Winter Garden 2007

Winter Garden

Editor: Michael Biales

©2006 Kaji Aso Studio, Inc. 40 St. Stephen Street Boston, MA 01720 (617)247­1719

kajiasostudio.com

A Note About the Poems

The renga in this chapbook and most of the haiku were written at the Kaji Aso Studio renga and haiku workshop. Renga is a traditional Japanese form of poetry written by a group of poets who take turns contributing successive three line and two line verses. Each verse responds to the one immediately before it, but the relationship is indirect. If the renga is successful, the meandering course of the poem comes together as a unified whole.

The renga presented here do not conform to the Japanese model of verse pairs with lines containing respective syllable counts 5­7­5 and 7­ 7. Although it is possible to write English renga in this form, Japanese and English are so different that it does not necessarily make sense to do so. Even the nature of syllables is different in the two languages; for example, the word renga has three syllables in Japanese but only two in English. Similarly, these haiku do not necessarily follow the 5­7­5 syllable pattern. The poems presented here try to capture the poetic essence of renga and of haiku.

Many of the other poems in this chapbook are “zen conversation” poems written at the Kaji Aso Studio poetry workshop. In zen conversations, master and student engage in seemingly nonsensical exchanges which work outside of the student’s habitual patterns of thought to bring the student to new understandings – to a more essential life. Analogously, zen conversation poems take the poets outside of their habitual patterns of writing and thought to create new poems.

How are zen conversation poems written? Each week, keeping in mind an overarching theme such as “Winter Garden”, the poets at the workshop first generate a list of eight words. The leader offers a starting word, then each poet in turn responds to the previous word with the first word that comes to mind. The participants then create poems that include all eight of these words. This process gives the poets an unexpected starting point and leads them to unexpected poems. Hopefully, these zen conversation poems are the tracings of new thought and understanding by the poets – of new life.

Because of the shared theme of the poems in this volume and the shared words in the zen conversation poems, echoes are heard among many of the poems collected here ... we hope you enjoy their reverberations.

Winter Garden

Yesterday’s shit Is covered by dried leaves but not for long Dragon is coming Wind will blow Flames will flicker Old rust will be burnt away His flight will be tremendous and his breath will carry the first snow.

– Kate Finnegan

* * *

winter garden only sasaki grass moving back and forth

– Gary Tucker

* * *

over and over my eyes rise to the moon

– Sarah Fuhro

Whew whew Voice of wind running to every corner of winter garden Two or three once­green potatoes frozen to the ground Winter wind can’t move them Through white bones of tiny skeleton whew whew winter wind dry and sharp down into the deep well wind growing louder echoing someone’s name again, and again Winter wind dancing over the fresh snow kicking up a few tiny sparkles What fun what fun rushing into my ears So cold so cold but nice melody, too. Don’t go don’t go winter wind rushes out between cracks of the wood fence and up into the blue sky ...

– Gary Tucker

* * *

river birches everywhichway­­ winter's garden

– Raffael DeGruttola

What grows in the winter garden? Snow and ice and wind. All else is change frozen in a moment:

Dry branches and dumb trunks, Dead leaves and shit waiting to rot, Buds and bulbs suspended in time.

All waits for spring to come And set life’s clock ticking again.

– Michael Biales

* * * Winter garden She still sees him She still hears him

– Kae Higuchi

* * * The rain is cold All the trees have been sold Once again the year is old

– John Dailey

* * *

New Year’s has come Again – five times The Year of the Wild Boar

– Jeanne Gugino

When pale light of dawn veils over light ash­lavender­colored grounds of this winter garden,

where trees and bushes stand like skeletons, the garden doesn’t feel empty or cold but invites your imagination – imagination that is something like the last green organic potato

from your old sack of old potatoes. You will begin to see tiny sparkles around the garden’s bony

beings. You will begin to hear voices that sing sweet melody. You will begin to realize winter garden is a fun place to be. Your hope and aspiration will echo in your heart like in a deep well.

