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February Poems 2017

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June is a memory in November

As I remember the roses and the

Lilacs blooming and the persistence of

The rain the fresh air and the insistence


Of the sun coaxing the season of growth

Along and all the leaves are pristine the

Birds are melodious with the dawn and

The roots of the grass are absorbing the


Rain but now a bitter wind surges through

The trees that stand starkly bare a frosting

Has hardened the ground and the night has grown

Wings and is overshadowing daylight


But none of it matters to me because

Your ebullience overcomes the darkness.


The overcast sky

in November is glowing

because the sun is

always dispensing light and

every day you’re radiant.



There are moments of awakening that

Aren’t altogether enjoyable in

The winter months of Minnesota and

When walking on the asphalt or concrete


After a drizzling that froze into

An almost invisible layer of

Ice we learn to look for a glint of light

Reflecting off the walkway because a


Second’s carelessness leads to a quirky

Jerk to discombobulation to an

Impactful connection with a very

Hard surface after which we’re completely


Awake realizing penetrating

Insight into the quality of now.


Because I’m spry I

jerk discombobulate but

sometimes I’m able

to catch myself before the

fall discovering balance.



Circumstances coordinate outcomes

Not always to my satisfaction as

I encountered the invisible ice

While driving down a sloping street and if


Only I hadn’t tried to turn I’d have

Been OK but I did and the car slid

As my frantic gestures with the steering

Wheel were operatic but quite useless


So I smacked into a parked car leaving

Minor damage on both vehicles and

Though it’s not catastrophic I’d rather

Have nothing to regret but that’s life as


Once in a while I fall through a trap door

Of an uncontrollable circumstance.


The spitting freezing

rain is no excuse said the

insurance agent

as the fact remains I lost

control of the vehicle.



Like a basset hound with droopy skin and

Ears baying so mournfully at the moon

And disturbing my sleep I’ve tossed about

With worry and during the day the hound


Gets his teeth into a rag and won’t let

Go no matter how I pull to free myself

From cogitating over offensive

Words and it’s useless to ruminate with


Sad eyes with my hound’s head between outstretched

Paws on the floor because wherever my

Thoughts go my paws are sure to follow so

I’ve learned to throw the dog a bone to let


Myself chew joyfully on projects that

Channel enthusiastic energy.


When I’m searching for

the appropriate words and

images to fit

an emerging line of thought

I don’t know my tail’s wagging.




The Jogging Birder


I was jogging,

and the push had

given up,

was hanging onto my heels

and croaking like a frog,

and while I was begging the uphill

to pull me

to greater heights

(where near the crest

I could see a grassy bank

that looked more and more

like a bench)

over the hill flew a

tall, bald,

beaky and goggled biker

with shoulders hunched and arms

akimbo — buzzard

on bicycle wheels —

and a bubble of laughter

lifted me,

carried me over the hill

headed for home.

Bev Bonn Jonnes

Read 754 times Last modified on Tuesday, 06 February 2018 14:27
Barry MacDonald

Editor & Publisher of the St. Croix Review.
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