Why Poemasabi? It's a name I've used since I started writing poems. It's a modification of a gamertag I've used for years. Behind that curtain I am still Skip Ploss.
I consider myself more of an impressionistic poet because I don't spend hours working 29 followers / 6.9k words
The wind is clueless. It blows without thought, or consequence. It promises freedom when there is none. Not yet anyway, for the tiny seed, it's diaphanous tail frozen
for a time
to an icicle hanging from my porch roof melting in the sun
The wind is cold this morning and howls. Frustrated perhaps that there is so much to do. To move powder from roofs, decks and lawns. Heaping it in great dunes against my windows, on my porch and at my door.
Ever clicked on the Words link on the Hello Poetry home page? I did and this is what was created, such as it is, with some of the words ion the first line.
A house is not a home. A mother can make it so. But... when mother is gone home is house and so is just a thing for home is in your heart so travels where ever you go.
Cold seeps through windows through the places where door meets frame through spaces between floor boards. No matter how high the thermostat is set cold will get through and wrap itself around my feet like an unwanted cat made of snow and ice.
Beneath the snow the frigid wind, the dirt, lie little ticking time-bombs, waiting for the warmth of spring to set them off, to explode through soil in a carpet of luscious green… they don't know their reach for the sun will be regulated by my lawn mower