– Jane Kim

* * *

Short path To night pond Moon is floating

– Katie Sloss

* * * In the darkness Candles and a Birthday smile

– Kate Finnegan

* * *

As I sat quietly, having pulled the curtain aside to watch the meteor shower,

I heard a thud that started my heart beating loudly – my soul turned to rubber as I extracted myself from the chair.

– Sue Biales

Renga

seagulls talking about today in the sky then, sunrise Kaji Aso

raindrops fall from leaves voice of mocking bird Gary Tucker

today my blue car sprinkled all over with tree flowers Martha Akagi

morning mist carpet of mulberries Nancy Hamilton

well ripened apricot sparkling light to the early summer sky Kaji Aso

warm enough turtle slips into water Kate Finnegan

hard life to become harder after the wrath of hurricane Jeanne Gugino

Katrina use to mean my childhood friend Gary Tucker

where everyone lost everything new neighbor appears Katie Sloss

on the Russian countryside fence vodka, an apple and black bread Zeke Vayman

mother’s daikon pickles we stop to eat and discuss what’s missing in it Kae Higuchi

star magnolia tree blossoming only on one side Jeanne Gugino

weeping cherry tree weighing down and playing with birds Quetura

too hot today just moving eyes Katie Sloss

evening breeze neighbors enjoying picnic and moon Martha Akagi

spider crawling up my leg Kate Finnegan

“Bomb you to stone age!” we stayed in it all along Zeke Vayman

cup made by hand fits my hand Gary Tucker

the silence of people’s footsteps autumn twilight Katie Sloss

dried leaf forming the shape of a bowl Jeanne Gugino

* * *

Winter Morning

Fragile mornings, icy streams breaking the virgin blanket of white.

Gray covered dawn, steely clouds cracking the windswept river of ice.

Misty clouds floating high into the chill. Sunlight slanting across the fields;

sleeping spring, silently stirs beneath the snow.

Promise of green, promise of light.

– Madeline LaFarge

* * *

Winter garden In the dimple of the apple Its withered blossom

– Zeke Vayman

* * *

Birds singing Snow falling slowly The garden at dawn

– Sandy Wamsley

Snowdrop

The sun sets softly; only a faint hue of yellow appears along the edge of sky. Swift streams of white slide across the lake. The fronds of the evergreens, bonded to the branch, bounce vigorously in the breeze. Burdened by winter's weariness, A wish to become a crystal of snow that freely sails the frozen surface, then melts into the spring mud and emerges as a snowdrop, as pale as winter's sun.

– Lainie Senechal

* * * early winter morning rat is digging the frozen garden

– Gary Tucker

* * * Warm winter day Crocus poked up early Now shrinking

– Kate Finnegan

Looking backwards into the garden I see a screech owl flying through the night moonlight glinting on its wings. A cat is lying down, flattened to the ground, scared of the predator’s threat. ... smart cat. Snow is melting into puddles in this mid­winter thaw. A clock is striking midnight. I must hurry back to my unfinished dinner – turnip and rutabaga stew.

– Marj Layman

* * *

caught in the claw of dried flowers a grail cup of snow

– Sarah Fuhro

* * *

Boarded up dacha Bitter rowan berries Sweetened by frost

– Zeke Vayman

Night pond Moon is resting On black water

– Kate Finnegan

* * *

Winter garden the wooden fence seems larger

– Gary Tucker • * *

Passing Storm, Snow Remains… Watercolor Gary Tucker 2006

White Gardens

A crescent metal moon Hangs cool in the heart Pale urban winter white

Holly berries spruce wreaths Above brown stone stoops Seasons gone linger low Under new frost moss

Old terra cotta containers Patterned patina of summer Loss and sentiments quiet Dormant gardens await As silent desires gather Like pearls on ice petals

Juniper green faded lavender In crystal phantom shadows Of times past remembered Loss and sentiments quiet With strength and promise Weaving a lover’s mood Each new moon forth now

To spring’s renewal We meet to move Fires in the snow

– Yvette Isabelle Stenzel

* * * noraneko no fun shite iru ya fuyu no niwa

stray cat shitting!

winter’s garden

– Shiki

Winter garden zen garden Nothing there It’s so empty – or is it? Stranded between autumn and spring winter garden quiet and pale and dry Dried stems of sunflower bend and crack in the cold air falling to the ground Getting into the ground rotting under the ground they release their last spirit as fertilizer for sleeping seeds But not really sleeping, rather prickly and ready concentrating slowly imploding waiting with purpose under the cold hard ground Waiting for change. Quiet winter garden.

