WINTER POEMS
By Bruce Hamilton

JANUARY

 
The first of all months may be best
for much that has little real zest.
The coldness and hotness
may be too monotonous,
but life is a purposeful pest.



WINTER SOLSTICE
As we move into an
old year's last moment,
race toward your car
and start it up.
The main event will
be a swift drive into
the setting of stoplights.
Around and about, all
will be as silent as an
excursion to Mars.



 



WINTER GARDEN
A glorious bunch of radishes
has poked the surface.
Among the grasses a
steady chirp is sounding.
We hardly mind the presence
of chilly air or a glistening
set of frost patches.
As we lounge toward a fountain
we notice that spring isn't
in the atmosphere.

     



WINTER WISHES
The fondest desires are those that outlast
the rose's firm wish to fade fast.

FLOWERS IN WINTER
As a mighty stunner
the budding has
looks far funner
than all that jazz.
The plant in blossom
resembles me
when I've played possum.
A nearby tree
sheds leaves of wonder
while dogs walk under.
 
THE PAIN IN THE RAIN, AND TRY AGAIN As a responsive electorate, the people believed that raininess mattered. The drops that fell were in anguish. They sensed a need to be trying. Again and again a trick took place. You be the jury, damn it!



SAVING LIGHT
The light is a minuscule fact.
The world has the teeth of a dog.
When winter approaches, we're sacked.
The light is a minuscule fact.
Endeavors eternally act,
and nothing is not a vast hog.
The light is a minuscule fact;
the world has the teeth of a dog.
 
 
   



 WET AND WINDY DAYS
Looking forward to spring
had been a main thing
among the partridges.
Days wore cartridges
and sprayed the land.
Nothing was planned.
A storm that came up
surprised a poppy. 
               
 ©2002 - Bruce Hamilton 
              
                



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