Walking Sticks

Two stout sticks
between us
flicking windfall left and right
Weekends wandering
wondering
walking
working

Branches
brambles
flipped and spinning
Two maple seeds
sharing limb and leaf
blown apart
ride the currents
settle down aside
the path

Clear the way
on Saturday
Enjoy the trail
on Sunday
Hold fast the rays
of evening breaks
Too soon awake
Monday

When winter sweeps
rustles cease
Cold limb creaks
crack the peace
Hands in fleece
clutched in these
two stout sticks
to glide on skis
beneath our trees

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About the post

Poetry

2 Comments

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  1. There is a nice rhythm to this poem that accentuates the flow from one season to the next. The words seem to snap as a stick might under foot on the trail.

    Like

  2. First and fourth stanzas try two emulate the sound of two feet through leaves, then snow.

    Like

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