– how to survive the artillery of snow

pulling back
the wind delivers
its first blow.

loosen wires
shrapnel stings
ice pounds the
dome of an
hurriedly erected
skin inverted,
innards spread
skeleton bent then
snapped in two.

shovels boots
pathways patterns, habits
passed from one year to the next,
all nuances
lost on you.
toes numb, turn blue
yet each year you fumble
a little less
get better at
fastening your buttons
in accordance with the skies.

the spring after a summer fire,
gold with wattle.
kangaroo paws, green
flowers red stalks
the runway
such flashes of daring
undergrowth is ankle height
or less.

the creek and the winter way you
have to take that step,
then that step,
that step,
then that, and becarefulyoucouldlose
a shoe in the mud. but
even if you did, the rain hardly
chills the bone the
body, the bare feet under it.

I have seen it all
but I never have.
the great turtle
I wonder the things she feels,
the male, never comes back to land.
how does the ocean vary,
one white-tipped wave to next?

park rose/lizardrinking, 2010 (c)
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4 Comments on “– how to survive the artillery of snow”

  1. Somebody Somewhere Says:

    I don’t know what duotone is … but this is good (whether or not it is, duotone that is).

    • theheartbeatsoftly Says:

      Hey, sss, I haven’t finished this yet. Duotone is the photoblog under nary a sound in the blog roll 😉

      I’ve almost finished this. Are you my email subscriber?

      Finished now until I think I have finished it no longer. THANKS!

  2. anglophile Says:

    I think every year you have forgotten how hard the wind blows, so you don’t think to button up beforehand. It catches you unprepared every time. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m not so good at recognizing patterns. Great poem.

    • theheartbeatsoftly Says:

      I think though that you have almost unconscious habits governed by a kind of innate knowledge of the weather when you have stayed in a place a long time. Whenever I go home from a cold place like here I start layering, and everyone laughs at me. When I went to NZ I couldn’t believe how warm I was once I started wearing warmer clothes! But yeah, it does get you unawares, and worse, over-dressed once the weather turns. That’s my favourite phrase of the poem too(?), glo. Thanks.

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