Waldemar Ens

White snow crunches under black boots hunched
against harsh wind biting at face in the late
dawn of early winter everything zips up into
itself and closes up shop pulling down shutters
...

Rounded sliver of new moon
hangs like a window ornament in evening sky
sharp crescent edge
pointing at the bottom towards
...

Red laser lines criss-cross the ceiling and my body
as I lie on the narrow table half exposed
the technicians in another room away from
the radioactive beams that bore into my body
...

Green pushes out
onto wintered sticks
as if it was never gone
...

those iconic horn rims
receding hair
black shirt with white polka dots
new wave jacket
...

In
tri
cate
jumb
...

We all lie here with our wounds
radiating out
poisoning the wintry land around us
...

Rippling lake lapping shore
dock juts water
voices echo family
...

Orange flames leap and dance on soft pile
in the garden eating up twigs and dried
leaves and then subsiding and turning into
smoke which snakes up and into the grove
...

Slow arpeggios emerge from speaker
a constant background waltz
to my thoughts
of a giant orange moonrise on the eastern horizon
...

Painting has begun
green summer fading into
yellowbrownred
every leaf
...

My hands are chapped
from this crackling cold dry air
especially the knuckles
and finger tips
...

Leans in the corner of the garage
hard unyielding
like a stone in your sandal
brown wooden varnish
...

Lone trumpet rings out
last post
competing with exhaust fan
in sombre gym
...

A seed swelling with moisture beneath
black earth cold and clammy under the
round, full moon white bright - dimness
a life latent, before time
...

For most
it seems an ever-growing box to fill with
randomness
whatever comes along
...