Winter Day
Category: Writing and Poetry
December 08
It is a gray day;
fog covers the distant view
of a lake just over the bern
the gray doom embrace the puter
silver of the water, never touching
only a feinted caress
it reminds me of watching smoke
reflect in a mirror, and seeming to
disappear within the reflection
of it's self
like the mirror, the water will inhale
and the gray will absorb into something
greater, and while I watch the demise
a birth of new appears
on the near shore across the fog lake
soup, pointed green forest, from the
shrinking fog, inhaled by lake; the mythical
forest begins to remove it's shroud
to unfold the forest not so prime but
nor is it evil, it is just mans attempt at
ecology on a minor scale while the lake
gobbles the fog
and the warm air removes the chill of the
day.
There is a still in the air tonight, it warmed
to around 40 fahrenheit here in OKC, 411 degrees short of book burning. Chinese I believe see the number 4 as unlucky. Well try have a bird fly into the house on the reservation, know the word omen!
A curious shift in my thinking while writing just now.
I have journals here from many years of writing.
Snippets and bits of incomplete ideas and poems,
thoughts and damnation's. I see just now if I am
ask where the most important thing I have done
is available, I wouldn't have a clue where to look
as nothing for the last twelve years is ordered in any way
If you apply this to the previous 50 years before
the pattern fits perfectly. Crazy yes!
A curious shift in my thinking while writing just now.
I have journals here from many years of writing.
Snippets and bits of incomplete ideas and poems,
thoughts and damnation's. I see just now if I am
ask where the most important thing I have done
is available, I wouldn't have a clue where to look
as nothing for the last twelve years is ordered in any way
If you apply this to the previous 50 years before
the pattern fits perfectly. Crazy yes!
