Winter is An Old Woman…


is an old woman,
her face mapped in wrinkles
like frostbitten verbs,

She sits
on her haunches at dawn,
gathering citrus-scented dewdrops
from grass blades,
while painting her dreams
as azaleas in watercolors on
hydrangea skies.

are christmas baubles
simpering treacle smiles in
the lukewarm sunshine,
hung on verdant limbs
of frozen pines,
adorning each silent apostle
in crystalline whispers.

Ladling peppercorn sighs
of fuming soup
on shivering platters
etching gasps of delight,
she sips cappuccinos
with parched lips,
scenting once cinnamon breeze
in caffeine vowels.

Using herbs
like versatile consonants,
of variegated flavors and aromas
sprinkled on bland days,
parsley and cilantro
green onions and garlic~
enhance the taste of existence,
as she spins love-yarns
in the kitchen.

Mists she spins
like gossamer hopes,
to quilt the barren earth
wrapping hibernations in oblivion
to nurture the nascent,
until daffodils awaken
from buried bulbs in springtime.

Sitting afore maple-wood fires,
on her creaking arthritic armchair,
she spins woolen jumpers~
blessing her progeny with warmth,
and indulges in marshmallow reverie
reminiscing of balmy August afternoons,
lingering in memory
as the taste of pickled mangoes
and roasted, buttery peanuts.


Scents of Winter…


Scents of Winter

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with cinnamon
breath of fall mingling
in infinite oblivion
of past buried
beneath piling snow–
feather soft and sublime.

morning breeze scented

in aroma of citrus delights,
and freshness of
dew on grass blades,
untouched by lethargic
tongue of mellowed sun.

rich aroma of
brewing tea and coffee
scents environs,
in nipping chill
and fragrance of green peas,
spring onions and herbs
emanates from kitchen.

crackling fire
palmed by hearth,
leaves room redolent
with earthy smell of
incinerated timber,
and a roseate glow etched
on softness of cheeks.

Christmas brings scents
of pine needles and myrtle,
blended with the smell
of delicacies, cakes
pies and cookies fresh
from the blazing oven.

and above all scent
of your closeness beneath
moth ball smothered blankets,
as you hold me close,
dissipating chill of winter,
are to me epitomes
of winter season…