Winters' Comfort

Weighing the snow that gets launched onto the ground
by the weather-or-not god
And then shovelled and piled
And then shovelled again and then piled
And then organized by the minions of glove and frozen noses
During even a light winter, is tedious

Watching it unfold
takes on an onerous attention to detail,
as well a frosty window mind
If you had a snow-spitting-out machine
instead of a stick with aluminium at the end
And at the other end, a pair of hands, you might find yourself doing favours
And that just means seeing more snow,
more people,
and more cold
An elephant back means even more favours
And an elephant back problem means your knees aren’t what you used to be.

Its like paving a dead end street
Its always for no reason except to get your car out

A broken snow scoop means an incomplete favour
The trusty brand new snowplough does not help
When you hear her in an aching cacophony

After the driveway gets launched on again.

A sanitary rocky driveway is better than scotch tears and yellow roses Even though those help a little more
when mean, explicit winters are not just weather-cold.

Prayer time is for simplicity in times of a line of grief
Where a discreet bardo realm meets a pouting,
less gleeful,
fully enlightened,
Tibetan One.

Winters can be in late spring
When the cold “Those” come out of their heat-controlled apartments.
When life has given the cold, blight ridden “Those” some inclement weather
Even with some silver sunshine glowing off of the snowfall to adapt to.
“Those” save up that tongue-pole id energy for an early thaw.
A huddle in secrecy,
with no secrets kept,
is the way of a frosty meeting between two rivals.
The meeting deserves Karate Champ judgement when the loudest talker wins.

The awkward silences are taken as humourous
An insult is seen coming
before the pair of mauve sheep bleets in the clouds and echoes a sound.

The afternoon chaud beverage ritual for an alone person
Becomes too pre-programmed
and too much depends on what the weather is doing in order to keep silent.
Many have fallen in winter’s swoon of aloneness.
And desperate grasping to something that they once had.
Or a clinging to something
or a clinging something so impossible
that they have always wished for
And maybe’ve had
or had and never received.

An owned cry is heard, halfway down the cheek.
Tears that cause squeaky floor boards in a vacant room.
A prayer that empties a well of salt water from the eyes of a seer.
A hidden clasp of hands
And a look at meaning-well symbols
that are more in control then we all feel.

We kneel,
we bow,
we think
and we do.

Head behind kneecaps,
Wrapped and rocking,
With pleading, hugging arms,
And we hear the secret comforting voices
of inner deities and servants.


We drop the malicious thoughts and focus on them and not ourselves.
We look for an edge of the planet that has seen more in order to cope.
One will always find that.

We take something for the pain.
A grand choice.
A comforting meal served by a compassion fuelled matriarch.
An apron with frills, a smell of simpler ways
And a touch that means more and then bears a nurturing hug.
One look of protection.

A movement that screams, “I will help!” is what you receive.
And the movement will know exactly how and what kinds of prods to use.
In a dim dank room where you foster an element of your roots.
A demand of a lesser presence from the slights of those who are sardonically, all experts.
And those who just sarcastically claim to be.
Understand the way to miss a person when the raw feeling of their absence is a brand new mental heart scar that bleeds inward.
A step into an age of gratitude after the hardness of the healing process enters and leaves with the coming of a weatherglass summer.
Where we’re all guessing and wondering where we left off
and forgiveness is still all of our greatest needs makes us believe in a encapsulated heart, mind, body and spirit.
A wholeness in being each other.