Ice Out

“Icy Lake” by Janet James

 

cold hard edges of winter
recede from a slow nearing sun
ice diminishes
clarity ousts opaque finishes
surfaces find their reveal
living waters
at long last exhale
lakes and millponds
released from their
three moons of torpor

no longer incumbent
on holding their seasonal breath
come again now to quicken
in rippling submission
to mountain-sent winds
casting choppy reflections
in caricature of the sentient
clouds set to oversee
osprey and heron
return to their bars

frigid shadowy shallows
emergent with coldblooded
fish coming out of
their wintery lethargy
stirred by the hooting
and hollering voices ashore
lucky folks who a year ago
chose today’s date
in the age-old tradition of
ice-out day calendar lottery

Summer Pond

Image from Richa Art Club

 

placid glimmerglass sheen
stretched canvas of forest and sky
but I can’t find my youth
in the diurnal scud of the clouds
flying faster and further
from halcyon days in the sun
cooled by frolicsome leaps
with my dog from the dock
diving into the depths of my future

now I sit here in invalid’s pose
on the bench that I built with
my pals sixty summers ago
propped and pained by the
memories clenched in my hands
with a flick of my least impaired
arthritic wrist I give sail to a
perfectly triple-skipped stone
breaking into a smile in excelsis

 

 

From my book Pieces of Wine

Cold Harvest c. 1930

“Ice House” by Harry Gottlieb

brick by brick
block by block
silver surfaces
yield to assault
by saw blades
and chisels
ponds stolen
in pieces
contraband
cash crop
for poachers
alert for the
cock-snap
a landowner
shotgun might
crack in the
echoing chill

Summer Pond

“Green Summer by the Pond”
Photo by Rambolive
From flickr.com

placid glimmerglass sheen
stretched canvas of forest and sky
but I can’t find my youth
in the diurnal scud of the clouds
flying faster and further
from halcyon days in the sun
cooled by frolicsome leaps
with my dog from the dock
diving into the depths of my future

now I sit here in invalid’s pose
on the bench that I built with
my pals sixty summers ago
propped and pained by the
memories clenched in my hands
with a flick of my least impaired
arthritic wrist I give sail to a
perfectly triple-skipped stone
breaking into a smile in excelsis