Yes, I know, I'm a damn liar! I did say the last poem I posted would the final one for 2o15. But please, don't judge me too hard. This mini-poem just popped out of me (Like a "Pop" Tart out of a toaster) one late night and jumped onto the Facebook page. I liked it enough to work on it a bit, create a graphic and post it here for you, my dedicated reader. {smiles}
Winter Times
spreading it's deadly breath
across a worrisome night.
Sparrows have gone to nest,
I'm guessing. The ghost cat
who usually dances silently
through the gray shadows
of the corner streetlight
has given up his art
if only for tonight.
My life . . . still goes on.
The stubborn heater
in my microscopic apartment
keeps the chill of winter
at a comfortable distance
so my fingers can stutter out
a few more meaningless words
onto the blank stare of Facebook
before they (and the rest of me)
seek the even toastier haven
of my bed/couch. Yes, winter
doesn't bother me as much
as dreaming often does.
Woodie 12-28-2o15
Winter Times
The
cold has come.
Finally winter's herespreading it's deadly breath
across a worrisome night.
Sparrows have gone to nest,
I'm guessing. The ghost cat
who usually dances silently
through the gray shadows
of the corner streetlight
has given up his art
if only for tonight.
My life . . . still goes on.
The stubborn heater
in my microscopic apartment
keeps the chill of winter
at a comfortable distance
so my fingers can stutter out
a few more meaningless words
onto the blank stare of Facebook
before they (and the rest of me)
seek the even toastier haven
of my bed/couch. Yes, winter
doesn't bother me as much
as dreaming often does.
Woodie 12-28-2o15
That's a cool poem, seasonally appropriate and magically complex and personal. There is a feeling of some greater force, outside the scene you set, waiting until the character is too weak, almost predatory force that the character has already given in to. Really cool poem.
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