Poetry Breakfast

Cascades
by Mike Berger

It was a dreary day; dark and somber.
The smell of moisture hung heavy in
The air. It was still and cold.

A gentle snow began to fall; it broke
the dark spell. Fluffy flakes danced
in the sky. There was a strange
magical feeling to the snowflake’s
Gypsy dances. The thirsty forrest
Gobbled up the flakes.

The trees across the pristine scene
had no winter coats; their stark, bare
arms jabbed the sky. Softly, a layer
of stillness distilled.

Snow piled up on the branches, then
a clump would break away. It would
rain down on the branches below. A
cascade on fine powder burst open.

The forest is so use to rain ;so used to
the tap dance of falling drops on lazy
puddles must now learn to a waltz.

Skipping Rocks
by Mike Berger

One, two, three, four; yes, but—
why can’t I get more than four
skips before Sir Isaac Newton
calls that rock back home?

You don’t need to know much
about trigonometry or the cosine
of an angle to make a good flat
rock skip.

The mirror surface of the pond
reflects the trees beyond. Now
skip the rock in the images become
Dali art as the rock skips along.

Five! Yes five at last; yes! Speed
it is important but it’s the angle
and trajectory of the rock that are
critical.

Five skips must be a world’s record

Aspen and Pine
by Mike Berger

Breath comes hard on the steep incline. In
the soft soil, you take three steps and slide
back two. Sweat fills your head band.

Something you can’t explain wells up from deep
inside. Why do people climb. You know it’s
impossible to explain; driven by some primal
instinct.

As I mount the top, I see the reason why I climb.
My eyes search. Below lies miles of yellow and
green. Aspen’s are brilliant yellow; in clumps that
form an odd mosaic dancing through the pine.

My smile extends to my toes. I hold my gaze. This
scene is so powerful, it sends shivers down my
spine..