Tag Archives: winter

LEVEL 2 EMERGENCY

Photo by Ahmed u061c on Pexels.com

Snow fell.

Quiet reigned

aboriginal and free

amid snow’s mystery.

Only the rabbits

left their tracks

to let us know

life still goes on

despite levels of emergency

tossed to and fro

by weather-casters

who took over the news

while Ukrainian children were bombed,

while fishermen’s boats were blown apart,

while military heroes were called traitors,

while brown and black people were secreted away

to secret places behind fencing and weapons,

while scientists were silenced by conspiracy,

while money poured in to false fronts

put in place by false leaders spouting false claims,

while real drug-runners, insurrectionists, rapists and worse

were pardoned and promoted to prod us to succumb

to the darkness weighing down our days as well as our nights.

And still,

the snow fell.

Pure and white,

it covered up every dirty secret.

It hid all sin from our sight.

it made us believe again.

In what? 

What happens when it melts again,

as it surely will,

as it has since the Wampanoag

and every tribe lost its place,

as it has on every plantation

where enslaved persons 

plotted to run away,

as it does now with every bonus paid to an ICE agent

subduing a person of color and hiding them away.

It snowed last night.

It is freezing and cold today.

Snow did not create an emergency.

We did.

And, we keep trying to cover it up.

It snowed last night.

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AUTUMN IS IN THE AIR

Acrylic on canvass, self-portrait, louise Annarino

Cold air is heavier.

Its density 

has a propensity

to hold us in place,

inside,

asleep.

It is enough

to make one weep

who loves the heat.

I welcome it

for its cooling property, 

its innate ability

to calm and soothe

the painful reality

of an overheated,

seemingly defeated,

world once at peace.

Oh, it was but a brief

moment in time

when hope was alive

and the country thrived,

and nations strived

to help democracy

overcome autocracy.

But, I digress

under great stress.

Cold air is weighted

with shards of ice

torn loose from northern fields,

with such power to wield

that it weighs down sunrise,

to no one’s surprise.

It puts the worker bees to sleep.

They awaken inside flowers

lacking the power

to find their way to their hives.

Cold air makes dreams

more difficult to bear,

their messages too heavily aware

of all the world’s problems

fair and unfair.

Autumn is here

and the world bows down

under the new weight.

Winter is not far away.

I cannot wait!

As sun rises the only sound

is the song of geese southward bound.

I place the heating pad round

a sore back from bending down

to plant bulbs squirrels have already found.

Soon, snow will coat the frozen ground.

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SNOW!

We often think that Spring brings our first hopes

of a new life, a new world, a new cause to celebrate.

We need not wait for Spring to hope.

Eight inches of snow fell silently and cloaked

the surfaces of note that set our scene,

a scene fearfully bleak which clouds all thoughts

of a fearless life, and hides the fear which lies below

our greatest hopes, limited by what, we do not know.

We fear the worst after watching the news

meant to keep us watching, our nerves hanging on every word.

Snow!

Snow changes our landscape in a moment.

The deeper the snow, the greater the wind, 

the more we see of all the possibilities 

to change the world we ache to know.

All darkness and decay disappears by end of day.

White whorls of snow cover every branch of every tree,

and shrub and shed. No tracks yet made by others 

who share this place with me.

The sun rises in  a fiercely blue sky and tracks appear

upon the new world of white light strewn across its face.

Snow!

Snow allows us to dream we can make all clean.

Our purity glows within each crystal caught by sunlight,

raising our spirits, capturing our innocence.

We believe we can change, too. All is right in a world draped in white.

My first hope does not wait for Spring.

It comes alive at the sight of the first big snow.

Snow reminds me that landscapes can change swiftly,

purely, beautifully aglow. Even war’s wounded landscapes

appear at peace when covered in snow.

Impoverished neighborhoods where crime rules breathe softly covered in snow.

Snow!

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THE SQUIRRELS AND I

Photo by Good Free Photos.com on Pexels.com

Squirrels multiply fast around here,

as fast as they run about the yard.

Three new nests in the Linden tree 

have appeared,

Hidden by dense leaves

out of view.

The sun hides too.

Her light is now hidden by clouds.

She has stopped dancing amid shadows.

Like the squirrels I am too proud

to simply sit and wait for sun 

to show her face.

Without sun 

we barely know our place

in this darkened, cooling space.

We no longer dig and play

in garden beds anchored in clay.

The squirrels have stopped their foray

for bulbs planted a month ago,

ceased moving them to a new place

or worse, chewing or eating them first.

The squirrels, and I are nearly as dormant

as the perennials, and as scattered.

My body yearns to find its way,

to dig and plant, to weed and hoe.

It no longer drops onto the garden bench

to rest and watch the birds and bees.

