The Finch

You were all mine, for one short night
O yellow breasted bird.
You lost your way and fell from flight.
Your song was never heard.

I cupped you in my hand and then,
I kept you for the night.
Protected you from vicious cats.
And hid you from plain sight.

But morning had another plan.
As nature worked its way.
You died a peaceful death today.
Instead of being prey.

But still I cry a tear or two.
For you were mine last night.
I place a rock upon the ground.
To mark your resting site.

Frozen Lake

Awake, Old Man Winter, hear my song.
Strong are your breaths that chill my bones.
Stones in the brook are wrapped in clear ice.
Twice they were thawed by a sun drenched day.
Cafe poetry, coffee and sweet cream,
Team up with thoughts of warm intimacy.
Consistency of winter's chilling winds,
Skins the sensitive heart yet one more time.
Sublime are mountains with their snow caps.
Perhaps now, we could dance on a frozen lake.

A Dirty Little Limerick

There once was a gal, who wore only white.
She gleamed in the day and shinned in the night.
Then a guy tempted, come play;
in brown gooey mud today.
Now she's a horrible, dirty sight!

Winter Soil

( Haiku )

Blanket me with cold

sparkling crystal falling flakes

Prepare me for birth

Of Peace and Joy

I learned as a child, the horrors of war.
I learned from books and pictures I saw.
I learned of hate, violence and greed
I learned of starving people, we couldn't feed.

I thought back then, the world would change
I thought other cultures, seemed really strange.
Why would they live in a place with no food and water?
Why would a parent pick a husband for their daughter?

Why does man fight over land, when there is so much?
Why can't we share the lands resources and such?
I thought time would civilize everyone.
But it's like waiting for the midnight sun.

I wish for us all, that wars would cease.
I pray everyday for world wide peace.
I found here, a little haven of joy,
of heart and soul...the real McCoy.

In our own little corner of the world, we live
with love, hope and understanding to give.
We, poets of the world, stand tall, stand proud
We speak in volumes without being loud.

Yet our message is heard through many words.
Rehearsed through scholars and even nerds.
Long live the words through our verse
as they enter the mind and then immerse.

Winter Icicles

Winter icicles smile smoothly
and I shiver.
Then I imagine your warmth-
an amazing storm!
Fondly you feed this fire
madly inside.
Blankets warm loosely-
you snuggle up.
An outrageous December!

Christmas Light

If ever I should lose my way
on a snowy covered road.
Never will I fear and tremble,
knowing You carry the load.

When winter's cold seeps into bones,
and flesh calls me to sin--
On bended knee to You I'll pray--
with You I'll always win.

O bright planet, shine down on me
this cold December night.
You're right on time, to show the way,
and chase away my fright.

You look just like a star, one night
that guided years ago.
To promise ever lasting life--
and keep me from my woe!

Morning Song

The birds in spring are up at the crack of dawn
singing for all, their morning song.
And the sweet fragrance of lilac
fill the morning air.

A Winter Morning

Slowly leaving a peaceful state,
awakening to a deafening silence,
with an odd glow peering through blinds.
Chilling air touches skin,
as blankets get tossed aside.
Stepping over to the window,
sun-lover curiously opens the blinds.
Gasp of surprise breaks the silence.
Countless number of brilliant white flakes,
all collected quietly during the night.
Still floating down without a sound.
No wind disturbs their travel.
Each unique in its' own design.
Stacks on the ground in massive quantity.
With no urgency to this Saturday morning,
immersed in deep thoughts of getting started,
goes back to the warmth left under the covers.

Windy February Night

Cold seeping inward
Unwanted chilled caresses
Gusty night prowler

A November Monday

In the crisp air I step lively to my car,
brushing my hair away from my eyes

.
I marvel at how Long Island temperatures
can go up and down so drastically in two days.

Surprisingly my muscles aren't screaming at me
after the workout I gave them on Saturday.
According to my son, I was a psycho on Saturday,
raking leaves in the relentless wind and rain.
It was only drizzling and the wind was a help.

I heard you Saturday, despite the wind, flying over head
but could not see you through the thick, heavy rain clouds.
Still, I knew you were up there, creating poetry in the air.
I wanted to join you and I almost did as a gust of wind
shook me from my foot hold on the muddy ground.

I will take you and your poetry with me as I travel to work,
as I breath in the fresh air from the slightly opened car window.
It is a fine day and I have God to thank for that and I have you
to thank, for sharing your good poetry with me....
your poetry with the double O!

As Coffee Brews

Your feathery quill struck my eye
as I butter my toast of rye.
I hunger for your poetic words
that fly off like a flock of birds.
Into the night they disappear
behind a cloud that's very sheer.
Then in dawn's light as coffee brews
poetic words and honey fuse.

Poetry Wine

Who has cometh to wine and dine
upon thy simple words?
And would you care to cometh back
for seconds, even thirds?

Luscious grapes, fruit of thy vine,
perfecting on thy twine.
Stay and linger on thy lips,
sweet poetry and wine.

I knew thee well once long ago,
our words danced 'neath the moon.
I gave to thee, thy dewy heart,
that bloomed in early June.

Luscious grapes, fruit of thy vine,
perfecting on thy twine.
Stay and linger in thy mind,
sweet poetry and wine.

Celerity

Why is the pen always out of ink?
Is it really a wonder;
Have you not read all that he writes,
in the shadows of the wee hours
whilst I sleep?

The moon is on the rise
and the mood is warming
the breath of the night.

The cravings for sweet metaphors
come alive in his poetic mind
as he calls for me to come
and play once again;
to be his angel.

"Come to mind" he says to me.
"Come, my muse of the night".

I am but an innocent reader of his poems,
a captive audience of one, by day
and an unknowing seductive muse by night.

How is it unknowingly that I invade his mind
and become the muse of his desires?
Like the depths of a dark ocean, have my
eyes revealed my most womanly secrets?

I am but the grass that only looks greener
on the other side of the metaphor.
I am but the rhyme that fanned out her
tail feathers only to fall flat on the floor.

Still, he calls me to mind in the cool dusk.
And once again I am his muse of the night.

The lines on the paper heat up with each
stroke of the pen as ink flows with celerity.
He can't help but express his male excitement
and in his nervous state...forgets my name!

Poem in D minor

I've seen, I've heard this play before,
two restless souls a fire.
Invite, excite, to come explore
to see what will transpire.

But star-dust soon will leave the eye
I'm sure you will agree.
Another beauty passes by
and then I'm history.

Recite to me a ballad free
of broken hearts galore.
Don't lust for me on bended knee
for I will cry no more.