On Poetry for the New Year (and Here's a Poem!)

('Cause after writing 7-8 plays in only four months' time, poetry wouldn't be a bad venture, right? And who knows where these poetic roads will lead...)

The first is actually inspired by snowfall...or at least, me waiting for the snow to finally arrive in Chicago. What's winter without a little magic?

This one's for the poet and our love for snow.

"In Winter's Garden" by Ryan Oliveira

Open the door. Enter the garden

where trees are stripped bare to bones

but stick to sequences of twigs

that cuttlefish to clasp the air.

Perennial fragrances give way to baser,

primal flavors: barbecued cedar, hints of teak,

oaky smokes that grope your nose

and unlock memories of chocolate reverie.

If you are lucky, She will dance tonight.

Iridescent invitations of greens and pinks

as She sambas under starlights. She even waltzes,

and casts her reds and claps like Spanish damas.

But perhaps you are outside her Circle,

so She whips the air to willowing pillows of

white, too delicate to locate the needles

numerous in surface, but syrup in your hands.

Catch them on your tongue. Spring water

is no longer a bottle, but a butterfly of ice

that floats and flutters from the skies

like iterations of leaves that once were.

Best of all: Silent. Night.

Not the song overplayed, but the soul overjoyed

in the snow-crunch that captures sounds

in moss-muffles and mouse-squeaks unseen.

She follows you like a deer in rear-lights.

Roughs you with the wind if you come unveiled.

Veers into you like a skidding truck.

Crashes into you like a broken heart.

But She is not playing nor’easter tonight.

Nor is She yuki-onna in Kabuki drobe.

She seems Ice Queen, but is Rainha Natalia,

Our Exquisite Mistress of Mountainous Souls.

But our Himalayan expedition must end.

Her garden must sleep for several months

to muster the lights and frozen fountains again.

Close the door on your way inside.

But remember to wonder.

#winter #poetry #garden #wonder #magic #snow