The Depth of Cold
a wedge of rime on the sky
this glacial sheet of stars
where tossed paper napkins
and a footprint coin snow
pigeons lost in hoar-frost
are speared by fallen icicles
an apron of milk spilt
the gelid end of solstice
in a river of ice-floes
shards of arctic moons
Unfocused
-- 1st line from Sylvia Plath's "Years"
they enter as animals from the outer
rim of countries stretched by hunger
stealing comfort from the night
fleshed bones gnawed to the pith
incoming nightmare spectres
spiders weave old catastrophes
each broken promise spells our past
these strained smiles glisten
a paralysis of searchlight fear
marooned in focused high beams
horror's welcome plastered on skin
time disables our emotional centres
faith blankets all uncertainty
disbelief burned at every stake
These Nights
-- 1st line from Thomas James' Love Song
love, the gold mouth has broken open
silver tongues spill on creased sheets
an arm fingers cradle moonlit words
the night's shadows waver over skin
a movement of dream in curled limbs
whispers of sweat speak wild roses
what questions can be asked of love?
lips caress night's hand and breast
the tide falls and sleep moves in
mouths close on raptured speech
Joanna M. Weston is married, has two cats, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. She has a middle-reader, "Frame and the McGuire," published by Tradewind Books, and poetry, "A Summer Father," published by Frontenac House of Calgary. Her eBooks found at her blog: http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/
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