A Rainy Night at the Hobo Pool

Steam rises, bubbles too, as soil and sky
Decide to bathe together in the rain
As darkness falls. I soak, relax and sigh
And let the heat and water take my pain.
It all dissolves away. And now the light
Which dances, stately, each eve on the pool
Performs a frantic foxtrot in the night,
Bestirred by slashing raindrops. I, a fool,
Who, dazzled by the fireworks that burst
As ev'ry drop disturbs the liquid sheen,
Thinks, of all who have seen this, I'm the first
To notice this. I weep to leave this scene.
Already, though, my ripples have died out,
Lost to the frenzied water's silent shout.

In Which A Very Ordinary Day Is Had

No words escaped my lips today; once more

Not even Molly, my dog, heard my voice.

No glamor or excitement, just one chore

That came after another, by my choice.

Not ev'ry day should be a quiet one

But when one comes, please help me not to scoff.

There's pleasure to be had, and even fun

In doing nothing on my last day off

Except for laundry, dishes, reading and

Attempting not to spend it all logged on

To feeds and other sites (though this, my grand

Scheme to unplug was not -- this is forgone

As those conclusions go -- successful). Though

I've maybe wasted time, 'tis good so, no?

February

I like the snowfall, how it makes us stop,

Makes us stay where we were when it began

(If we are wise), how it can make us drop

Our plans and schemes, at least during its span

Of closed-down roads and endless, downward fall.

Late February, there's no holiday

Distracting us. It's winter, and that's all,

And it's enough. We've time in which to play

Within our minds. It's pointless to complain,

Get anxious, focus on some other place

Where we think we just really must be. Fain

We pause and contemplate th'actual space

In which we find ourselves, hemmed in by white

And drifted water, cov'ring so much blight.

In Which I Have Conserved My Words

A pleasure's there in silence to be had.

A day's gone by and I've not said a word

To anyone. While this might count as sad

Were it a daily truth, not to have heard

A human voice at all, not e'en my own,

For this small space of time feels strangely good.

The world moves at it the pace it's always known

Outside my windows, as I knew it would.

Meanwhile my work continues quietly,

Slow progress upon progress, this thing grows

From what I planted last year inside me

Into something that's new, something that glows

With all the energy I've put there for

First months, then days, now a few hours more.