Proud

In the dead of Winter
Long
After the artificial electric
The sound of sung merriment
Now fallen
Let the shine on my bare shoulders 
Reflect the distant auroras
And hold the light
From your eyes 

Summer In Winter

Who told you?
Who said it should’ve been so?

The looming liar lurking?
A voice from the mount’?

Would that there’d been!
Oh that there’d be!

What harm would befall to let it all go?
And exclaim to the the everlasting, omnipresent silence:

There’s ink to the contrary;
Screaming loud and clear. 

So my skin -if none else- must tell the truth, dear. 
My hand, the fall, forced. 

Linger Winter

And it’s then
That I’m forced
To ask myself
Of what consequence is it to me
That winter wishes to linger
While elsewhere bares its shoulders

As I consider whether to be pained
By pinstripes wider than these 
Or the loss of the starboard side’s oar
I recall 
The daffodils that dance each morning
The strong Challenger on the horizon
The Saturday swims with a mermaid

Elsewhere, bare your shoulders