Few understand what I see
each morning, out in the cold
waiting for others to get in gear
watching the sky as dawn unfolds
and the changing lights begin.

The orange and golden skies
call to my soul each morning
asking me out to be amid them
as the clouds play up there
with light and shadow pastels.

My eyes roam the sky
seeking the remaining stars early on
then watch the show put on daily
even when storms roll through valleys
blocking out the colorful parts.

The birds serenade me softly,
singing their call to the sun
asking her to rise and shine today,
as the mountains across the lake
act as the dark contrast.

Above me, a single bank
of clouds running through Utah's skies
change from soft yellow of faded flowers
to the gently carnation well known,
then fade back down spectrum.

Each morning, there is beauty
even if you have to look
with a very open mind to find
as you stand amid the stillness
drinking in day's slow start.

Others sleep in, missing out
on this show God puts on,
some move about, heads hung down wearily
worn out from their tough lives
lacking energy to look up.

Craning my neck about slow,
hearing the Rice Krispies' sound effects
my neck gives off in the winter
I still stand out each morning
save the worst of them.

For that sky show inspires
one to seek out other things
that can give one hope and joy
no matter how down you are,
giving you strength to live.

For you cannot have it
as hard as those mule deer
who have no place of guaranteed warmth
save within their quiet little copses
to gather together to sleep.

Nor realize the chills suffered
by that lone duck out there
who rides the waves still, looking about
for the companions who went south
as he still sticks around.

The sky burns orange fire,
promise of a spring to come
but still we have all of winter
laying ahead of us, in wait
with his deep, nasty cold.

But he's got his own
color board to paint our lives,
silvers, whites, grays and blacks over things
as the evergreens hold green hope
of warmer days to come.

I'm walking back out now,
to gaze east for a comet
another of the treasures we all share
if we have the eyes, hopes, guts
to brave the morning's chill.

C'mon, grab your coffee cup,
step out and join me here,
or where ever you walk the earth
and look up, breathing fresh air
and let Nature inspire you...
to face the day bravely.
30November2013 - Dyfedd Rex, still wishing he had single vision glasses, easier to find comets with naked eye that way.

Sunning in Plaza of Winter

I sit here now
basking in the warm rays
wondering if this is the life
sipping soda time to time
as muscles slowly unclench.

It feels damned good
this lazy moment I steal
sunning in the Plaza of Winter
surrounded by remnant snow piles
below the Wind's line.

It's not Summer's Plaza
at least not right now
no, the trees are bare branched
and everyone so bundled up
not like weeks ago.

Then there were more
who sat here waiting patiently
for the library's doors to open
soaking in the weekend sun
laughing and happy folks.

But Winter came finally
his cold cloak of fogs
driving them away or into shells
that hide the warm smiles
until they break through.

Despite the chilly air
I roll up my sleeves
tip back my hat with care
leaning against this big pile
that is my wealth.

Deep breaths slowly taken
shivering at scraps of chill
as scud clouds announce another storm
fueled by this short warming
ending my short rest.

Yet I tarry longer
denying the inevitable its moment
sucking in a few last rays
storing them for later release
huddled under Winter's blanket.

As the temperature drops
the other brave souls flee
seeking shelter elsewhere to warm in
as I gather my gear
still waiting to depart.

The smell of precipitation
may be in the air
filling my nose with its softness
and that little tongue zinger
that marks snow's coming.

A simple break occurs
letting down a few minutes
of Winter's cold sunshine to warm
this lost soul who wanders
before he forts up.

At last I leave
steps reluctant as I go
wondering when the next heat wave
will let me sit out
on the Plaza again.

(15 JAN 2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

Well, after the long dry spell caused by a frozen to death power supply (yep, they really mean you should not expose a laptop to sub-freezing conditions), I am back at it again. This poem, and several more to come, came about during the lack of communications and digital preservation. Enjoy them as you wish folks...

The Dance of Inversion's Airs - a Poem of Weather

Dawn on the Wasatch Front can be strange
during the short days of Winter's chill rule
for amid inversion's fog light takes strange paths
making distant lights seem to dance about wildly
amid the branches of the trees just outside
as I sip my coffee slowly to come awake
wondering if this is the end of it all
for the chaos out there rules so supreme
that there is no order left to see
save the gentle motions of twigs gently swaying
as the fog sheds moisture as snow flurries
and the breath of Winter touches the flakes
to give them just a bit of angle
amid the hanging ice crystals of the smog
as the sun breaks through for short bursts
to light it all up in crazy patterns
leaving me to sit here if total wonder
of how the air can be so beautiful.

(12/19/2011 - Dyfedd Rex)

Deerboy on a Bicycle - a poem of better days

Once upon a Febuary Morning,
back in Two Thousand Two,
as I headed to work
in lightly drifting snow flurries,
something remarkable and strange occurred.

Standing in my parking lot,
bold as brass and tacks,
was a buck mule deer
and two of his does,
just looking for the exit.

My car was still broke,
so I was biking then,
and as I mounted up
and started to the street,
these deer moved out also.

Reaching the snowy front yard,
where with two directions open
other than the right turn,
four more head gathered in
as I turned down hill.

A lawn and corner park
added anther ten head each
to this strangely magical drive,
as the sky lowered down
and snow picked up again.

Pedaling through that soft powder
with a herd before me,
like a cowboy of old,
under the orange hued clouds
I must have looked strange.

Passed three neighbors who laughed,
a cop who looked stunned,
and some other folks too,
as at every turn attempted
the deer moved with me.

Six turns and nine blocks
my magical deer drive lasted,
until at last they scattered
to lawns along Second South,
as if tired of playing.

To this day I wonder
how that image looked then
of the bicyclist riding along,
like in an old movie,
with deer instead of cattle.

All I can say now
is it sticks in memories
as a moment without doubt
never to fade quietly away,
but to stay forever firm.

(11/26/2011- Dyfedd Rex)