– Gary Tucker

* * *

It was fun looking into the deep well, hearing the voice echoing a sad melody while tiny sparkles bubbled on the water. As I turned to leave, I saw a skeleton, carrying a basket of green potatoes, coming toward me .

– Sue Biales

incense for remembrance sunlight through the windows of the winter garden

– Raffael DeGruttola

* * *

Winter’s Garden

Lying down in winter garden making snow angels: moving my arms and legs, trying to make the clock go backwards ... back to being a child lying in a winter garden making snow angels; or getting turnips from the root cellar; or looking at a silver thread of mercury at the bottom of the thermometer through eyes smarting from the winter wind. Some scent brings me back ... the memories melt away. I am lying down, moving my arms and legs, making a snow angel. An owl’s screech

sends a shiver through winter’s garden.

– Michael Biales

Creaking and cracking gate of winter garden

– Gary Tucker

• * * •

cold wind making my cheeks very warm

– Jeanne Gugino

* * * Through high clouds Wolf moon appears And disappears

– Kate Finnegan

* * * Crystals in the air Stars seem brighter

Birds stay warm on the wire

– John Dailey

* * * Widow’s garden Hanging daikon to dry Under the eave

– Kae Higuchi

So quiet really enjoying quiet not too cold standing in winter garden at 2 a.m. So quiet very very quiet.

Looking up I see meteor shower Especially beautiful in winter sky So clear One yellowish, one tinged blue I look around to share this unbelievable moment but the house is dark and the curtains are drawn.

What was that thud? In the distant field steam is coming up in the far corner I see a glow and walk there in the deep snow I find a big circle where all the snow is melted In the middle of this circle extracted from its night sky home a glowing red hot meteor quite small, yet now deep in the earth pulsing – my heartbeat too, pulsing Heat rises through my rubber boots I am alone in the vastness My body so tiny My soul so big.

– Kate Finnegan

Renga

Canada goose Seems to know When to cross the street Jeanne Gugino

Caterpillar sleeping On the peony petal Kaji Aso

Hard rain On the roof And into my dream Kate Finnegan

Orphaned by flood Children play children’s games Katie Sloss

No school to go to The children sing All day Brenda Soyer

In his closet Janitor studies history Gary Tucker

From under the ground Slow rumbling Of the next season Jeanne Gugino

Ripples of sunlight New Kaji Aso

Russian airport: I am X­rayed By a young woman Zeke Vayman

Bottom of pond Still fish begin moving Katie Sloss

Blue sky Moon Almost full Brenda Soyer

White magnolia flower Trembles in night breeze Gary Tucker

Sounds of baseball game Drown in summer Rain and thunder Sarah Fuhro

Tiny beetle Comes out by the door Kate Finnegan

Locking herself in her room World comes to an end­ Again Katie Sloss

Storm passing Headache too Jeanne Gugino

High in the sky Seagull turns his head Left then right Gary Tucker

A leaf silently Devoured by caterpillar Sarah Fuhro

Oil company’s man I spook him In the boiler room Zeke Vayman

Floating in my sake cup The moon Kate Finnegan

* * *

Winter Garden

Tiny sparkles come out from the fresh snow. Broken branches lie about Looking like the bones of a scattered skeleton. The little children do not notice. They are having fun dropping little green potatoes Down the deep well in the garden. They listen for the kersplash of each potato Or the kersplash­splash of two potatoes Or the kersplash­splash­splash of three potatoes. The melody of their laughing voices Echoes out of the well, Rising into the air, Fading into the soft snow ... Disappearing into the empty sky.

– Michael Biales

* * *

prisoner watching sparrows coming and going

– Gary Tucker

* * *

I watched the slightly rust­colored dragon breathing flames as he shit on the dry, burnt leaves.

