Sheepskinned seductress,
you are.
To only you do I write poetry.
Most people batten down their hatches
and
shut tight their blinds.
For you
I rip open the shades
and
fully expose my raw heart.
YOU are poetry.
Your naked limbs,
arching over me like a canopy bed
or the sturdy stone cathedral arches when we wed.
Barren and searching are your branches
yearning toward a moody gray sky
or
a brilliant but cold blue one
if you're in the mood.
Like none other,
unlike your autumn, summer and much-fussed about spring siblings,
you urge me to go dormant
like the earth beneath my mortal feet.
You remind me
it takes time
it takes time to
germinate.
It takes time to give birth
to the lovelies.
At first, I must inhale your frozen breath
and warm to my own touch.
Oh, Winter.*
You seductress, you.
You woo me every time you come around.
Photo: The bare-limb cathedral archway under which I commute two to four times weekdays; ©LeisaHammett.com; I read this poem at the Art & Soul Studio Mid-Winter Poetry Reading last Friday evening. More on that to come.
WELCOME BLOG HOP VISITORS!: Charlotte Rains Dixxon, my writing coach/mentor knew I follow a "Wordless Wednesday" format (ha-ha). The above post was prescheduled to coincide with fading winter and the recent MidWinter Poetry Reading. I will write about my upcoming book project on Friday and tag five more authors. Please visit back! Thank you!
