Poem: The Face in the Window

The Face in the Window

The face stares out of the window,
distorted, too large for life,
a reminder

that few things are as we see them,
that our truths are often ours alone,
our vision distorted

by time, heartache, and joy;
by lenses of pain and circumstance
that color all we see

with a wash of emotion,
and that the hardest thing
is to see what is

not just for ourselves,
but others, to realize
that the face staring back at us

is likely our own,
no matter who
we think it is.

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The picture was taken at the Swinging Bridge restaurant in Paint Bank, Virginia. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Snow in the Quarry

Snow in the Quarry

The quarry is covered in snow
that softens the rough edges
of the hard, gray slate,

and the sun, February bright,
carves new shadows,
short and dark at mid-day.

Little lives here, save a few
hardscrapple trees, their roots
burrowing in stony nooks.

It is silent. Not even wind comes here,
just you in the winter sun,
to see the shadows

and the slow, slow progression of the day,
for the quarry is long abandoned.
The strong arms and bustle

that made this place, and the deep scars
of those generations of miners
are left to you

and the snow,
both softening the stone
in your own way.

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The picture was taken recently at a quarry in West Pawlet, Vermont. You can click on the picture for a larger version.

Tom