Poetry Corner with Lawrence Spiro

by Lawrence Spiro

So you think winter is fun. Read on….


The wind roars and shrills
quaking through the shaking sill.

She shifts her sheets
and moves slowly from a half dead sleep
towards the darkened light.
barely dreaming, slightly seeing
the grey night shrouded in vitreous white.

Pale fingers press her face
against the rigid pane.
Her dreams sift through frigid lace
and options, identity wain.

Shivering breathes fog the view.
Here and now, near and soon
fading silhouettes against glass,
demur to the static moving past.


Night walks from dusk toward a shivering star.
The stroll is slow and long with crisp snap of
broken ice and clawing clutching wind.
Darkness drip, seep, freeze dragging slow
to retired dawn reeling to awake.
Red blaze ignite the fleeting day where
hour seem like minute, minute, second.
Grey sky cover the evanescent light.
Night walks from dusk toward a shivering star.