winter poem

these decidedly dark, desultory days

devoid, as they are, in so many ways

of light hearts and unencumbered thought

(not to mention the sun's cheering rays),

leave us to ponder what we haven’t got—

“youth” on the list somewhere near the top.

and so we slog on through interminable greys

longing for winter’s damp onslaught to stop.

even so, there’s a beauty in all of this blight,

the trees stripped of leaves upholding the night

and dreaming, perhaps, of the urges of spring

when the world once again will blossom in light.

 

Comments

[Glory in yo spunk!]

It's what an old Chi-town boy calls: Blues Weather. One needs to head to a basement club like Theresa's and let the whiskey, beer, wine and music make you forget the grey shit.
http://www.chicagobarproject.com/Memoriam/Theresa's/Theresa's.htm

While Theresa's is sadly (apporpiate ain't it) closed, there's still other places out there.

[ted danson-malmstein]

damn hell paf, what i'd give for a good long evening spent drinking the devil's piss with the likes of you anad theresa, rest her restive soul.