Sunday February 20, 2011

A wind in the night swept the broom off the porch; I find it in the garden. A thin milk of clouds. The sun’s whiskers slowly disappear.


  1. delightful

  2. Thin milk of clouds, wafers
    of brittle twigs on the walk.
    Gather up your stores
    of praise and gratefulness,
    o my heart, for the coming day.

    – Luisa A. Igloria
    02 20 2011
    Sent via my Blackberry

  3. Yesterday’s wind whipped the lid off the chicken coop can
    scattering wisps of fresh straw willy nilly in its wake.
    Just when you think Spring is almost in sight
    another blast of artic weather
    swirls merrily in your face,
    such a taunting chill beauty.

  4. TIRED

    Off the porch, the broom
    lies askew in the garden:
    but for the flowers on it,
    it could have been
    a discarded truncheon.
    Sunlight through twigs
    cast obscure sketches
    on the walkway where
    its handle points out
    like a broken arrow to
    the stone dog standing
    by the leaf-strewn porch.
    Leaves would not be
    swept off soon while
    the sun’s whiskers
    slowly disappear.
    Another storm gathers.
    The night wind should
    do the sweeping…

    —A. B. Casuga

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