I drop onto my nested couch instead.

The squirrels and I have grown

too cold, too weary

amid days as dark as night.

The squirrels and I have become too quiet.

Sun’s warming disposition

no longer lightens nor warms us.

Birds no longer join us in chorus

as we hummed alongside the busy bees.

Neither of us are ready

for the coming deep-freeze.

We squirrel away.

I on my Netflix couch;

the squirrels find their own 

entertainment and playful connection

I remain ignorant of those; 

and, so, I and cannot mention

what keeps them tight inside.

My own tightness will not subside

no matter how hard I try.

I cannot blame the sun.

She still hangs overhead.

Like the squirrels and I

she has decided to hide.

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DEEP FREEZE

Photo by Maria Orlova on Pexels.com

After the cheeping rattle of ice chips beat against the window

and replaced the quiet drift of falling snowflakes

silence descended and coated the ground.

Now there is no sound, 

as if Earth, herself, is holding her breath.

The freeze is so profound that even the tires on cars

silently whirl round and around and around,

trying to grip as the cars slide and slip,

like ideas trying not to collide,

unable to take purchase of a single thought;

awakened from silent dreams fraught

with swallowed screams and naught

to do with this newly frozen world.

New snowflakes, smaller and tighter now twirl

hidden by silent vows made on quiet streets

to freeze out life and cover the Other,

refusing to see them as sister and brother.

The only remarks that life remains for sure

are three breaths controlled and held in check:

the warmth of hot air blown from furnace grates,

the kettle of water heated to steep tea,

and the certainty that I am still me.

Breathe in and breathe out, and never doubt

that frozen days come silently to give us time

to redesign and renew Earth,

and a new birth 

of a new humanity.

Warming brings the thaw of words hidden 

by the freeze of words now bidden

to silence by those who fear trust hidden by design.

I find the hidden poetry in this silent freeze.

I make those hidden words mine.

I wake with you and your warm spirit to shout

across the deep freeze all about.

Sound carries farther on cold air.

So shout and sing and show you care

in this heavily silent deep freeze.

Never let silence shout you out.

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HAIKU

Winter Garden

WINTER GARDEN, acrylic on canvass, Louise Annarino

I watch the garden grow

beneath the blanket of snow,

waiting to emerge.

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SOLSTICE

Photo by Hassan OUAJBIR on Pexels.com

Oh, Sun!

You have reappeared.

Yes, I flirt with clouds.

I love their changing shape,

the shadows they cast

across the landscape.

But, it is you I hold most dear.

My heart begins to race

seeing your warm and loving face,

as every day you draw more near,

and stay longer in  my embrace.

Ah, Sun, your hot touch thrills

until my heart stills

then beats along with yours.

Oh, Sun, my Sun, my love!

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THE FROST OF WAR

Photo by Megan Ruth on Pexels.com

Brazen bronze seedbeds

accosted by frozen brown bombs,

following an early frost,

when flowers freeze before

leaves and people fall,

their lively colors trapped

still vibrant and glowing,

as if they are not dead after all.

Broken boards and barren stalls

line the barns left as fallow

as the fields where bombs have fallen.

Images so serene and spare

burn the sockets in despair

that life so precious

no longer has a place

among this not-so-human race.

The season of death and dying

has descended and too many dreams

have been up-ended.

Bursts of air throw up clods of dirt

upon the nations of the earth

burying every sound of mirth

amidst the screams of lasting horror.

And yet we know that Spring will come

after this winter of solemn sorrow.

The best we can do is hope

for a better tomorrow.

So it has ever been

and hopefully,

so it shall be

if only we

can survive

the winter

and war’s demise.

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MEMORIES

The hummers have left with the long sunny days.

Frost settled down and intends to stay.

All that is left of the hummingbirds feeding in my yard

are memories of their daily visits and aeronautic repertoire.

I miss their dancing forms as they move from flower to flower.

I am left with cloudy days that drag out lonely hours.

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OCTOBER SKIES

OCTOBER SKY, Louise Annarino, 2017

Brace your self for a bumpy ride.

October suns glide and slide

across the brow, beneath the feet

of creatures running to complete

the fattening tasks needed to compete

with coming cold as sun retreats.

Winds blow swift above, and heavy below

laden with ice and crystal snow 

that melts as it falls through warm air below.

Ice-cold wind, ice-cold rain

on too-short days when sun cannot remain

long enough to lift corners of lips into smiles

of true delight as we prepare for winter nights.

Grab a hot toddy, hot chocolate too.

Get out the boots and sleds that once flew

down hills slick with sleet in childhood delight.

Be prepared to cheer and hoot sun’s appearance

as dark skies and cold are put on clearance.

Like a good salesman I beg you to buy

the wondrous beauty of an October sky.

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