Category Archives: winter

2026, Day Book, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, prose, winter

Daybook 2026 // Winter 2.23.26

A cold turn of weather and an opening road.

Though it’s incorrect to call the road opening. The road has always been there. Whittled down as I am by the world, whittled down to taking the offensive, when all I wanted was to be left alone. But I am grateful I have not been abandoned. I have, in fact, been embraced by the wild wind, and so my course is set and blind.

And it’s all for her. For them. And, yes. Also for me.

The days can be
a good crisp winter apple
small and sweet
full of flavor
and the slightest hint
of spring.

Take each deliberate bite.

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2026, birthday, Day Book, Ohio River Valley Literature, Poet's Life, poetry, prose, Storytelling, the no-scape, winter

Daybook 2026 // Winter 2.20.26 (Year 53)

Born the year of the water ox
a fish out of water
in every tributary and ocean

still I swim
filled to the gill
with all I need

Been trying to find a way to sum up, though I hate to engage in that kind of math. The injury I allow myself comes from allowing myself to get too attached to the job. I knew, down deep, it wouldn’t last. There wasn’t enough to sustain it, and the thing toppled like all castles built on sand or so goes the old parable, and I have discovered, much to my surprise, that I still have a sense of dignity. I end up making my way through the world in the exact same way. And so I do.

And so I will. 

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2026, Day Book, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape, winter

Daybook 2026 // Winter 2.12.26

Uncaught catfish can swim through and turn to river pebbles 

Wind and currents drive on their own accord
or so we would be told; there are currents
a top of currents dust to water to air to star dust
the moon the earth the planets ‘round
an apathetic sun and back down a clockwork
a whirly hurly a tornado a hurricane the white caps
on the river when the wind currents are colder
than the water and the old rivermen laugh at the office dwellers who insist on living in the forgetting that currents still sweep us along, river pebbles
dashed against waves
from one place to another
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