Halfway There

Six more weeks of clouds and fog
Await us, says the P-Town Hog
Who’s right as often as mistaken
(Otherwise, he’s groundhog bacon).
Penumbral prognostications
May prompt some to seek vacations
On a sunny beach, but I
Don’t mind a damp and darkish sky
If, in exchange, I’m free to hide
In flannel jammies, warm inside.
Seek the sun if that’s your thing,
But I’m content to wait for spring.


Black Watch

The tree that shades my resting pets out back
Has leaves of green and pink, and one that’s black.
With autumn’s breath the pastels curl and fall
To quilt their beds; the black won’t stir at all,
But keeps obsidian vigil on the bare
And bony branch above the sleeping pair,
Slim shelter from the ills that winters bring,
Until pastel relief arrives in spring.


This discontented winter’s pending
End is near. We’ll soon be spending
Well-lit evenings mowing lawns
And grousing over early dawns
And seeking shelter from the heat,
Our shorts-clad thighs stuck to the seat
Until the AC shudders on…
Ten days. That’s it. Then winter’s gone.


The air is cold
The moon is bright
My fingertips
Are turning white
Enraptured by
The sky above
I must have dropped
My stupid glove
I’m on the porch
I squeeze the key
Can’t turn it, though
I have to pee
It’s not the entrance
I’d have chosen:
With trousers frozen
Sorry that
I had to ring
The bell so late
Can’t wait for spring


Santa needs a lengthy night
To make his schedule work out right,
But maybe once his toys are here
He’ll let a little light appear?
I’m grateful for the gifts and all
But I’m about fed up with Fall.
Yo, pro tip, Winter: Fields of white
Are much more brilliant in the light!