,
  when vernal vigour will awake.

Autumn warmth
and rusted leaves hide
the shrouded chill lurking high
in northern lands,
mustering its icy warriors
to creep down in the night.

Keening winds gather dark clouds
about them cloaking the moon and stars
and with furtive breath ****,
the warmth from all about.

Icy blasts ravage the tired trees
as crystal flakes
cascade down from heavy skies;
beautiful, dancing nymphs
misleading my sight
numbing the air,
reaching out to every
crack and cranny.

They gather higher and higher,
blown into dark corners
climbing to my window ledge
as frosty tendrils slink down from the roof,
twining down my window pane
obscuring the outside from my sight …

Then, as morning’s pale light
oozes in through tight closed shutters,
I open my door onto a strange
and barren world:

all that was ordinary and familiar to me,
through verdant spring
and hot high summer,
to autumn’s parade of golden hues,
is lost to the white shroud of
Winter’s Creep.

© 2010/2012

The warmth is worn  
from my memories
Just as it were from
my restless feet

And I'm afraid
to think of anything
but the cracks
in the cold concrete..

Still, I chase the
winter breeze on passed
the candlelit windows
and snow-capped trees.

And, my sail to the
winter winds, I roam,
till I find what feels
like coming home.

Your sugar dust dances,
Falling in wisps and whirls onto the carcass of summer;
And that silent breath, like the ghost of a kiss,
Shadows under ill-lit street lamps.
Where toes dig deep into woolen blanket
And the body's fire is the only reprieve from your reaching icicles
I shall slip a smile to these rose petal lips and welcome your cold embrace

Snowing
Winter glowing
Through the breeze

Steps
Two quips
Through my ear

Singing
Echoes beaming
In the night

Silently
Smiling gently
At the future