"WINTER'S TOUCH"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 6th November 2010.

Not snow 
but frost with wings 
of glittering silver 
stir the grasses, roots, 
and dying leaves with white, 
in night's lamp-lit glow; 
they sparkle, diamonds,
rich beyond compare, 
their stiffened forms
made sculptures 
by the air, 

That vain bone is longer'n
both your arms,
worse'n Kathy Lee
and her put on charms.

Pretentiously caring,
with your hair slicked back,
but that magazine smile
highlights empathy's lack.

Those give and take feelings,
you think to display,
they're not fooling anybody
... not today.

Hint of beginnings of oppressive, dry heat
pushed on easterlies
stirring the winter icy still
to sluggishly resist
onslaughts of snugness against its chill.

Threatening the warmth with cooling water
rushing from the west to support the cold
woolly black blankets of power
whipping the air below to rattle leaves
into a frenzy that sounds a lot like laughter.

In flickers of a TV screen
a thousand tales speed by,
bereft of all imagination,
without the briefest hesitation,
except where sponsors scream
about the useless filth they ply.

Through this window of despair,
a thousand souls all live and die,
each second of each life flayed open,
butterflied between each slogan
so carefully designed to snare
the careless sweep of each mind's eye.

He was just here
with those hazel eyes
drawing me into a place
love defined

Maybe I was on a dark road
at the time
and he gave me
some light and protection
against loneliness and the impact
of destiny

He understood me for who and what I am
and much more than passion can find
a way to bind -
I was trapped by his humanity...

7 November, '10

.

Just beyond the end of autumn
I hear the winter's call
and he arrives to slay the leaves
which, stubborn, clung through fall.

The land once green and full of life
has now grown cold and sere
and harvest's colors once so rife
no longer are seen here.

As white and silver cloak descends
to cover silent frozen land
air turns cold as all warmth ends
and quietens all at hand.

Child on horseback
Won’t you come for me?
Mother by morning
Won’t you cry for me?
Cause I am so tired of being strong
And I am so sick of being wrong
That I will refuse to breath

Sun on my shoulders
Won’t you burn me?
Moon calm the violent seas
Won’t you drown me?
Cause I am so tired of being afraid
And I am so sick of riding the waves
So I will refuse to speak

My knees hurt so much today
I decided home I'd stay
And watch the autumn sun so bright
journey from the dawn to night

The sky is not all pure and blue
within it fluffy puffballs grew
morphing as they drifted past
outpacing shadows that they cast

Between the earth and drifting cloud
flocks in migration cry out loud
as they sojourn to southern lands
in large flocks or scattered bands

.
I am a still life
...like a bowl of fruit
...or flowers in array

nothing unsettling
or startling
nothing to turn from
or linger upon

timeless
...of yesterday
...or a thousand yesterdays past

changes percieved
glance to glance
derive solely from
the commotion within yourself

I am still
I am fixed

quietly afloat in that which is eternal

youngest gal!
you are very young
exquisitely beautiful
charming!

guys and gals
you‘ll be alarming
as they will be desiring....

take great care
be totally aware
Internet is actually dicey!
life is pricey

guys want that only
what by now you
ought to know
hopefully!

so take care
my youngest friend
before you meet
a premature
towards the end!