SNOW; IT HAPPENS UP HERE

The snow 
covers the earth
under a soft, white
quilt,
flake, by flake,
by flake,
persistently,
but with no rush.
Each flake
a tiny piece of creativity
unlike it's neighbour,
yet similar enough 
that they form 
first a tiny skiff,
then a fine line, 
then, almost without notice,
they pile 
one on top of the other
until they are shoe high,
boot high,
perhaps knee high.

The trees,
branches outstretched,
capture what they can
as it floats by them.

The chickadees
and nuthatches
pay little attention.
They know where the feeders are —
the feeders that are refilled
regularly,
mysteriously,
so there is always 
enough.

The puppies 
cavort and frolic
in this new experience.
The older dogs
take note, 
but when their needs are met,
snooze again, 
inside,
before the fireplace, 
dreaming of soft green grass
and a thousand summer smells
that have
temporarily 
vanished.

It is the humans
who fret 
of impassible lanes and streets
of snow-cluttered sidewalks.
Soon enough
they will don their winter vestments
and travel to 
their office tower
or single-storied shop,
or perhaps,
with shovel in hand,
ease the cover 
over to the sidewalk's edge
so others may pass.

Only a few,
perhaps with camera in hand,
will marvel at the scene
with a relaxed cup of cocoa
and an eye
for the
artistry. 


~ Bear ~

SPOONS

This all started with Margie at When the Heart Speaks! The rest, well. . . .


They fit together so well —
those spoons
occupying space 
intimately,
side by side,
like two lovers
resting,
sleeping,
embracing one another
sharing dreams, perhaps,
as well as space —
as if
they had always
belonged like 
that,
and were 
meant to.

~ Bear ~

COFFEE AND TOFFEE

Coffee
is not
Toffee.

Toffee is
sticky,  and sweet,
and melts in your
mouth,
without pulling out
any fillings.
(Lost fillings would be
yucky, so you need to be careful!)
Then it rolls
round your tongue
and slides
down your throat.

Yum!

Coffee is
black and bitter.
Adding sugar,
or milk,
or milk and sugar,
really doesn't help,
though some claim it does.
(I find that's yucky!)
And coffee can
upset your tummy.
(Also yucky!)

Ug!

Sadly,
I don't have
any Toffee.

But I do have
some hunny
So I'll have hunny
with a scone.

And tea!

This little ditty originally saw the light of day on Wednesday, April 3, 2013, 
as part of the year's A-Z Blog Hop Challenge.

~ Bear ~

THE NIGHT (2)

(If you're looking for part one, it's here)

I like the night.
Cooler breezes
wend their ways through 
open apartment windows.
They make a cool room
in which I can sleep with
wool blanket or
feather duvet, if
I need it.
The contrast of warm and cool
soothes my soul
comforts my body,
readies me for 
a good night's sleep

I like the night.
In our darkened apartment
the everyday demands
of preparing meals,
and doing dishes,
and keeping things tidy,
and conversation,
and writing and reading,
are set aside.
Instead, night invites
quietness and restfulness — 
or, if not deep restfulness,
at least some relaxation,
and some time for reflection —
not as easily done
in the garish sun.



~ Bear ~

WINTER TYME

When it's winter in the city,

And the roads are dark and gritty,

Then the city isn't pretty,

as it was.

~ Bear ~

THE NIGHT

I like the night
even in the city
where the hum never quite goes away.
The noise is somehow different —
muted, perhaps —
from the daytime'shive of bees.

The lights brighten the places
where they shine,
but their blues and oranges
are not the natural colours
of the moon and sun —
and they add to the lightpollution.

Yet those alsoilluminate the way
helping us findthe places to step.
And, overall, they cast
a gentler mantle
on the
earth.

THOUGHTS ON THE BIG, BLACK DOG

image by Zelko Nedic

The Mag #128

How long has it been
Black Dog,
since you insinuated your way
into my life,
like the thinnest, darkest shadow,
then landed on my chest
with a huge THUD?
Five decades next year
you say?
I knew it was a long time.
I didn't think dogs lived that long,
but you surely have.

I thought I was rid of you a few times,
but like the cat who came back
you've continued to dog my steps.

