Monday, January 11, 2016

ICICLES a poem by Patricia Crandall



 
                                                         ICICLES

                                                in amber coach light
                                                glistening snow drifts
 
                                                breaking
                                                footprints lead to mailbox
                                                and back
 
                                                burning cold
                                                to touch
 
                                                melting
                                                pock marks in snow
 
                                                wind
                                                blows through icicles
                                                humming
 
                                                shine
                                                in pale full moon
 
 

Chances are You Will Want to Come to New York City

In 1958 Her streets were paved in yellow brick leading to Fifth Avenue and 42 nd  Street. You might have seen a zealous couple dance-walkin...