Blizzard Spring

by Gwen Monohan

The twister was stronger
than any wind tunnel
sustained in a science lab.
Just not as steady.
These were whirling gusts,
howling as they whipped
and twisted netted branches.
Bending oaks and others
to their brown-barked knees.

Wrenching corn plants away
as well as mighty trees.
Sailing spare tires like airborne
lifesavers.  Some catching and
Ringing frantic chickens
with their white feathers
like giant tufts of snow
when it was over.
coating the spring grass.

Weather Vanes

by Gwen Monohan

Weather vanes,
designed in rooster form
and found above the barn,
show wind direction
in case we aren’t aware
a cold front’s approaching.
And serious storms too.

But then we see true birds.
Juncos in clusters,
making snow predictions
by feeding longer.
Their tiny, feather vanes
later lodged in snow
like black darts, targeted.

Moonstruck

by Gwen Monohan

When the moon is full
from reflected light
left by our sun
as we slip into dark
toward another night,

I’m reminded
how things are often
not apparent
to the naked eye
or even an aided one.

How we may be duped
by sly magicians
with a deck of cards,
a sleight-of-hand, or
bunnies in their hats.

Or pigs-in-pokes
on romantic nights
when promises are made
by almost strangers.
When the moon is full.

Black Watch

by Gwen Monohan

Buzzards roosted high
in our aging oaks last winter,
dappling the tall, bare,
branches near the road
which overlooks farm land
and beyond, a lake.

Where air currents
rising over water
kept them kite-sailing
with ease in daytime sun.
watching for dead remains
on land or partly floating.

Late afternoons they curled
back home alone.
Dark tatters, drifting
down to higher limbs.
Perching, like huge blackjacks,
plaid-draped against blue sky.