The Ritual of Getting in My Car.
I open my car door and find a swirl of snow
Slow mo-ing in my mind
As it floats methodically downward to my seat.
I grab the scraper and brush off the windows
Before the snow goes
Up against my pants to complete
the melting that started
when it parted with the outside of my car.
You’re growing like stalactites from my gutter
Fed by drips to the tips that sputter
Spittle from the rooftops
As melted snow becomes drops.
Each day you’re growing longer
And I debate if I should make you
Come down before you’re stronger
But I don’t want to break you.
Poem-a-day and tired.
Nothing else to write
It’s time to write a haiku
This will have to do.
I feel like my news aggregator’s
An enjoyment agitator.
Delaying my ingestion for day or two,
I must make a decision how to sort through
The things I can’t find time to read
Showing up in my newsfeed.
I received a couple requests to add an email subscription option. If you want poetry to be delivered to your inbox, be sure and click the link on the lower right of this page where it says email subscription. I still have the rss option up on the upper right if you use something like a google reader.
Thanks to all of you who’ve been reading. You make me smile.
Someone held up a mirror and I saw my pride.
All over my face was a defense that I’d
Prepared and had ready to go.
I stared at a steady show
Of “but”s and “if”s that I didn’t know
Existed before this reflection persisted
On showing me a token
Of a larger me that was broken.
There’s nothing wrong
With poems that are long,
But short poems sooner find their fate
In brevity that they create.