Category Archives: snow

Mornings After Harvest

After months without a view because of the beautiful, tall cornfields, the distant horizon can be a mesmerizing sight, filled with the smells and sounds of a different, yet familiar, place.

Looking east from where I live, the lagging warm temperatures of day create a hazy, foggy pastoral scene,  of a morning,  across the recently harvested cornfields  and it is a blessing in magnitude hearing the geese feeding frantically and invisibly until the fog lifts.  Then when the sun begins its rise, the shadowy glimpses of distant objects on the horizon command your every instinct as you look, listen and smell the uniquely, coming day.

You are alive and you have taken the time to notice it!  Have a great day and try not to take it for granted…..look, listen and smell of it….for you are blessed to be alive!

Mornings After Harvest

Across the trampled field of corn, filled with geese in the early morn’,
  the distant horizon peeks beneath the fog
that partially hides the distant train headed north in a misty rain
  as my ears pick up the howl of a farmer’s dog
chasing geese along the fence, in and out of a fog, so dense,
  the geese themselves don’t know which way to go.
And all you hear are gaggle screams, like those heard…. in nightmarish dreams,
  as a lifting fog exposes the new day’s glow.

That’s how it is each country morn’, looking east where once was corn,
  across the fields now flattened for the plow
that soon will turn the stubble down exposing all the black and brown
  after feeding every deer and bird and cow
that lurk and wait for harvest day so they can romp and eat and play
  before the winter winds begin to blow
and life again is cold and harsh; birds all dreaming of the southern marsh,
  and the rest of us await the coming snow.

copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

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Filed under bloggers, Blogging, countryside, Fall, fog, God, heart, Life, Love, mental health, mood, Nature, poetry, prairie, snow

Winter Stream

Winter Stream

The wintry wind has brought the snow; the trees are bare and lost their glow;
absent is the 
hearkening starling’s song.
The summer’s warmth is high and thin, the summer geese have left, again
  the bright and cheery grasp of summer, gone.

I walk along the bubbling stream covered in snow like shaving cream;
  the bottom rocks now blackened to my eye.
the sound of swishing in the trees is like a murmur in the breeze
  sparrows noisily fighting,  passing by.

Along this stream in summer time, I like to sit with rested mind
  up against a cottonwood and gaze
far beyond the water’s edge, up the hill and past the hedge
  at fields of corn and ripened wheat, ablaze

in the soaking rays of the summer sun; those lazy days stacked full of fun
  that make the imagination come alive
like when I saw a fairy, who,  blended with the water’s hue
  and danced in tune with a beautiful dragonfly.

I stop and reach down for a rock and throw and skip it toward a block
  of logs out in the middle of the stream
jammed up high like a superdome built by beavers for a home
  as we all await another summer dream.

(third stanza reference to my poem, ‘Cottonwood Stream’  January, 2012)
(fourth stanza reference to my poem, ‘Fairy Jolie’  January, 2012)

© copyright 2013 t. j. gargano

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Snowman

Do you still make a snowman or show the kids how to make them?  Sometimes, they just show up in the yard……friends bring them ‘over.’  Maybe they just pop up….who knows.  At any rate, they are seasonal ‘friends’  to laugh and play with and share with the children and the children at heart.  Happy holidays to all.

 

Snowman

 

In many a town, like one that you know,
they’ll pop up each winter, right out of the snow.
They might be alone or they might be in threes;
out front by the street or in back by the trees.

They might be quite tall or sitting on a box
all wearing scarves…. made of old socks;
eyes black as coal with a carrot for a nose
with buttons in a line right down to the toes.

They’ll always have a smile…. all over their face
as they greet you each time, when you enter their space.
They’ll stand there all night, while you snuggle in bed
chilled by the rays…. of the moon, overhead.

Around them we’ll dance and sing them a song
‘til the cold months have passed…. and winter’s along.
And we’ll wink a goodbye ‘til the next year’s new snows
bring back our snowman…. when the winter wind blows.

© t. j. gargano 2013

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Prairie Flyer – Part VII

Prairie Flyer – Part VII

“Wreckage of a small bi-plane was discovered today
strewn ‘cross a field over Ogallala way
in what appears to be a weather-related mishap,”
the radio blared out through the static flap
making it hard to distinguish the details.

The venison stew was steaming in bowls on the bar top
as Harley reached for the crackers, that he proceeded to drop
hitting them on the cupboard door then groaning as he picked them up
as I headed toward the window to the sound of a wolf pup
but it was nothing but the billy goat sounding like one.

“Searchers at the crash site, up in Nebraska, say a yellow plane
hit a windmill, presumably in the driving snow, that came
out of nowhere to surprise everyone in the region yesterday,”
the KCMO station continued to report as Harley and I made our way
to the counter bar and the great smelling stew.

“The fatality is Catherine “Star” Lovecampe from Oswego, Ohio,”
the broadcast continued through the static as it gave her part-bio
as we both sat in silence…. listening the best we could
to the little white Philco radio that looked like it had hit the floor’s wood
many times and was just trying to hang on.

In our shock we reminisced the brief moments we shared with her
and how her ‘freshness’ illuminated the room and belied the temperature
of the outside briskness and how nice it was to see a woman flyer
light down on this little airstrip with gusto that was like a trip wire
that mesmerized the both of us in a very enchanting way.

Her brief appearance, in our lives, served notice to us both
about space and time and how important sharing is…. in the growth
of our life cycles that are different when we’re alone
and Harley set a bowl for Star on the counter, by his own,
and we talked how she would’ve loved that stew….and we felt better.

© t. j. gargano 2013

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Fresh Snow on Hampstead Heath

Looking at some photos on Loren Cooper’s post – Sunday Snow 2012 – at http://lorentakesphotos.wordpress.com  it looked so inviting to want to be there, that I wrote this short poem…..thanks for dropping by..

Loren Cooper photo

Fresh snow on Hampstead Heath

Fresh snow on Hampstead Heath, fell in powdery form,
and brought out all the ‘locals’ in a rather large swarm
and all ages enjoyed it… finding things they could do,
and while dogs posed like ‘wolves’ and played in the snow,
it was the ‘sculptors,’  it looked like, who were stealing the show.

(photo by Loren Cooper)

(photo by Loren Cooper)

The trees, standing tall, looked all ‘furried’ in white
and the bushes were hanging, but looking alright
and even the berries, in the coldness, were crisp
near the thickets, all gorgeous…. in their new winter coat
in a storied re-dress……. that nature, rewrote.

(photo by Loren Cooper)

If a moral is hidden, in the snow, it might be
get out and enjoy… winter’s fallen marquee
and relax and be free and dance in the snow
and think of what’s really down underneath
the beauty that’s fallen….on Hampstead Heath.

copyright © 2012 T.J. Gargano

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Winter’s Long

The Illinois winter was not overly severe or cold last year, but because it started early in October, and consistently rendered  ice and snow repeatedly and frequently into the month of March, it became, on the minds of many, long and dreary.  One day I had to say something….

 

Winter’s  Long

Winter’s worn her coat too long.
It’s time the winds bring summer back.
Birds are busy but not with song
Winter’s worn her coat too long.
And February’s temperatures, so cold, seem wrong
And it’s hard to remember the dirt, black.
Winter’s worn her coat too long.
It’s time the winds bring summer back.

copyright © 2011 T.J. Gargano

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