Winter wounds us.
Stained street lamps bleed light
as dusk x-rays the overhanging trees,
a graveyard of masochistic leaves;
their empty spaces invite disease.
Branches show their stitches.
Their bark, crippled with psoriasis,
dangle above the river’s slow-moving gurney
designed to carry broken limbs to sea.
The bulrush’s crumpled cocoons,
forever empty.
Bleached riverbeds are bald.
Their needles clipped like curls
to prepare for bypass surgery.
Afternoon sun slices the evergreen,
but by evening, the entire forest
will rest on ice.
Geese beep like life saving machines.
The veteran stalks cheer,
“You can lose much more and not break.”
But far away, the surgeon’s voice,
a highway hushed, whispers, “Rush.”
Dabbed cotton swabs of snow.
The brittle bramble collapses, and
the geese take flight, a synchronized drone.
The wind’s parting thrum
signals life’s gone numb.
© 2023 | K.Hartless
This winter poem inspired by my walk today. I’m glad to be warm and cozy now catching up on word press. I don’t know, this one feels special, and I love it when a poem makes you feel a glow. I think this one may still need some tuning, though. If you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
What a powerful poem. In it the metaphor becomes reality. “Winter wounds us.” Wow.
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Thank you for this insight. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it is so true. 💜
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having had some surgery recently I can really appreciate this imagery —
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Oh, I do hope yours went far better than this one, John.
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Wonderful. ❤️☺️
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Thank you. 💜😊
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Powerful description and effective metaphors! Very well written.
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Thank you kindly, Nicole. I appreciate this feedback.
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Beautifully vivid descriptions! Pulls us right in.
‘The bulrush’s crumpled cocoons, forever empty’, ‘Bleached riverbeds are bald’, ‘Afternoon sun slices the evergreen’ – loved these verses 🙂
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Many thanks, Tom. I had that giddy inspired feeling on my walk today, so I was glad to have my journal to pause and capture some of it.
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Harsh winter poem . Pictures in the mind of all the cold can do. Glad you ate warm inside.
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Yes, the woods looked wracked and I thought of my own post-surgery feelings. Thanks for reading and commenting, Sandy.
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Ah, K I hope you are all better. Sorry that this amazing poem came from a place of painful experience. You are so skilled with words.
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clinical
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I glanced at first and thought this said cynical, which is also true. 😉
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but I wouldn’t have been able to spell it!
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