– Sue Biales

At six PM

Winter white hovers low Above the homeless man Ash fog flooding the city A homeless man died

At six PM Little boy Buddy a farm And there was laughter

Bountiful behind a veranda Brother Joey and Samantha

A promise in her eyes And comfort in Meme’s hand Daisies dancing in meadows And new corn blossoms

A white house green shutters Mama’s special apricot jams And the summer storm

There was there was once I know I saw it I saw you It was not Miss Anja’s fault When you turned away There were shelters too

Weren’t there At six PM

Lights in clinging clutter Season’s material saturation Holiday nights so cold now

The homeless man At six PM

The homeless man died Richard

– Yvette Isabelle Stenzel

Stone Buddha what is he holding pile of new snow

– Gary Tucker

* * *

In the fireplace Warmth in our hearts Scent of pine in the air

– John Dailey

* * *

Brookline garden Crazy cherry trees In December blossoms

– Zeke Vayman

* * *

slow, then fast fall, then whirl dust, then drifts

– Sarah Fuhro

Same time last year according to the camera things were very different There was no horizon Snow covered everything in mysterious clean shapes lifting our spirits I remember everything sparkled white with prisms of color and the snow kept coming We could scoop it off high drifts and lick it – so fresh and enjoyable No need to wander to far distant lands Just step out the backdoor and into a magical mystery Winter garden of zero degrees

– Kate Finnegan

* * *

returning home ... nothing new in New Year’s garden

– Michael Biales

Appearing one by one House lights Among the dark trees

– Gary Tucker

* * *

just like old cat new neighborhood cat hanging out by the dumpster

– Jeanne Gugino

* * *

Winter garden Harvest of snow And moonlight

– Kate Finnegan

* * * Soft snow mounds Where there were stones Winter garden

– Katie Sloss

* * *

Winter Garden shaking scarecrow points the way out

– Gary Tucker

Winter Garden

All burnt and rust: dried leaves and winter grasses ... desiccated shit. Above this winter garden, Dragon is in flight; its yellow­orange­red breath a streak of flame across the evening sky.

– Michael Biales

* * *

branches, benches, even grill of hibachi stacked with new snow

– Katie Sloss

* * *

Through the ice Slight glow Of sleeping Koi

– Kate Finnegan

* * *

new year’s moon rising, broken shadows cast across sere winter garden

– Michael Biales

It was a long day a hard day ... not a holiday I finally can lie down instantly my body is melting still my mind rushes backwards smart things stupid things all which I did today

forget about it I open my eyes barely silver moonlight on the floor I close my eyes – ticking of my alarm clock I still taste turnip in my mouth sleep is so close last thing I hear is distant screech of owl from across the winter garden she is just starting her lonely night

– Gary Tucker

* * * old man chewing his food like a rat

– Jeanne Gugino

* * * Three on the long branch Seven on the short branch Raindrops sparkling in sunlight

– Katie Sloss

Screech of hawk carries over barren field

– Gary Tucker

• * * •

Fog floats on snowy field. Everywhere is the same – like looking through a camera slightly out of focus. Is horizon there? Everywhere is white ... white ... still and white. Fog lifts a little. In a tiny garden on the edge of the field white cat half­materializes licking itself ... slowly ... thoroughly ... Finally satisfied, it wanders off, evaporating into the mist leaving everything, again, zero ...

Michael Biales

* * * night after first snow white mounds across the yard

stone path leading somewhere

– Katie Sloss

* * * Snow garden A widow shovels path For him and his cane

– Kae Higuchi

through a blanket of hazy clouds, full moon glowing; winter’s withered garden

– Michael Biales

* * *

Behind the snow clouds Dull glow Of wolf moon

– Kate Finnegan

* * * * * *

In the winter garden only birds visit with scarecrow

– Gary Tucker * * *

revelers blowing horns dirty snow covers New Year’s garden

– Michael Biales

* * *

Every plant is bowing wind passing through

winter garden

– Gary Tucker

* * *

withered and brown unopened rose winter garden

– Gary Tucker

* * *

The Selfish Giant Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant’s garden. It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach­trees that in the Spring­time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. “How happy we are here!” they cried to each other. One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived he saw children playing in the garden. “What are you doing there?” he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away. “My own garden is my own garden,” said the Giant; “anyone can understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.” So he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice­board.

TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED He was a very selfish Giant. The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did not like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside. “How happy we were there,” they said to each other. Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still winter. The birds did not care to sing in it, as there were no children, and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out from the grass, but when it saw the notice­ board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost. “Spring has forgotten this garden,” they cried, “so we will live here all the year round.” The Snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and the

Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the North Wind to stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney­pots down. “This is a delightful spot,” he said; “we must ask the Hail on a visit.” So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in gray, and his breath was like ice. “I can not understand why the Spring is so late in coming,” said the Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white garden; “I hope there will be a change in the weather.” But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant’s garden she gave none. “He is too selfish,” she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind, and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees. One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the King’s musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement. “I believe the Spring has come at last,” said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out. What did he see? He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children’s heads. The birds were flying about and twittering with delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter. It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy. He was so small that he

could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing and roaring above it. “Climb up, little boy,” said the Tree, and it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny. And the Giant’s heart melted as he looked out. “How selfish I have been!” he said; “now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children’s playground for ever and ever.” He was really very sorry for what he had done. So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again. Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he did not see the Giant coming. And the Giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree broke at once into blossoms, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant’s neck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the Spring. “It is your garden now, little children,” said the Giant, and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were going to market at twelve o’clock they found the Giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen. All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to bid him good­bye. “But where is your little companion?” he said: “the boy I put into the tree.” The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him. “We don’t know,” answered the children; “he has gone away.” “You must tell him to be sure and come here to­morrow,” said the Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad. Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and

played with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again. The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him. “How I would like to see him!” he used to say. Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden. “I have many beautiful flowers,” he said; “but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all.” One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring asleep, and that the flowers were resting. Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It certainly was a marvelous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved. Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. He knelt before the little child and gently hugged him. The child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, “You let me play once in your garden, to­day you shall come with me to my garden.” And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.

Japanese Garden, Winter in memory of Mr. Aso, born in the Year of the Rat

Ah, winter garden ... Not long ago, the warming light of spring brought life. Grasses, buds and tiny leaves glowed in tints of green: yellow­green, blue­green, the green of promise fresh. Earth smelled rich and fecund and showed a dark, deep brown. In becoming, all things were possible; miracles occurred daily ... or even, at times, each hour. From somewhere drifted the tiny squeak of a newborn rat.

Winter garden ... Not long ago, the hot sunlight of summer streamed in, pouring down on roses and peonies, peaches and apricots, grapes, and wisteria. The hot summer sunlight glinted off of stone lantern and pond; fish flashed gold and, now and again, rose to the surface. Flies and bees and butterflies visited and young rats sneaked under the fence.

Winter garden ... Not long ago, the lowering light of autumn descended. Much was brown or turning brown; yet, some green – leaves and grasses – blessed it still ... and an occasional rose. The stone lantern glowed softly and, now and then, fish rose in the water; rats stole in and out beneath the fence.

Ah, this garden! The low, dull light of winter falls. Snow graces sere branches and the cold path, caps the stone lantern and overflows the edges of the pond – half­hidden fish sleep along its bottom. A rat’s empty footprints remain and snow­prism rainbows glint

whiteyellowgreenblue under the brief winter sun.

– Michael Biales * * *

Holding sunlight dried reed early morning

– Gary Tucker

* * * snow falls on the winter garden like a pretty melody. It is fun to watch after having recovered from green­potato sickness During the days of lying down weak. In the quiet a small voice came from a deep well and echoes louder through my being. It gave a tiny sparkles of hope. “Don’t become skeleton – Not yet – too much to do, too much till to see” Like this snow softly falling on our winter garden Today.

– Kate Finnegan * * *

I stood stranded in the cold, looking at the empty field of sleeping seeds that would soon need fertilizer. Gaining my bearings, I quickly left for home before the freezing weather

could impede me.

