Old Poems Never Die



It’s  quiet after the storm—-

A Nor-Easter born

Of warm and cold

Furious and bold.

The winds rise high,


Creak and moan

The marsh and forest sigh.

Then —-gone,

Sometimes on

Sometimes off

With winter’s random joff.

Heavy snow

From clouds in tumble





On  white earth:

The dearth of

Summer’s dying


Frozen low.

Silent  now

I wait for you

And you for me,

As we marvel how

A flurry of colors


On a sea of white.

Icy bright

Dormant trees—

A ghost force–


In the night.

Dazzling our sight

A sliver moon

In the cosmic room

Of heaven

Shines on us—-

Its starry dream

Real and true,

Drawn on the slate blue

Darkness of an endless whisper.

I hear you calling

Always and forever

Living or dying

Finding home.

The blind hear,

The deaf see,

We make music,

Make life,

Drink wine,

Bake bread,

Sing and dine.

With spirits and angels

We are many,

One in each other

Redeemed at the instant snow falls

In the vortex of a moment.

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