cold comfort

who will hear our voices?

winter winds our walls
snow our blanket

old news now–
drowned out
by the latest atrocities

“Ukrainian Figurines” by Kirill Shevchenko (Groder) Image by Кирилл Шевченко from Pixabay

David, at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, supplied the above photo for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday this week. I recently ran across a “42” poem I had written and the form seemed just right for this prompt. The situation in Ukraine is full of questions with no easy answers.

I did these collages in my early days of blogging, when Marcy Erb and I did a number of poetry and art collaborations. The poetic excerpt that inspired this work was from Frederick Turner.

On the Death of an Infant

Latecomer, first to go,
Like the small arctic flower
Between the snow and snow,
The fragrance of an hour. 

Frederick Turner (b. 1943) 

Every day new things demand our attention–but let us not forget the people of Ukraine.

into itself

into itself s

winter leaves, overlapping
with cold wind, rain,
clouds that permeate

each every day
footsteps too heavy
to follow another

enclosed in lethargy,
the hours devoid
of song, stagnant

from here to anywhere,
held in pause–
each day a tunnel

searching for openings–
starsunmoon
glowing

A quadrille for Lillian at dVerse, using the word glow.

into itself close up 1s

I always like to photograph my art in natural light, but it’s so dark here today, I also did some with the overhead light on.  It gives everything a yellow tone, and doesn’t show the subtle shifts in the color any better.  Maybe they’re too subtle.