Flint and flight:                                             Flinta och flyta:
Nature curls, open:                                      Naturen lockas, öppnas:
Unwinding.                                          ­         Nystas av.

We walk, not straight, lined                         Vi går, ej rakt, fram
In slow curves,                                              I långsamma kurvor,
A met horizon.                                             En mötande horisont.

Breath, in flumes,                                        Andetag,  i rännor,
Breath invisible,                                          Osynlig andedräkt,
Warmth freezes winter.                              Värmen fryser vintern.

All roots and branches                                  Alla rötter och grenar
Striving to hold up:                                      Strävar att hålla upp:
falling sky.                                                   fallande himmel.

i fell a p a r t from the one i love
as we shattered like broken glass
on the winter solstice filled sidewalk.
my heart now icy as snow,
while my desire burns like scorching coals.
with each fleeting memory
passing through melting snowflakes
i remember us.
carefree, running through the streets.
i remember us
even as we melted away.

-Odd personalities.

We are
As
Contrasting
In
Nature
As the
Summer Heat
Is from the
Winter Snow.

Even though the sky is dreary
And of my own thoughts I'm leery
I must not give in to them
Somehow I must think more clearly.

I turned on the living room light
And thoughts of sleeping all set flight
Why I sat in the dark alone
I don't know, but this feels right.

I've taken the dose of vitamin D
I've listened to my stomach's plea
To give it healthy, complex carbs
So I hope today is better for me.

It's the old story:
Everything Becomes New
Everything Becomes Young, so cruel
is the beauty of life

which sacrifices adults
to their fault
their most grievous fault
of ageing

They still can stay, wise
and competent or not
if they give up their place
earlier than they are ready

Maybe they will then understand
that they also have jockeyed for
position in the past, and even worse
that nobody has benefited from it

so that sacrifices to youth do not exist
There are only real needs to sacrifice
the wasting ego to, and let's hope
there will be hospitable compassion

enduring the urban winter

daring the day uncovered
            by way of a chaos of crows
                                  pulling on the weather
   breaking from their perches
crooking their feathered hinges
and 'carring' up the first subtle wash of light
     
they lift and clump to make a short migration
            from the city to...? [shrug]
their flight pattern seems more of a 'wit' or a 'prank'
  than a '******'
the sun machines to complete its horizon
              tugged by the last departing birds

returning in the afternoon
with the full light provided
          and messy winds to charge them
like malicious children from the playground gate
       fed and joy fighting at their hierarchy
              whilst in an unbattened flight
                      back into the city

in summer it will be the gulls

i used to lay on the snowed-in flowerbeds
of nan's backyard. once it snowed enough,
you couldn't tell that a ****** of perrenials
slept peacefully there: all crushed
and crooked beneath
dirt and ice.

some days she'd come and join me
if the ground was soft enough:
we'd stargaze up into the cosmos
of pine trees overhead and listen
for the stillness of winter - the hush
of silence that lingered in the air.

ivy and henbit writhed
gingerly underfoot:
a quiet dogfight
of frozen earth
that begged a
sluggish spring
to come out of
hiding.

gallows on the rooftop
where window washers go
                            to suspend
metal gibbet
            quick hinge, raise and lock
secure against the weather

whipped                                
  combed and packed snow
    ice crusted dunes
strain the winds over the buildings roofing
                                 an extreme combing exposure
                                
doubtlessly
they'll be no labor done today

On the seventh floor
i watch from behind
              an environment sealed window
              wolfing my lunch on a short break
                                in the warm fire escape

i watch
a solitary worker is ejected from a hatch in the exterior wall
                                      cuffed by a spasm of wind
he descends a short bolted ladder
              and makes a geared approach
crouching
his weight against the wind  
          he drags a heavy kit
            mummified in protective clothing
              passing my spot and he then heads outward
                    towards the bounds of the rooftop
he mends a stable stance
one foot close to the edge
the rest of him
in a low defensive pose
clips his harness to the gallows
stands to take a confident beating
            of the breath stealing
                      brawling winter gale
he radios for the gantry to be raised

In quiet whispers, snowflakes hover, dance—
Can’t move, spellbound – it’s all serene, at peace…
I feel at home when snow descends, surrounds.