Seasons – The Yellow Brick Ave

Smoke and Soot

a free verse poem

Smoke and soot.

A candle left to burn for too long.

A campfire just waiting to become cold.

Unused logs.

Waiting for another winter.

Beige and brown and chopped.

A recently demolished treehouse,

now a childhood memory.

The downpour must be waiting for something.

All the spent brush littering the hillside to the right,

mostly brown to the left as well,

railroad tracks not far behind, hidden by the slopes.

“I swear it’s beautiful in the spring.”

& pines & snow

Finches

rest here

Do not mind it.

The coffee is steamy for once,

and the sun rises through a layer of gray fog

itself invisible but its light apparent.

perhaps it is the way that life itself seems to disappear

I am a summertime poet;

I cannot wax lyrical about the bare branches

or frosty earth.

Perhaps it is the fact that the blood,

so warm as it rushes through my core

turns oh so frigid by the time it reaches my fingertips.

Ode to a Fan

Fan provides cool breeze,

I place one foot in front of the other.

My heart beats rhythmically.

My hands rest delicately at my sides.

My feet are planted firmly on the ground.

Breathe in, breathe out.