“Chronicle of Logs”

 

 

 

CHRONICLE OF LOGS

 

Bringing in the wood
while our führer dances
on the head of a
Drone.

White snow sifting
sugarcoats the frozen ground
but no one likes
the taste of truth.

On New Year’s Day I wrote
a poem on war
two days later
it began.

Next I rearrange the stack
left on the porch
you like my chronicle of logs
the mention of fire comforts.

The bend the heft the hoist
breath visible in the air
peel off gloves while the
heat hugs and fire comforts.

 

– Diane Sophrin
  Vermont (1.7.20)

 

 

 

click here to open in PDF format

 

“The Great Collapse”

 

 

 

 

THE GREAT COLLAPSE

 

The Surity of War
inevitable like death
approaching
the dripping glowing
finger of god
writing on walls
only not for everyone.

The Great Collapse
coming soon
theaters near and far
thrills chills sights
never before or
again known
only in the bones.

Time Speeds Up
sometimes they say
grains and ticks
marks notwithstanding
the shadows too
play tricks
only when they want.

The Patina of Time
who’s to say if
your time is my time
when it’s my time
I’ll know or
maybe not
only time will tell.

The Blackest Humor
can’t save us now
nothing can
I am afraid
the smell is too familiar
if your nostrils
are open
only to the stench.

It’s Never They
say the same
twice and so
it’s all new
now although
flashbacks and premonitions
only proclaim the obvious.

 

– Diane Sophrin.
  Vermont, 12.25.19

 

 

 

click here to open in PDF format

 

 

“This Should Mean Something – X”

 

 

 

 

THIS SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING – X

 

Soft black circles
this should mean something
ominous, empty –
not these round black spots
not these warm bundles of hope
how could that be.

I would like
to hold them in
close embrace
feel their soft warmth
the comfort
of which you speak.

The nights are so black
it’s only the season
Oh there’s light in the dark
think a million tiny sparks
spraying the night skies
strung up on Main Street.

Go ahead, laugh
at the slippage
and the loss
Rip Van Winkle rising
from his grave
bemused.

 

– Diane Sophrin.
  Vermont, 11.26.19

 

 

 

click here to open in PDF format

 

“Like a Halo”

 

 

 

 

 

LEAF 2 (Like a Halo)

 

LIKE A HALO – II

 

Dead brown leaves
one or two
pressed thin
against the wet cement
like the ghost of a soul
barely visible
in the shallow pool of melting ice
salt crystals scattered
like a halo.

The sun is sketchy
warm but weak
The frenzy
before a holiday
Is not palpable since
I won’t celebrate
instead
standing aside
just wait.

 

– Diane Sophrin.
  Vermont, 12.26.19

 

 

 

click here to open in PDF format

 

“Zigzag of Resurrection – II”

 

 

 

ZIGZAG OF RESURRECTION – II

 

A zigzag of decades
a back and forth of time
lost footing for a fast fleeting second
overfull with resurrection.

Hindsight moving forward
people crowding at the door
articulated memories overwhelm
then – a flood of acquiescence.

 

– Diane Sophrin.
  Vermont, 11.18.19
 

 

 

click here to open in PDF format

 

“This Should Mean Something – IX”

 

 

 

 

THIS SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING – IX

 

Soft black circles
this should mean something
ominous, empty –
not these round black spots
not these warm bundles of hope
how could that be.

I would like
to hold them in
close embrace
feel their soft warmth
the comfort
of which you speak.

The nights are so black
it’s only the season
Oh there’s light in the dark
think a million tiny lights
spraying the night skies
strung up on Main Street.

Go ahead, laugh
at the slippage
and the loss
Rip Van Winkle rising
from his grave
bemused.

 

– Diane Sophrin.
  Vermont, 11.26.19

 

 

 

click here to open in PDF format