Sunday, February 01, 2009


This morning in the half-light of a heavy
fog, the trees all dripped with chunks of ice.
Half-liquid limpid hemispheres, each one
reflecting pale sunlight at its heart
like light-bulb yolks encased in eggs of glass.
They fell from naked birches and from boughs
of cedar hanging green and dense, to dot
the sidewalk with fragmented brilliance.

And this half-aqueous illumination
tiny truncate icicles of light
these garlands for these winter-wedded trees
entwine me now in promises half-kept
in overcast half-melted into blue
in winter poised just half a breath from spring.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside


Rinkly Rimes said...

I have only just discovered you and I've only skimmed your work, but I'm intending to 'follow' you because I love your poetry. I hope you wont mind me saying that I can understand it! So much of modern verse leaves me in a fog. I don't know whether it's a generational thing, but I have to work too hard to get a meaning! With yours, it flows over me and elucidates rather than bewilders! As you will see, if you visit my blog, I write simple doggerel a lot of the time. This is mostly because I write in my head while I'm doing other things! I have written one sonnet though.

Tumblewords: said...

Terrific title. Thanks for another great read...

SweetTalkingGuy said...

Beautifully written, love the way this sounds!