Scioto Snow

Prints cross ice;

imagine a doe

coaxed to the river,

enveloped in lust

and white.

Gloved fingers,

breath exhaled

like anxious chimneys;

all of me

in your pocket.

We thrust low,

confound the cold,

unable to see beyond

the crosshatch of blue ash

and sycamore.

Wonder how

this flux can survive;

fresh unbodied rush,

metallic, more feverish
than spring.

tk/November 2014



Exquisite read by R.A.D. Stainforth...

Join Mapgie Tales creative writing group.

Settlement of Snow

The Mill, 1964, Andrew Wyeth

Boots tramp your arrival.

I am aware of you. 

Wyeth stillness lies

in the bodice of my gown.

Unlace the corset with gloved hands

to find the curvature of the earth.

Fire hisses.

Impatient embers

find their way into everything we know.

The room is overwarm.

Gathered branches tumble to the floor.

There is no script, no canvas.
This is no ordinary happiness. 

tk/January 2014







Exquisite read by R.A.D. Stainforth: 

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group

Christmas

R.A.D. Stainforth's lovely Christmassy reading...

There's a place for us,

an oasis between fruitcake

and watering the tree,

with hot-and-cold running kisses,

that stretch restless,

from the hearth

out to the snow,

where I push you back pink

and holiday-faced,

knowing this smiling garland

around our necks

links forever compatible.

tk/December 2012

Marc Chagall, 1914

Happy holidays and best wishes for a contented 2013, dear friends. Thank you so very much for your continued support and encouragement. You are the best. You really are.