Sunday, February 23, 2014

Winter Of '76

Photo by Margaret Bednar


It was a night in late December
when the ice had hold of the river
and every shiver of wind broke trees
like alabaster bones

that a gypsy braved the briar
to reach my hearth, my fire;
and I could not deny her
refuge in my home.

Over coffee, she gave voice
to indigo and noise;
with luck, she and the boys
would set the Hessian on his ear.

Then we let silence find us,
and all that's endless bind us;
closed the door behind us -
Georgie Washington slept here.

For Margaret's prompt at Real Toads (I used the word list).  Also submitted to Poetry Pantry.

21 comments:

Gail said...

What a wonderful poem demonstrating a heart as warm as your heart.

Fireblossom said...

SEVENTEEN seventy six! Oh I love this, and the way you put the final stanza ("and all that's endless bind us") is just perfect.

We wrote very similarly this morning. Jinx! You owe me a Coke!

Sylvia K said...

Oh, I do love this one, MZ!! Terrific!!

Margaret said...

There is an inn not far from here that claims "George Washington" slept here. One really does see that all over the south! ha ha. Many B&B's also claim ghosts and such as well - this is how I read your poem - the past does live in many walls and the one you penned above is perfectly told.

Björn said...

This really touch me... Romani people fill our streets.. part of being part of the European union.. I recently learned that in Romania they were slaves until mid 19th century.. and they are still living outside the society coming to Sweden as beggars... I love that you sat in silence at the end.. that type of trust is rare.

Kerry O'Connor said...

Perhaps we all have a little of the gypsy in us, we children of the colonies whose forefathers were wanderers, beggars and soldiers of fortune... hard to shut one's door against them. That last stanza is the perfect conclusion.

Sioux said...

Everyone comments, "I love this poem."

"I LOVE this one."

"This part I love the best."

When do you write something that does NOT make us fall over in a puddle of drool?

(Never.)

hedgewitch said...

This is just effortless in cadence and content(to read, that is,) a rippling flow of event and emotion that seems inevitable, tender, and glinting with the humor that makes love more than sex. I especially like the middle stanza, but the whole is just a soft candle-globe of light.

Mary said...

Excellent....the ending made me smile.

Sam Edge Author said...

love the complex rhyming and thumping beat

Sherry Blue Sky said...

"broke trees like alabaster bones" - Wow! I love "and all that's endless bind us" - love the rhythm and rhyme of this poem.

Isadora Gruye said...

Clever, clever, and very playful. 1776, not 1976! Viva la

Susan said...

it is possible. It is possible to stand in all the many places he slept in silence and imagine who told the stories that made the hosts tip toe.

Kathryn said...

Loving that last stanza.

kelvin s.m. said...

I like the first stanza a lot! smiles..

grapeling said...

delicious ~

Sumana Roy said...

love the last stanza most...

Ella said...

My gypsy heart loves your poem and
Curious George-

Helen said...

Hope you are not sick of this word ... Very clever!

Fireblossom said...

Lordy.

Brian Miller said...

ha. the whole george washington line just pops there in the end. the beginning made me think about 'late december back in 63...'