Winter’s Edge
raw bonito
the chef’s knife trembles
with last year’s debt
a helping hand
on the slippery slopes
winter mountain
frostbites
her withered hands
warms his
waiting alone—
good company around
the winter fountain
SYNCHRONIZED CHAOS
Interdisciplinary journal of art, music, culture, science & literature.
“To write is to create twice.”
Albert Camus
“Instructions for living a life.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”
Mary Oliver
“Words, you are my shield and song.”
Abigail George
Even loneliness and the edge of winter, although romantic, both can be political, at war with edge each other with intent, masking nothing, masking everything. The edge of winter in words can be a shield, a song, a shroud, a veil, a profound offering of moral sensibility. Its clarity pristine. Alone doesn’t have to mean loneliness but it welcomes the lonely, it welcomes the man, it welcomes the woman. I am always drawn to poets and poetry who write sad poems, love poems that are sad poems, sad poems that are political poems or even romantic poems. I am drawn to poets who write about winter or the seasons.