It’s February

It’s February
And soon day is over;
Before I know it
It’ll be October.

Barren trees and snowy white
Come and go and come again,
Chilly days and chilly nights
With only a fire for a friend.

The sky a smoky gray
With ghosts from another season
Haunting nights and haunting days
Down streets icily freezing.

The stillness is ever quiet
Till the wind bursts from its cave
A blizzard dancing with snow
Flakes bouncing wave after wave.

A white monolith of mountain
Rushes through cities and towns
An endless white filling the eye.
Then a green sprout through the ground.

It’s February
And soon day is over;
Before I know it
It’ll be October.

And the leaves will fall,
And the leaves will fall.

micropoem of the day: winter world

The world has become winter. Everywhere it seems to be cold. Arctic ice weather comes even to Florida. The snow hasn’t reached us yet. Yet. But the way things seem to be going, it may be sooner than later. Everybody seems to have weather on their minds. But who can blame them? I sure can’t because it’s on mine.

Still, cold and winter
birds bundled together
the world an ice palace

 

haiku for the day: this too shall pass

I have a running joke about Florida’s weather. When asked, I tell people that I live in a place where we have two seasons: summer and more summer. Although we do have some days and weeks where the temps go down to the forties and the thirties, most of our winter days are mild compared to the weather some of you folks north of the Mason-Dixon have. Man, you have some rough weather up there. When someone complains to me about a hot August day in Florida, I tell them to go back and check Michigan, Wisconsin, North Dakota, New England and New York in February. One thing is for sure. No matter where we live we complain about the weather. It’s in our DNA.

white walls of winter
the landscape snow upon snow
soon green buds and spring

Reminds me of this scene from the movie, “Fargo”:

First snow

The wind resonates purring

soon to be clawing and biting,

chill crackles the air,

and automobile engines chatter

on this night icy and cold

from the year’s first snow;

Bobbie Ann and David, Warren,

Susie and I, we band of five

inseparably cloister against

the meowing on its prowl,

scratching, raking its talons

against the side of the house.

And then the calm. The snow calls

us from our stories, songs and games

to frolic in a niveous wonderworld

where we and other neighborhood kids

friskily pack and splatter

white balls of algidity while

missiles of ice hiss past.

A crash in the ear, a blast on the skin,

an ouch! and we slosh our retreat

to Bobbie Ann’s house,

hot chocolate and snow ice cream.