13 West Side Road 1997.jpgWinter poems - these may not reflect the brutality of winter or the bitterness - or not always anyway - perhaps at times. As with any season, we experience different things at different times. Part of The Tant Mieux Project was to see how the seasonal shifts affect our work... going through the seasons does help clarify. Other poems is an interesting section that is carried from season to season for poems that defy categorization, but then, as I write this, I wonder if most poems do not defy categorization. The world is ours for the writing. Let us write. - s.r.p.

 

image: owen hartford, '13 West Side Road' 

Sunday
Nov142004

the proposal

How could you just move here and say, on a wet Summer?s day, Marry Me. All Cary Grant with a sideways smile and a pinch of Redford thrown in for good measure. That Wife, that House that Life, that Thing

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Sunday
Nov142004

thurible dance

The bottles stand abandoned Their black lacquer surface Painted with a ghost veil of daily dust Churned to the air from the nocturnal Pacing, the somnambulist?s dance. What use now for perfume

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Wednesday
Dec082004

Thurible Dance

The bottles stand abandoned Their black lacquer surface Painted with a ghost veil of daily dust Churned to the air from the nocturnal Pacing, the somnambulist?s dance. What use now for perfume

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Sunday
Nov142004

unbearable lightness

 Years you have fought

For this Truth. This Platonic

Absolute. It is there. You

Know this. Yet it is clouded

By argument, by layers of

Superficiality, deception

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Tuesday
Jul042006

walking the razor's edge

Rocks thrown clear,they breach the sea wall,

Great crashing waves so full of stones.

I am tide stoned: an adulteress I.

Promenading without my scarlet A, yet still, it is visible.

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Wednesday
Dec082004

winter hunter

Always there is snow. Always, near. the river, in our winding Back Bay. Always, your soft hurried step As you glide on smooth soles trekking The soft-powdered streets. You move away

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Sunday
Dec232007

winter's tale

Words do not come easy.
What to say about summer’s love undone?
Splitting laughter has turned to winter’s spitting winds.
I am sideways and skidding, a millimeter short of a wreck.

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Wednesday
Dec052007

without air | without color

Here, the hospital, the air is so thin.
First frost last night left the bladed grass stiff.
Nothing here is soft. Summer solstice
when all things impossible were possible –

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Sunday
Dec232007

without certainty

Just as you forget I remember
a criss-cross of promises, gleaming plait,
secured at the ends with a silk-indigo ribbon.
I knew with certainty every word I said,
I was your one true Believer – no limit to my faith,

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