
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.
.
Small sparrow, unknowing prey, tips across, tiny beak
darting in-out, gathering small bits of bites.
.
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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