– Sue Biales * * *

disappearing into darkest midnight loping gait of cottontail

– Katie Sloss

* * * In the cold garden, In the empty garden, Sleeping seed is in the ground. Not really sleeping ... Just looks like it is sleeping; Seed is meditating on koan: “If fertilizer falls in the garden, “Does it make a sound?” Nearby, prickly seed is in the ground. Prickly seed says, “Stupid seed! You cannot become buddha by meditating. “You will just get more stupid – “Maybe even, your brain will implode. “You will miss spring and be stranded in the ground until you rot. “Do not think, stupid seed. Just be seed – “Just sleep until spring, then wake up and grow!”

– Michael Biales * * *

Winter Garden

empty tree one leaf stranded twirling falls

catches on a twig falls again. Cold so cold in this winter garden. Zen fertilizer on the sleeping seed of my mind. A rich prickly fruit begins to grow there larger and larger, until trapped with nowhere to go, it implodes. Stars pop out and a full moon, the garden is bathed in a silver blue light the night sky goes on and on

– Kate Finnegan * * *

Meteor Shower

In the night sky, beneath the wavering curtain of iridescent light, winter garden is quiet ...

So quiet, I can almost hear the soul of winter garden sighing. It seems that all sound has been extracted from this time from this place from this night.

A meteor shoots across the sky ... and another ... and another.

Still all is silence.

Then a tiny thud. Something falls and bounces a short distance, like a rubber ball. I find it ... a meteorite! A bit of this universe that has traveled millions of miles through the emptiness of space – that has traveled ... how long? ... how long?

I hold it in my hand ... how wonderfully strange! All is silent again, except the excited beating of my heart.

– Michael Biales * * *

Garden of Meteor Shower is the name of this garden for more than 1000 years A huge meteor struck this place with a crushing thud. Long ago It has never been extracted. Though a garden now grows around it and green moss grows over it.

Your eyes never wander far from this huge stone It has gravity that grabs your soul A curtain of mystery surround it. Gardeners make pilgrimages from everywhere in the world to work here. Treading on rare mosses with soft rubber soles picking up leaves and twigs which have fallen overnight So quiet you can hear them breathing So quiet you can hear your own heart beating. Even one’s heart beats in time with that great stone ...

– Gary Tucker

Frost is melting on the window As turnips boil on the stove In a silver pot Steam rising Everything is warm And cozy inside SCREEEECH ­­­­­­­­­­­ A sudden sound from outside Lying down in the street Is an elephant Almost hit by a car That is not smart In the blue sky A big clock is Turning backwards Tulips now bloom in The winter garden And then I suddenly Wake up Daylight is coming through Frost on the window It must have been The turnips I ate.

– Kate Finnegan * * *

What kind of creature is she racing form horizon to horizon faster than you can turn your head She will never be captured

by camera everybody has the same experience When we are wandering this earth She is our constant companion Tonight she is rushing through winter garden Zero degrees listen to her lifting dried tree branches feel her lick your cheeks She is winter wind

– Gary Tucker

* * *

The ash grey field ahead In its enormity distorted And every space filled With rocks in boredom blank Wide open towards fading light Still expecting a vision As if it hadn’t happened As if it were still possible Within reach in each breath Yet how stark the horizon And how numb your canvas When your heart in silence Remembers a train gone by

– Yvette Isabelle Stenzel

through the winter smoke and fog moon flowers

– Raffael DeGrutolla

colors are gone shades of gray prevail beautiful crystals are here again

time for reflections time for forgiving should it really matter what time it is?

Sun sits low Trees no longer grow Still life prevails

– John Dailey

Wind howls through The winter garden Beneath wolf moon

Path lit by wolf moon Walking alone The crackle of leaves

– Kate Finnegan

hawk’s cry dried grasses are shivering

duck voices low and gentle under full wolf moon

– Gary Tucker

The birch moonWho are we

And where are we going?

