POEMS i can call my OWN

ODE TO A WOODSTOVE

Sitting by the warmth of a wood stove

in the North Country.

Hearing squirrels chatter 

and watching wafts of smoke

linger and spread their fingers 

earthward and outward.

I sat in stillness.

Listening-----Listening-----Listening.

Raindrops pittered and pattered 

against the cedar-shake shingles.

A dark, dreary, glacier-gray day

hung over the valley.

The skies cried tears of joy and sadness.

A cloud of solitude was seen

embracing and kissing the earth.

I was alone.

I was lone---ly but

The loneliness

filled me 

with a sweet 

warmth.

AFTER THE LAST GLACIER IS GONE

My heart is so blue

it is a glacier.

Every time I approach,

It recedes deeper

and deeper.

Carving a path 

down the mountain 

side

into my very being

Once, I was nestled high

cradled in your arms.

And now I am 

sinking 

lower 

and 

lower.

U-shaped valleys of pain

left behind

in the ruin.  

Hoping uncertainty will settle

and a lake will form.

Where troubles are pushed aside

and the lake reveals the sky above.

In the destruction 

beauty surround

life thriving

once again

after the last 

glacier is gone.

A heart beats 

deeper, clearer and more pure

like the waters 

that once fed it.

Thump—Thump—Thump!!

Carving a path

down the mountain

side

into my very being

The GeoGrApHy 

of the heart

is more V A S T 

than that of the Globe.

May my pulse 

be in ryhthm 

with yours

wherever you go 

and whatever you do.

Why are you so far away?

I love you

even after the last

glacier is gone. 

TRACKS

Tracks lead to my heart

both in and out.

But the majority

lead out.

Impressions that left

depth

Like footprints left 

in the fresh snow.