Poetry – Excerpts From ‘The POND Project’ (By John L. Stanizzi)

2.5.19

7.48 a.m.

33 degrees

 

 

Picking the boardwalk instead of the pond this morning,

onward through the woods, the ground a mosaic of leaves

necessary for the crosshatch of broken branches to fall silently,

dim in the overcast, the cedar is possessed by bittersweet.

 

 

2.6.19

11.33 a.m.

41 degrees

 

 

Pretended yesterday that spring was closer than it is,

overlay of sun on my tired, pale shoulders, overlay of warmth,

noticeable warmth through my shirt, first time in weeks, and the

disinherited ice is all water now, its tumbling voice effervescent and wild.

 

 

2.7.19

8.49 a.m.

35 degrees

 

 

Perennial doldrums.  I see the same winter landscape everyday,

ordained to either find something new, or make the sameness unique.

Ninety-plus robins, like a blushing murmuration, fly close to the ground;

downstream, the mud frozen into the ice has begun to sink, a old brown blanket.

 

 

2.8.19

10.47 a.m.

48 degrees

 

 

Primaveral search party, I come up empty, though the cool steady rain melts the

opacity of the overcast, and the ground and the stream, entirely thawed, are

nonchalant, as if winter were truly gone, as if bitter cold were not simply

decumbent, taking a break, waiting its next hostile, biting strike.

 

[su_john_l_stanizzi]