brier report

Evening silflay. Wind still howling sir
On the drifts but keeping clean as clean
Can be kept. What ice & matted fur
Form the least of worries: morale deep
Down consists in forward motion. Leap

To ’t! is our motto on the ridge.
Scouts report but little movement hide
Whisker twitch or tail of them by which
The enemy would be seen. Our pride
Stands in vigilance regardless. Try

As they might to make advantage of
Dark & snow to cross the field tonight
Time wd come when they wd have to shove
Past us sir: a task that they would find
Difficult to say the least. Your mind

May in confidence return as ours
Do in huddled moments underneath
Shallow makeshift burrows to warm hours
Passed in crowded company & think
Only of the warren — home — the deep

Sheltered place of which your welcome word
Reaches the department of the West.
signed captain j.j. abergine iii,
16th border company. p.s.
To you & yr family all my best

solstice blessing

Here’s to the depths of winter; here’s
to the dark of night! Cold may the north
wind blow, long the snow may fall,
and here we sit as ancient kings
as emperors and czars of old
once sat: all lonely just like us,
all longing for a better home
and longing for the year to turn.

Elsewhere or next door the noise
of worse intentions than our own
catches on a blizzard’s edge;
rising but to settle down
again, first we drink the health
and wealth of everyone we know.

obsessed

A muse came down Parnassus mount,
bent close, and whispered in my ear
that up and down Parnassus street
I was the talk of town.

One observation Yes? you’ve got
to lighten up: you are obsessed
with rhyme and meter. Muse! I said,
obsesséd? Iamb not!

My mother’s Christmas Cactus blooms
a week before Thanksgiving. But
who among us hasn’t been confused?

poem

for Percy

Discouraged, not defeated.
Otherwise why would you lift
your leaves at night and lower
them in morning? Time enough
to dance in your slow way, to
breathe, to bask in halflight while
your dirt becomes like dust up
on a mountain, blown away.
Despite the weather heaven
sends to gather up your roots
as David gathered stones: to
set them down again in praise.

Beneath a dim red eclipse of the moon
a night–black, danger–black little cat stalks
its prey of dreams

tumbles over uneven clouds, twitching
pitch–black little paws, and as if magically
lands on its feet.