There
On
The
Peripheries,
Beyond
The
Sphere
We
Occupy,
A
Million
Billion
Stars
Go
By,
Oblique
To
The
Naked
Eye.
Powerful
Lens
Estimate
The
Texture
And
The
Weight
Of
One
Or
Two,
And
Calculate
How
Far
We
Must
Fly
To
Reach
The
Nearest,
No
Matter.
Why.
Out
There On The Peripheries, Beyond The Sphere We Occupy, A Million Billion Stars Go By, Oblique To The Naked Eye. Powerful Lens Estimate The Texture And The Weight Of One Or Two, And Calculate How Far We Must Fly To Reach The Nearest, No Matter. Why.
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Late
February Plays Her Tricks, With Spring One Day And Frost The Next. Hopes Run High Under Blue Skies, Buds Appear, Then Lo, A Sudden Fall Of Snow. Begone Winter, Get Lost, We’ve Already Paid Your Annual Cost. Silken
Moments Of Ease, Stolen Among The Daily Pleat And Squeeze, When A Stillness Comes, And All Your Dreams And Foolish Schemes Run Smooth As Ruffles Edging Clouds Over The Ragged Mountain Face, Delicate As Lace. Time
Withered, Cold Shivered, Fate Delivered, Deep Engraved, Heart Enslaved, Once More Again, Breathe And Begin. Today,
The Mountain Is Aglow With Light, Reflected From Chiseled Snow That Fell Overnight, Carved By A Master Hand, In Ice Over Rock And Sand. The
Awning Icicles Grow And Grow, Drip, Drip, Slip, Fall, And Stab Into The Snow, Once, Then Twice, Sharp Blades Of Prismed Ice. Highs,
Lows, Sharps And Flats, All The Music Where You’re At, Every Sight And Sound In An Urban Surround, And In Between, The Inner Silence That Whispers What It Means. Surprise!
Emerging From The Cold, Hard, Soil, The Reward Of Last Year’s Toil, Tulips, Tulips, Harbingers Of An Untimely Spring, But In February, They Promise Everything, And Please, Don’t Let Them Freeze. Clothes
Fumed And Perfumed, Silks Washed In A Flowing Stream, Rich Colors Glowing, Slippers Of Soft Leather, Furs Against The Cold Weather, And In A Jaunty Hat With A Sweet Feather, Darkness For Cover, She Goes To Meet The Fabled Lover. I Wrote
Down Somewhere The Location Of Things Once Right There, Carefully Tucked Away On A Long Forgotten Day. I Want To Say They’re Close To Hand, And It’s Hard To Understand How The Past Gobbled Them Up And Boggled My Poor Mind, Burdened With Stuff I Can’t Find. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
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