Like Professor Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes
we seem to be bound together
at opposite ends
of this invisible lead,
which likely cannot be severed.

Well, my familiar,
let's go for another walk.
Perhaps I can lose you
in the undergrowth.
Though I 
seriously doubt
it.


~ Bear ~

BEGINNING

Morning fog
floating over the city
like a fine gray blanket,
dulling the buildings,
obstructing the sun
with a cool sweatiness.
A stodgy, sticky start
to another 
day, another
week.

~ Bear ~

THE FIRES

I have seen the pictures.

Scorched land
burnt trees
dead animals —
including a Bear
who thought
he could avoid catastrophe
by climbing the tree,
which was then 
thoroughly charred.

The fires,
illuminating 
the incinerated hills
and smoke-filled sky,
pressed on, 
oblivious
to what they consumed.

Some fires are
entirely too
anti-social!


~ Bear ~

SEAFARING STORY

The old mate

I see him; I see him so clearly.

Battered cap
for his balding head,
frazzled beard 
at the bottom
of a well-worn face.
Eyes sets in,
piercing the horizon
of the sea,
or your soul.

The long-time sailor
now serves the boat
poked into his arm,
and greater vessels
in his mind.

Those were the days
of derring-do —
the "one hand for yourself;
one hand for the ship"
kind of days,
when the sails billowed,
and the sheets tangled,
and you could lose an arm
if you weren't careful.

Ships travel by diesel
or bunker fuel now.
But the wind,
which lost its usefulness,
is still a power
to be
regarded.

Prompted by Rachel.

~ Bear ~

GOING A BIT SQUIRRELLY

Ode to a squirrel 

Why do your tailbones shiver,
your teeth rumble
a bitter staccato
with a rap, rap, tap
on rough bark
with nails sharp, movement
a spiral inversion
swaying with vertigo
to tease this curmudgeon
of an old dog?

Sing a song of squirrel
and with a jolt
the canine brain jerks loose,
unmoored and shaken
free out the left ear
to roll away and land worthlessly
in a stack of cast-off seed cones
already stripped of their
proteinaceous worth.

Rachel Westfall
July 3, 2012
AT 7/03/2012
LABELS: ANIMALS, POEM, SILLINESS


To which Bear replied:

About that squirrel 

"Enough, already, squirrel,"
says the ancient chien.

“Your incessant noise

reverberates 

in the caverns of my mind,

disturbing old dreams,

and new thoughts.

Your scratchy dancing 

on tree and branch

forces my eyes

to squint, and cross, 

and spin in their sockets.

I register my complaint,

but you ignore me.

Twas ever thus.”

Tuesday, 3 July, 2012

Thanks to Rachel for letting me use her poem!

~ Bear ~

RANDOM IMAGES

Slashes, orbs, fringes
of orange-red
among the gray-white-blue clouds.
Sunset over the city,
after the storm.

~ Bear ~

IN WHICH BEAR THINKS OF A POME

As it says at the top, this was never intended to be a poetry blog. But, well, I got writing poetry on other people's blogs, and the next thing I knew, . . . something different was happening. So I decide to let it happen, here.

I have absolutely no idea what will become of this. Maybe I will get too intentional about it, or too pompous, and thus ruin everything. (Trust me; I've done that before.)

If you are here, it is either because your stumbled upon this site, or you were invited. In either case, thank you for being here.

Your comments on the thoughts, or the poetic style, are welcome. If I don't like them, I can always go away, sulk, cry, or cut you off.  Or I can blame Lydia, Rachel, and/or Helen.


~ Bear ~

Coyote lies at the edgeof the urban forest,looking in from hiswell-hidden viewpoint. 
The odours are delicious,but a glance says, "Be wary."The bushes across the field move,suggesting hidden woes.Humans.Dogs.Wolves.
No, not wolves.Not this close in.
The rest he can handle, or quickly avoid.
The mixed aromas beckon.Slinking close to the groundcoyote transitionsfrom country brushto city woodland,trying his luckat findingthe familymeal.

Hmmmm

"Sometimes I sits and thinks; sometimes I just sits."

This site is just sitting too.

It will take on a life when it's ready.

~ Bear ~