A Clear December Sky, Dark, Cold, and Starlit

So tired of the ice and snow,

freezing rain, and dreary drizzle,

overcast skies and clouds blotting out the sun

and the clear night sky, December sky,

cabin-fever settling in these early winter days;

but tonight, stepping out onto a new fallen snow,

the sky is clear and dark, cold, and star-lit,

constellated, Orion where he should be,

where he always is here in the winter sky above my house,

Babylon’s “Heavenly Shepherd,” the “True Shepherd,”

shepherding me here, small in the universe I share with him,

the great hunter, his belt, three stars - Alnitak, Alnilam,

and Mintaka - straight and bright against the dark heavens,

reminding me, my coat pulled tight about me, hands

deep into my pockets for warmth, a scarf about my neck,

reminding me of things eternal, begun long before our time,

lasting well beyond us, despite us, powerless here,

an eternity we can only glimpse, touch briefly, temporal,

and in touching, transitory though we be,

we are alive, a small contribution touching, too, eternity.

A Christmas Poem - Dec 2013

We each must celebrate the season, the holiday,

as we’ve been taught, as we do, based on our values,

our beliefs, who we are, but here at the lake,

on a silent night, a night holy, perhaps,

all is calm, all is bright, a clear sky’s

moonlight lighting, illuminating the lake,

snow covered now, this winter eve, virginal snow

unspoiled, untrodden, a peace unto itself,

and to the east, a star shines brighter

in a field of stars, and it’s easy to believe

in a child born, a lowly birth, or richly gifted,

a gift himself, this child, love’s pure light,

radiant, a pauper’s child, or a king’s,

and in the breeze stirring up, a slight stirring

blowing from the west, faint and distant, soft

hallelujahs might be heard on the wind,

glories streaming, as we pull our coats tighter

about us, quaking, our fears revealed, doubts

in a world much changed in growing older,

longings lingering to return to a simpler time

of knowing, of faith believing, this silent night,

this holy night, for all is calm, all is bright,

and tonight, this Christmas eve, there is hope

renewed, a child born, quiet Hallelujahs sung;

so sleep well, old world much changed,

old world and us, this night, this season,

huddled here and watching, sleep,

sleep, in heavenly peace.

The Ice is Restless

The ice is restless

this mid-December night,

groaning under a blanket,

pulled taunt, of ice and snow,

snow and ice, cracking, shifting

in his waking, restless sleep,

calling out in a booming voice

to us, warm under our own blankets,

quilted warm and waiting, settling in

for the winter months ahead.

The Walk

The dog always knows when it’s time

to take me for a walk, reminding me

with her whining and pawing,

a soft yip on my more forgetful days,

so we leash ourselves together

and she takes me out, down the stairs

and through the back door to the outside,

outside the house and outside ourselves;

she knows where to take me, down which paths

to go, our route through the woods little varied,

few choices offered us, so leashed and tethered,

she leads me onward, patient in my falling behind her,

lollygagging, lost in my own thoughts thinking,

pulling me forward, to speed me up,

to join her, her muscles straining against my pull,

or me marching too far ahead, too fast, she, patient,

slow behind me, stopping, her nose seeking out a smell,

the fox that crossed before us, or a leaf,

a blade of grass, or the squirrel hiding above, in the treetops,

calling to her to play, calling to us,

and charging forward past me, tail out straight,

ears pulled back, she calls to me, “come, man,

run with me, race the wind, and win” or “slow down,

stop and listen, hear the mouse burrowing below the snow,”

earth’s music, buried there, faintly heard by those in tuned,

as we are, man and dog, tethered, leashed, best-friend-bound;

so I plod on steadily, by rote, listening, feeling

earth’s rhythms in the crunch of snow beneath my feet,

one foot in front of the other, routine,

and she lets me go, go where I will,

an eye kept out for me, as mine for her,

leaving me with my thoughts, composing

lines of verse in my head, composing myself,

walking the dog and wondering, what poetry

does she write, walking here with me,

falling behind or racing ahead, in-tuned?