MARCH POETS

Why Do You Say

By

Teresa Di Matteo

Why do you say that it is

So great?

Or sing it praises

So outwardly clear?

You know that it’s not

With the slightest of ease

Such a torment to hold

And behold.

Thinking on air to lovingly seek

What others hold

trifling so.

To live in the now but for

Others here,

That they may never see it

As such.

Yet still you do say that it is

So great,

And sing it praises

More ravishing.

And still do you know

That it’s not worth the slight.

Winds

By

Teresa Di Matteo

There is a hush that fills the silence of the world.

It is quiet and my stomach lurches at this deed,

This woeful task, haunting me as the steps echo

Their orderly pattern down the path,

Where not a sound is heard but the constant pitting and patting,

Which quiets the silence and hovers over the blankets of the non-believers,

Who leave a mess of folds fixated on the neatness of

Softly falling,

Gently calling,

White masks, to lay the earth to rest.

Quiet in its sleep does the land lay about,

And does not disturb the shadows in their lengthy slumber.

Those who wake them, dare

To disturb what has been long awaited and strived for by a drench of tears.

Not the tears for labors sake,

Nor the cries for what will be missed,

But relief and loss of strife,

And welcome of the warm snowy blanket,

Which by unfortunate mishap,

Has been covered,

And tarnished by the unwanted folds of the mess of hidden attempt

In themselves, but all it is, in truth,

Nonetheless, is pity un-shown?

And thrown,

To build up their insides in time for the harshness of the

Howling, scowling,

Glowering, blustery

Winds.