Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Finding Hope
on a Cold January Morning
By Don Iannone

Fluttery flakes of mad whiteness
tumble like flocks of butterflies,
without cause, or tribulation.
The morning air, stingingly cold,
drapes over me, like death,
on this razor-sharp January morning.
The fire toys with me, sputtering,
almost dying,
and finally resuscitating itself.
There is sun, bright white as the snow,
painfully harsh,
piercing the frozen windowpane.
Half buried, like some macabre effigy,
the morning paper taunts me
from a snowdrift at the end of the drive.
Then, without warning, my spirits revive
as the intoxicating scent of fresh coffee
fills my gasping nostrils.
The paper no longer seems so far away,
the snow not so deep,
and the day no longer frozen beyond hope.


Pat Paulk said...

Nothing like something hot to drink in January in Ohio. Good poem Don!!

polona said...

no paper would drag me out... just giveme a cosy warm place and something warm to drink and all the world can wait until the snow melts :)
nice poem, though.

Kathleen said...

gotta love that smell of coffee... is there really anything like it?!

Even though I drink tea in the morning these days for the most part... the smell of coffee is still my favorite!

Thanks Don, beautiful words... and I think I just got a contact coffee smell high! :)

Don Iannone said...

Thanks everyone for your comments. Coffee smells, crackling fireplaces, cozy rooms with dancing shadows, and even the dawdling snowflakes outside the window evoke so much inside us. Relish those feelings!

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