West Eros

If the spring should never come
Nor the summer, not the fall,
If the winter conquers all
And we find a way to plumb
Deeper depths of cold, far from
Any hope, however small,
That the slush will cease its sprawl:
Omnipresent, grey, and glum.
Even then, in such a time,
Frozen, frustrate, desperate, I
In that underseasoned clime
With no end to freezing nigh
Would be cheered and warmed by you
The eternal winter through.

Mif

Flocks need pastors for their care;
Pastors also seek a flock.
Every pastor must find their
Church, as finds a key a lock.
And as locks require keys
Staying toothed and barred alone
So a church will likewise seize
On their pastor for their own
And will open as they bind
To new missions, goals, and needs
Helped by guidance to now find
Their own purpose. As one feeds
Different flocks with different grain
So do churches pastors gain.

Holisnow

Hail the brave inclement weather
Sudden, sorrowful, and strong
Throwing friends in warmth together
Lest they, mournful, join the throng
Of those destitute of fellows,
Who must travel through the storm
Pushed and pelted by its bellows
Drained and driven, wet unwarm.
No, instead they join in staying
Inside, where all's calm and clear
So by company defraying
Out of season winter's fear.
But to be so they must first
Venture out and brave the worst.

Game of Thrones

In Westeros, the Bard has writ
The Summer and the Winter last
Beyond the year; and seasons flit
Ponderously, being so vast
They swallow lifetimes, and the tale
Of Winter is believed a lie
In Summer, and will not avail
Although the cold be truly nigh.
The Summer too is ever thought
A myth in Winter, cheap as breath
A child's fantasy but nought
To anyone who knows of death.
So find we here, with Winter come
And Summer's sirens stricken dumb.

April Is

Chicago, wrapped now not in snow
But in the cold that lingers still
Increased by hellish winds that blow
(If hell is icy, as who will
Having lived this year believe
Otherwise?) down every block
And laugh at jackets--laugh and cleave,
For such attempts are worth the mock
When they can never save the skin
(Frail and human, cracked and cold)
That hoped to warm itself within
Which now the chill will close enfold.
Where is the spring? Where was the fall?
The winter has consumed them all.

Blergh

There are so many hoops we must jump through
So many blocks remaining in our way
Yet none insuperable. They're there to screw
With our safe sense of being loosed to play.
We are but toyed with, not prevented from
Our larger purpose. But it is enough
To frustrate, worry, and at times to scum
Our happiness quite over with the stuff
Of paranoia. So we wait and see
Which of the many little problems will
Be worth attention, which no longer be,
Which be required and yet be boring still
And in the end, we must remain as ever
Sure of ourselves, of other things sure never.