Sunday, January 26, 2014

The Mag 204: Winter Comes to the Old Mill

The Mill - 1964 - Andrew Wyeth

The old Mill is lost
in my snow blindness

eyes watering 
from the cold

looking through the wetness
the blur is magnified 

by the power of headache
that splits my forehead

my skin curls from the cold
and once inside my arms reveal

a pattern of raindrop goose bumps 
up and down the extremity of epidermis 

Michael A. Wells


Michael said...

lots of human details in this poem. Read like the beginning of a book.

Kathe W. said...

winter can do this to me also- brrrr
excellent poem!

humbird said...

Feel for you. Winter is always a challenge..~ Stay warm :)

Helen said...

Lovely poem, Michael ... now bundle up!!

Letitia said...

"a pattern of raindrop goose bumps" Wonderful image! :)

Brandee Shafer said...

So cold out there! :) Glad I stopped by.

Susan Anderson said...

That one made me cold just reading it!


Katherine said...

I could feel the coldness in your writing. Wonderful poem!

Tess Kincaid said...

Evocative and lovely...I like what you've don with your page...