it was on an old mine dump like this one
that a relative of mine lost his life
it was the first funeral i’d been to
and i sat with his kids and his wife
to a young child, it seemed so surreal
and i would take some time to mend
but now death comes calling so often
it feels like he’s an old friend
–photo by me
a plump squirrel leader named don
forgot all the vows he’d run on
and stole from the poor
to give the rich more–
and soon all the acorns were gone
–photo by me
my dreams suggest that
everything in the world
is a part of me–
that i am in the world
and the world is in me
–image by ai
it’s time to write a poem, no doubt,
but what am i to muse about?
our country’s state is looking sad–
so politics is out.
perhaps i could expound my view
on sacred things i think are true,
but that might make some people mad–
so no religion, too.
and yet, here, on this winter’s day,
there is one thing that i could say
that’s sure to make most people glad–
spring is on its way!
–photo by me
–photos by me
the end is come, the veil falls
an earthquake breaks the temple walls
hell freezes over, donkeys fly
in chicken little’s falling sky
the son of god comes back again
a comet brings a fiery end
the mayan calendar runs out
the trumpets sound, the angels shout
atomic war destroys the nations
shiva’s wrath aborts creation
the universe implodes at last
for time itself has come and passed
–image by ai
So far, February has been much colder than January; it seems like we’ve been a month behind in weather all winter. That may have been beneficial on the front end of the season, but it will not bode well come spring.
It’s almost 30 below again this morning. Cars make a crunching noise on the snow, there are popping sounds from the buildings as they contract, and the great, unblinking eye of an ice halo glares at us puny men.
i’m chilled to the bone
by the great eye’s icy stare–
that, and bitter cold
–Photo by me
many are the entrances
to the mind–
poetry being of
the unguarded kind.
see, here i am now in
your mind’s eye with you,
but don’t sic the dog–
i’m just passin’ through
–photo by me
if you could be an owl for a day,
would you be a snowy or a grey?
Though to some, that sounds nice,
it would come with a price–
you’d be plumb full of mice either way
–photos by me
i fancy
frozen rivers white
with snow from
shore to shore,
and if the sun’s warm and bright,
i like them e’en more
–photo by me
michaeljordahl 