Poetry

#llamadrama and #thedress

Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Fri, 02/27/2015 - 20:58

As the cold and snow lingers on
and spirits sag,
we, as a nation,
seek new distractions.

There have always been cat videos
or at least as long
as there’s been videos streaming online.
Their brief humor is therapeutic.

Yet as things look more grim,
we need something more potent:
therapist llamas on the lam.

Is it their cute frolicking that captures our hearts?
Their freedom? Something else?
Is it enough, or do need even more,
like a dress
that no one can agree the color of.

How do we see things?
How do we think?
How are we different?
How are we the same?

Soon enough, the dismal humdrums will return
but for now, we can smile at llamas
and think about perception,
at least for a moment.

(Categories:

Poetry

)

Ice Dams

Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Thu, 02/26/2015 - 21:21

It isn’t the cold that causes ice dams
nor the warmth for that matter.
It isn’t even the snow piling up on the roof.

When the first days of bitter cold come,
we hunker down.
We can outlast the cold.

We worry about the snow piling up on the roof.
Will the structure support the weight?
We read about barns collapsing.

Then, the warmth comes.
The snow and ice melts off portions of the driveway.
We talk about how balmy it feels
even though it is barely above freezing.

On the roof, the snowmelt heads to the gutters.
Some of it becomes beautiful icicles.
Some of it freezes on the edge of the roof.

It isn’t the cold that causes ice dams
nor the warmth for that matter.
It is that back and forth across the freezing line
as snow melts, pools up, and freezes again
causing unseen damage.

Yet that same back and forth
between freezing and thawing
is what makes the sap flow
into giant networks of tubing
that have replaced the old sap buckets.

Soon the sugar houses will be boiling sap
bringing additional sweetness
to the end of a long cold bitter winter
as we repair the damage from ice dams.

(Categories:

Poetry

)

Persistence

Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Wed, 02/25/2015 - 20:56

The first days are the easiest,
it doesn’t matter the task.
There is the flush of excitement,
the hopes, the uncertainty.

Will I be able to complete the task?
Will I encounter something new?

Yet as the days progress, the routine sets in.
Will today be like yesterday?
Will I have enough energy?

I push myself to get out and walk,
to pick up paper and write.

The obligatory references to Sisyphus arise,
as do the self-doubts.

I try to convince myself that the slog
is making some sort of a difference,
even though I can see it.

Hopes vanish and all that is left is the discipline,
perhaps with a residua of dreams.

Doubts increase, with a recognition that it
wasn’t the best effort.

But there is always tomorrow.

(Categories:

Poetry

)