Another Poem About Winter and Windows

I've stood at the window several times

this morning to stare at the murderous cold,

as it blows across the few inches of snow

on our driveway.  The white cat asks to go

outside, but then stands in the doorway,

blinks furiously before returning to nap.

Outside a bird screams a terrible warning.

I will go out there to shovel, despite

having nowhere to go.  I know I said

I needed a visit to the library, but

that's not really an obligation.  I think

I'll wait to see how I feel about it later.

For now, I'm going to take a look

out my window.

Edginess

Snow blows beautiful
chaos against windows,
piling on sills.

Unable to venture outside,
even for a few moments on the porch,
our cats inch closer to outright madness.

They've begun to attack each other
in attempt to take the edge off.
It is unsuccessful.  Edginess remains.

I fear that my wife and I are not far behind.
I have begun to pace with my cats
room to room, inventing topics

of conversation, avoiding any discussion
of the aforementioned snowstorm
as it terrorizes the neighborhood.

Miser Magazine VIII

Got the latest Miser this week.  Excellent Cleveland area Art & Literature.  If you aren't getting these, then you have a problem (or 99 problems, and a lack of Miser is one).  Find them on Facebook, subscribe, support local art!  (I've used an exclamation point here, and I don't take that lightly)

Bitter

Freezing today,

21, 22, blowing snow

when the fire alarm went off.

We all evacuated, many

without coats and hats,

some in shirtsleeves.

We stood along Middle Ave.

waiting.  One girl showed us

her frozen hair, while others

compared the shades of blue

their hands had turned.

Some bounced.  Others

held each other close

out of necessity.

There are all sorts of students

at this school, but nothing

brings people together

like the collective outrage

over a bitter day, and the

bitter response 

to a malfunctioning

fire suppression system.

This Christmas We Will Discuss Politics and Religion.

Embracing the season's sense of charity,

overwhelmed by the subtle artistic quality

of evening snow on Christmas lights,

and the beautiful economic politics

of a robed man from Argentina,

I took a sip of coffee and quietly considered

a return to the church of my childhood

before deciding simply to remain a leftist.

Chapter 4: Sugar Maple

Looking out

over the yard

one last time,

a sugar maple has gone red,

and with some desperation

holds every leaf up to sunset

illuminated.

Tonight the frost returns,

tomorrow a windstorm,

maybe some snow.

We're all on borrowed time.

The moment has come

to do something

beautiful.

Chapter 3: Love in a Digital Season

I watched you

watch your phone,

swipe your finger

delicately

on its screen

as you sat there

in autumn sun.

We had just crossed

4th Street bridge

into the heights.

Clouds passed, then

the sun returned.

You smiled.

I did too.