Thursday, January 13, 2011

White Out

The white angels descend straight down
with their feet curled
toes to touch
the whipped cream.
And it seems.
Each one a sound catcher with
their wings as embroidered
doilies buffering heaven
from earth.
And it seems.
They touch down
and interlock into a mass of
communal insignificance
spread out like powdered sugar.
And it seems that
this insulated pane with
its broken seal inhales
the yard like old man
winter smoking his pipe
and the snow piles
up between the pains...

and it seams.

4 comments:

  1. That is the loveliest description of winter I've ever read!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Love this. Just when I think I've heard all the snow descriptions there could possibly be there is this:

    this insulated pane with
    its broken seal inhales
    the yard like old man
    winter smoking his pipe
    and the snow piles
    up between the pains...


    I love that last. So very good.

    Thanks, Jerry.

    ReplyDelete
  3. dream winter poetry.
    Happy Weekend...

    ReplyDelete

So, you made a little time to stop by. You are welcome any time...speak freely.