Five Reasons to Love the Long Nights of Winter

This poem is one I wrote maybe a decade ago, but it still expresses something important to me about the beauty, peace, and comfort of this time of year.

A Space to be Filled

After a bright afternoon’s quickening light
To be cradled by dusk,
Its slowly sit-down darkening

To contemplate the softening outline of the old cat
Curled warm on your grey-trousered lap

To watch the women and men with briefcases and backpacks
Walk from the bus toward darkened houses

To see a glow appear here or there and know
The tired homecomings have begun

To unravel the mysteries of your heart
That can only be glimpsed when the busy sun
Pulls up its thick shadows
And the arms of the evening encompass all

____________________

View original post

like a prayer

Make it like a prayer that first step onto fresh snow. In this small, quiet moment you have not yet invented yourself. ~~~

Five Reasons to Love the Long Nights of Winter

After a bright afternoon’s quickening light To be cradled by dusk, Its slowly sit-down darkening To contemplate the softening outline of the old cat Curled warm on your grey-trousered lap To watch the women and men with briefcases and backpacks Walk from the bus toward darkened houses To see a glow appear here or there … Continue reading Five Reasons to Love the Long Nights of Winter →

It’s that…

It's that I'm missing you: an empty cavern where my full heart once was. ~~~

Sorted Those

Went through the clothes draped over the chair, you know, the in-between, the ones you're not sure if you should wear one more time - the not worthy to be hung as clean, the not dirty enough to be tossed in the laundry. Went through the letters saved in the box, you know, the bittersweet, … Continue reading Sorted Those →

The Travelling Onion

To the Muses, with love, 2005 "And I would never scold the onion for causing tears."* The onion does what it does. We each must live this way. The small tears you have caused me the days of laughter they are of my own making yet they are yours; you must love the way you … Continue reading The Travelling Onion →

A poem written under the influence of Billy Collins*

Sitting on the sofa, staring at the perfect flames; the two cats, having argued over who gets the lap and who the haunch, now settled in their places; I'm thinking about a perfect life, which is what this looks like. Rain drums on the roof and falls in waves from that one place where the … Continue reading A poem written under the influence of Billy Collins* →

I have finished striding through the day

I have finished striding through the day and yearn now for small comforts a familiar chair a soft lamp a half-read book an old cat Let go of the adventures and the glad-handing let the workers return to their families let me find my way to tomorrow's courage as night folds down