I pluck the string,
The vibration singing in my ears.
I draw the brush
And feel the rush of rampant creativity!
I tap the keys
And find myself sitting here,
Staring out the window
At another dismal January morning.

By now it has become a major affair,
Not bereft of its minor dissonance.
An unexpected shiver resonates
From the craw of a not-too distant crow.

The cold wind swivels us around,
Me, socks on feet,
Wishing never to have felt
What the raven feels.
The bitter, bitter cold,
Like fingernails on glass.
The flapping of black feathers a hint
Of the arctic darkness that is about to follow.

The window shutters with panes exposed,
Sunlight sloshes through dishwater skies.
For some a day of outdoor dancing;
For me, a day to watch the passers by,
And sigh.

I seek solace in my discontent,
My journals, my art, my music
These act as buffers to the day.
And then I think,
What good are they
Without access to a world
Beyond the frosty glass?

And believe you me,
The mind can play tricks on you sometimes,
Electric currents and Internet sparkplugs arcing,
Eyes glued to video clips of Galapagos or Costa Rica.
A place where the sweat drives you to drink
And thinking between twelve noon and 4:20 is
Strictly prohibited!

And while this frigid afternoon
Continues to howl with the wolves,
I type in my alternate reality then wistfully press “enter”.
I focus on the plasma screen,
I inhale deep,
I free my mind…

And pray I make it through another winter!



Michael S. True
1-25-14