that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

sometimes,

your angle

of approach

changes

everything

.

.

Apparently, Jack Frost does have a heart.

Several, actually.

He left me an early Valentine’s gift and well, I melted.

I love you, too, Jack.

Your magic is one of Nature’s best tricks.

xoxo

.

.

.

.

Join Debi, Graciel and I for a year of ordinary magic… details here

It was a month of snow angels and outdoor picnics, getting things done and doing absolutely nothing, taking care of business and escaping into books. Red was the flavor, and quiet was the color. It was a month of letting life flow at its own pace, I didn’t fight any of it, never once did I swim against the current, I just let it carry me wherever it was headed. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that, and it was good.

January was a month of settling in, to life at 50, to life in 2013, to life in a world we have yet to catch up with.

Soon, I suppose, busy will be stopping by for a visit, she never likes to stay away for long. I’ll make her some tea and we’ll sit for a chat and she’ll mention that she’s planning to stay for a spell. I won’t be surprised or upset, I will simply say yes and turn away to bake her some cookies. Snickerdoodles, in fact. Because you can’t say snickerdoodles without smiling, and besides, they are delicious.

But I can’t help but wish that January could stay just a little bit longer, so I could sit here and stare out this window at the birds, at all the wonder, at the dancing snowflakes that have just started to fall from the sky, despite the fact that just yesterday, the temperature peaked at 65.

I hear February tapping on the glass, too short to be seen, but just tall enough to reach a bony finger up and make her presence known. She likes to be all dark in her grey robes and bitter nights, but it’s hard to take someone so small very seriously. Still, I will sit with her tomorrow, build her a fire and bring her some flowers, just because she is here.

And I won’t tell her how much I miss January, for it would never do to make her jealous.

She has quite the temper, that one, don’t be fooled by the hearts and the chocolates.

But don’t worry, either, for she is no match for March and its promises of flowers.

snow crunches and gives me away
as i stalk the howl of this january moon
a barefoot shivering gypsy
in a white gown meant for summer
snapping in the pearlesque breeze

the seasons have forgotten
how to be themselves

your forest is home
to a bird i cannot name

but i am not afraid
to stand here in the dark

not afraid to burrow under trees
and tunnel through silvery shadow

i already have my own scars
glinting white in the light
of fullness

when my back is turned
you trace them with your cold
clay shiver fingers
while i hold my breath
and play spectral

i know how much
you need
this map

.

..

.

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night

.

listen to

the music

of your

mind

.

.

why are we so afraid of empty?

we fill our homes with too much stuff

our bellies with too much food

our minds with too much information

{stop}

give me a clean sheet

an unfilled bowl

a barren cave to sleep in

.

i want space

wide  •  open  •  hollow

.

nothing

absolutely nothing

to distract me

.

from life

.

.

i hold nothing in my fingers but time

you laugh and say

impossible

but in your heart

you hear whispers of minutes

.

in winter

the sun is empty

i paint gold leaf onto snowbanks

and we watch

another day melt

.

yesterday i extracted

a sliver of silence from my palm

when i held it up to the light

i saw a fuzzy grey snapshot

of midnight

.

.

..

.

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night

.

let’s see

where we

end up

.

and why would it be, really
we have cool blues for that,
dark midnights and
periwinkle fields to float upon

but it’s winter
give me some vermilion
a scarf of scarlet, or crimson,
lipstick stain on landscape grey

singing loud and unafraid
nevermind who’s looking,
or who knows you’ve been here,
never let them turn away

you steal them in the silver haze of twilight
fighting hard to keep from being swallowed
by dark forest and beckoning fern

snatching words and phrases by the tail
as you fly from branch to broken
in a black ribbon melody of midnight

an owl in the pines smiles at your attempts
to scribble scrabble puzzle out each line
with dissonance and hollow heart echoes

into a ransom note of bittersweet cacophony
hoping only that one star will listen
all the while knowing it will come to rest

in the cached out core of a long dead oak
with shiny bits of treasure you collect at dawn
and offer up as sacrifice to a beacon

that will never shine the light of beauty
on your coal-flavored eye or add the flair
of accessory to your brittle silhouette

but no matter no matter
you mourn you caw
you fly