from silken intervals of flesh

parting inevitable,

a vagrant blossom falls

upon a dusted road

the pink of a dying star

upon clad earth

brings no consolation

to icicles hung over

shallow grave,

filling the path to April

free winds follow

a creeping slope and

linger there,

can we remember the shade

and tulip bloom

cautious burning of butterfly

wing,

storms come in colored coats

indifferent to yesterday

pleasure not yet spoiled,

long fingers spread

over frozen labyrinths

iced buds squoze upon

the branches,

waxwing bows it’s head

brought by music

of a new chorus

winter will not be forgotten

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Comments
  1. kaykuala says:

    waxwing bows it’s head
    brought by music
    of a new chorus
    winter will not be forgotten

    Despite the cold, winter is still welcomed. There’s that nostalgic feelings around its presence! Wonderful take Chris! Merry Christmas and Happy holidays!

    Hank

  2. aquaverse says:

    Chris I really like this blog, and these poems.

  3. brian miller says:

    nice….the icicles over the shallow grave make for a rather striking image…and the petal in the dirt as well…nice chris…

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