Tag Archives: footprints

Early Winter Poems Continued

Three winter poems.  In the first, I watched as a cat tried to catch a bird on the snow.  In the second, I was driving home from my second job and it was dark and snowy and I was a bit sleepy.  Finally, I was walking one day and being very careful and saw a foot print.  Enjoy!

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Providence

By Scott L Vannatter

12/16/85

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Soft pad, feather-light step upon the fresh mounds.

Hardened by the cold, the Tom creeps forward.

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Small sparrow, unknowing prey, tips across, tiny beak

darting in-out, gathering small bits of bites.

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Within reach the neck ripples, ready for launch,

sinews stand tight, flexed by instinct.

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Front paws, claws out, stretch upward, hungrily.

White buckles and opens its maw, swallowing coldly.

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Taking flight, the young bird sails over the saving crevasse,

the yellow eyes gleaming from the depths.

___________________

Silent White

By Scott L Vannatter

12/16/85

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Lights fade, dead noise, only tread on ice,

A steady hum, reminder of the world, not distraction.

Half a length  of the long arm to talk me-to-me.

Quiet conversations, the night folding, the stakes pulled.

Half-dream, the world screams with silence.

Strings of white stretch car-to-car, a chain of brightness,

ready to wrap the tree.

Vent on, the fresh chill wakens, window down, clearness shines.

.               White ball of cold light glistens the snow hump,

.                 stretching shadows long, spot-shine of purity,

.                   star-covered earth sending points back.

.          Past, present, future all rolled thoughts jumping, merging,

.               all time as one, no time, everytime

.           Thoughts groping, hoping for answers, but none.

.          Then beauty creeps in, crowding out and love answers.

_______________________

Memories of Snow

By Scott L Vannatter

?

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Trudging up the white mounds to the walk,

steps icy, glassy, frosted ground-windows of water,

fear of quick descent into blackness, I move slowly.

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At the upward corners I spy a memory.  Little shape,

sole-in-snow, a print, not unlike a camera creation, the

ridges are ant-mountains, zig-zag pointers showing the

Have been, was once.

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Movement transformed to solidness, the journey continued,

is continuing, will continue – memories remain.

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Some deeper, touching ground, concrete, foundationary.

These tiny remembrances of play and childhood fade

into the day, forgotten but by one.

______________________

Namaste,

Scott

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Philosophy is all about being curious, asking basic questions. And it can be fun!

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I read lots of books, from mythology retellings to literary fiction and I love to reread books from childhood, this is a place to voice my thoughts for fun. I also like to ramble about things such as art or nature every now and again.

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