Umbrella Skies

Umbrella skies are soft and gray,

Blocking away blue days

They catch the rain, but dump it away

The wrong way

I hold the forked lightning handle tight

And want to go home, safe and dry

To where I can sit by the firelight

For while plants can turn green and

Live long lives,

I look up at the sky and sigh…


Pocket of blue in the gray clouds

Pocket of green in the frost

Pocket of warmth by the fireplace

Pocket of breath in the exhaust

Pocket of rain in the clouds

Pocket of silence when choirs sing

Pockets of stars in the black

A pocket in everything

Winter Birds

Little birds fly away from the storm

Wings heavy with heaven’s tears

Calling, chirping, mourning

Ink blotches against the gray parchment

Crow soars farther into the storm

The coward proving his bravery

We are trapped in winter weather

Watching nature through a screen

Little birds fly away from the storm,

But we are stuck in between