I have a sequence of poems this month in the April edition of the online literary journal "Verse-Virtual" on a subject I'm sure we all want to hear more about: weather! What, you're sick of it already? You've heard enough about "The Great Boston Snow" of the winter of 2015, in fact you're trying to forget about it, and block out the fact that March has been way more productive of snowflakes than snowdrops, or crocuses, pussy willows, green leaves of any description, or the color green of any origin whatsoever such as the astro-turf increasingly used on kids' playing fields?
And here I am evoking images of icicles and shadows on the snow (or complaining about icicles and snowstorms), making fun of people who complain too much about winter weather, and congratulating those who find pleasure and solace in the simple things -- despite all this unremitting, record-setting, isolating, back-breaking, spring-postponing, don't-get-me-started unseasonable cold and persistent snow cover!... This fixation may merely be an example, Anne points out to me, of the widely observed "snow obsession disorder.
Nevertheless, here are the poems, introduced in Verse-Virtual as "Five poems about white days, dark thoughts, and a possibly unhealthy absorption with weather."
The first one, "After a Death" begins...
Anne strikes back at February
taking a hammer, whaling away at the ice
that sucks tight to the house like some glittering coral
of ravenous cold, reefing the house with winter
"Do you want to know what feels good?" she asks
after a loss, a contemporary loss,
that shocking preview of the sins of old age
"Pounding away with a hammer
at the ice,"
the ice, it may be, in your soul
Here's the link to the poems in the April edition of Verse-Virtual, an issue that includes contributions from a dozen or so state poet laureates in honor of "Poetry Month."
As always I'm grateful to this online journal, a sunny place to hang out on the Internet.