stubborn winter

Stubborn winter drags on and on it seems
transiently coming and going, an itinerant artist
drawing frigid lines on a dull grey canvas
while I … aimless, I sit and stare in wonder.

Have I ever seen the sky descend so gently?
But then, how could I even know?
Is it possible that each flake might evoke
such a distinctive image floating in my mind?

Of course not. For how could it do so?
It is not for the enduring elements of this world
to impress themselves on my ephemeral thoughts
but for me to pay them the heed that they deserve.

the heart of the world

the soul of this people
is criticially changing
arranging into i know not what

the mind of mankind
is swiftly maligning
aligning along the cruelest axes

the heart of the world
is drifting unminded
towards the coldest usefulness

scratched and carved
and assiduously mangled
into clearly utilitarian purpose

a world debated by thinkers
and tinkers and polished politicians
into cleverly calculated intent

as the sun rose this winter day
my worn heart knew—
it is time to speak at last

of something quite new