snow has the height of pigeons today
translucent joy trapped in its consistency
the whole world is moving I am standing still
to listen to the intensity of ice, to its labour
to hold the tension of true opposites
the perpetual dance of white turning into black
maybe the trees are hallucinating their dreams
the same way we do
sometimes I forget the lesson of winter
to find itself again it has no choice but to
become spring

Oh sweet pleasure,
Where have you gone?
Now that days are dark
And the tasks of the world are above me.
I can't see you through the mist.
My heart, covered as it is, feels you not.
Like being adrift in a vast ocean
Or alone in a confined space
I wait
For a truth which i know is out there...
The truth of knowing
Beyond doubt
That things will change,
That life will change,
And all I need do is wait
And my salvation will come
Like a ship on the horizon
Or a light of rising dawn
Which will
burn away the vapor.
I will see you once again my heart,
For now though
I rest in my unawareness
In my turmoil
In union with my grief
and the pain of life

a shimmering lightness
of white rolls playfully
across the tips of
slender bladed greenery
the delicate dancing of
that yet-to-be-mown grass
grown long beyond
what building aesthetics
          should permit
a gentle play of
low-lying sun
glanced upon frosted
and thawed alike
the cold breath of wind
ruminating between
a delicate breeze or
          those chilling gusts
harsh yet homely
while blanketed in
the warmth of
this merino wool
even the bitterest of
winter mornings will
feel nothing but
picturesque

Forest floor, underbrush abound;
The light sprinklings of winter found.
Snow kissed scenery, that
Whether cold be dreary
Still seems the more dreamy, than
Tracing each step.
These frigid months of death-
Before life springs back
Bringing fresh greenery

winter warfare
torments our dwellings brickwork
night of casualties
aggressive plague on my dreams
wakes me  to be visited

As dawn's fog yawns
exhausted jaws call upon
tomorrows and beyond.

Pondering somnolent solitude's
honest and solemn qualms,
the calm before
ancient eons old atomic bomb;
clouds becoming bells of bronze,
air a balmy sauna,
strands of photon blonde
don tree awnings
and lush bladed lawns
strong enough to rouse flora,
fauna frolicking along,
faults and all their wrongs;
summer sunrise,
curtains, drapes are drawn,
phenomenon a drama
of God's pawns,
audience applause
the crawling pulse
of this cosmic throng.

But chronology's period
more like a comma, pause,
as falling autumns quick bygone,
then a wave of frigid wand
and winter's frostbitten trauma haunts;
maudlin waters frozen wanton,
fossilized to icy ponds,
ossified swans mourn silenced songs
their unspoken sonnets
for want of
warm renaissance.

you brandish most beautiful eyes at me
as our paths cross
in the city.

a blue as pure as the winter sky
makes me think that
to see you cry
would plunge my heart into
a roaring blizzard.

yet I can imagine the light
of the sun
shimmer upon a single
tear.

I could bear the thought of
seeing you weep with joy,
as the first dew of
blissful spring runs down your
snow-pale face.

and in a second you pass me by.
and you are gone like
a snowflake in the wind.

this pain like an unwritten poem
only the winter knows how much I loved you
how little I am able to say
the air is tall, the night so deep
I walk in the selfishness of the cold
I walk in this landscape where love is an exile,
a forest without shadows, a party without guests
a happiness without an alibi
something that gets destroyed at the first burst of light
but springs again from the unknown depth of skin

I am in the waiting room of a dying love, a nascent love
while Monalisa is sleeping without dreams
in the depth of my days the certainty of tears
only the winter knows how much I loved you