Zeke Vayman

Commuting with Vivaldi

The highway lifts over the Neponset. The full moon, grapefruit pink, rises in partial eclipse; it rests between layers of dark clouds and the bay. On the radio, violin of Gil Shahan, bold and touching, describes Vivaldi's Spring. Now, in my garden with the morning breeze, warm and sweet, blossoms in every bed visited by buzz of bee and flutter of butterfly. A day that has no place to go; it relaxes, calm and serene, a sunlight Buddha. The last, longing note slowly fades as headlights ignite crystals of snow in the woods. Last night's storm as transformed the forest and provided a blanket to protect the bulbs from the vagrancy's of winter. I prepare my descent to home; the moon, now pale and still, has settled in the branches coated with a membrane of mist; an egg newly fertilized, surrounded by a nourishing layertraverses the oviduct of night. The brown stalks of summer's memory

now carry crisp white cupolas, turrets and minarets; an exquisite courtyard designed by the snow fairies. Imbedded in the beauty of each season is the remembrance of what came before and the vision of what lies ahead.

– Lainie Senechal

windshield wiper blurs vision, picture forms from water

grass in light snow the etching begins to appear

begins with one flake­­ or is it flicked by careless smoker?

deeper and deeper into the woods change happens while we walk

a hot tray to cook snow, the happy tongue

invisible untila silver moment­ when all else is lost

wear it for warmth,

white fur snow clothes

– Sarah Fuhro

rotting pumpkin jaunty in a new cap first snow

night after first snow catching moonlight stone path. first snow

winter garden tall feathery grasses and almost­full moon

Night pond Moon is resting On black water

Newly blossomed cherry Shimmers in soft ran January 7, 2007

Katie Sloss

Night pond Moon is resting On black water

Newly blossomed cherry Shimmers in soft ran January 7, 2007

Everyone comes

For birthday party Only a few stay for class

Another year Another wrinkle Tree bark

Kate Finnegan

Passing storm Sunlight on the new snow Winter garden

Or

Passing storm Sunlight On the new snow

Passing by Winter garden Remembering fragrance of honeysuckle

in the stones around frozen garden cricket must be sleeping

Gary Tucker

Kvetch, Kvetch, Kvetch First its spring in Winter Now its winter With no snow I like snowman Can we make one this year? I don’t know!

January But no snowman ­just now cold wind

cold wind walking in to it walking

car, trucks and steam shovels rehabbing in the suburbs

young man his short hair­tall and thick with shiny gel

light running shoes wind blowing through the toes

Jeanne Gugino

Meaning

What does it mean When the beech tree Stands tall against the sky When clouds run wild And a river sings When sunflowers turn And a sparrow falls What does it meanWhen rainbows meet And your heart sinks A white owl smiles While a young robin Is picking winterberries

Buried in the forest frost What does it mean When a baby cries For hours into the night What does it mean When lovers embrace As if for the first time When spring follows And earth smells of fern What does it mean When love leaves The deep woods silent After the morning rain The sweet scent of hay When summer returns What does it mean In the end you ask And does it matter

Yvette Isabelle Stenzel

Crunching of dried leaves behind me who is there foraging squirrel

Snowless winter at the base of tree green plant still growing

Winter garden everyone is sleeping except Holly

Duck shakes her head Canada goose lands with a big splash

Don’t wake up little bud we are still in winter

Forgotten trowel reflects winter sun

White stone white roots wind and garden

Hungry So hungry Long screech of hawk

Frozen ground contains boot print from last season

– Gary Tucker

Sasaki grass Moving in the breeze Winter garden

– Gary Tucker

* * *

Prisoner sparrows come and go His winter garden

– Gary Tucker

* * * against just fallen snow filled with new celebrity cardinal flies branch to branch

– Katie Sloss

* * * Newly blossomed cherry Shimmers in soft ran January 7, 2007

– Kate Finnegan

* * *

New Year’s day hawk’s cry fills the blue sky

– Gary Tucker

* * * Trees are bare World is grey Still children love to play

– John Dailey

* * *

Cold stark night Walking alone Wolf moon overhead

– Kate Finnegan

* * *

The Complete and Unedited Winter Garden

Poems