Apples and Snow

By T.L. Coston


I wandered through the countryside
To escape the pain of emotional tides
To be free from disappointments over the years
Looking for a sanctum to ease my mind


An abandoned farmhouse providentially found
A brook with clean water rushes abound
Fields scarred with stubbled rows
Poke through a blanket of freshly laid snow


No more fruit does the old, apple tree bear
A hopeful harvest to last this winter’s dread
No more tears can I shed
Every indication points that I should be here


I’m barely existing in this icy cave
Where a single furnace heats my way
By miracle, one vent keeps me warm
I believe God knows where I am


I can’t escape thoughts of food
Daydreaming about everything, even apples stewed
Lamb chops, turkey, a regular holiday feast
This I would enjoy with my husband, Steve


It didn’t take long for the countdown to end
I ate my last apple, now starvation begins
Weak from lack of food, I can’t make it to the brook
How am I going to get out of here?


In the mirror, I saw a ghastly sight
My drawn and haggard face gave me a fright
Clumps of hair fall from my head
If I stay here, I will die


The snow is all the sustenance I have
My head and stomach aches
I’m dizzy and lightheaded; starving is a painful thing
But don’t worry, God sees everything


The nights are longer and extremely cold
I lay down to pray for my soul:
Dear God, please save me.
I’m trying, but I don’t know what to do.


As my mind drifts away in hope of better days
I envisioned a miracle of God’s grace
That the old apple tree bloomed
Resplendent with fruit, here, in January


P.S.

This poem is based on the journal and documentary of the tragic death of Linda Bishop

Noel in the Holler

By T.L. Coston


As the sun kisses the dusk to bid a nights pleasant dream
And Winter’s crystalline blanket blinks its pinkish-blue hues
A few leaves cling to a branch in reverent stubbornness
While a gust of wind whistles through its wooden chimes


I sit on my porch on this blessed night
Wondering about the magis wonderful sight
Of a star portending God’s gift to mankind
A distant flame of hope for the lonely and forgotten


Across the holler on a distant hill
A cabin light flickers without concomitant cry of a whippoorwill
Silent are these nights when the cold air bites
Even more so on this holiday tide


Faint was the sound of a distant song
Of a neighbor’s melodious wail
About the heralded birth of Jesus Christ
And redemption for sins for which we must prevail


As I stopped rocking in my chair
I closed my eyes and listened with care
As I wiped a couple of tears away
And thanked our Lord for this Christmas Day

An Impeachment Eve Soliloquy

By T.L. Coston


Now is the time for calumnies most foul,

When inflamed passions of disaffected malcontents

Shall besmirch character and country for votes unfavored.

‘Tis responsible to protect party and power from hayseeds

Who seek liberty guaranteed in an aged document, outdated and unwanted.

A Constitution - a mere rag - unworthy of the least menstruation.

But what casualty is truth when one must suffer imbeciles for the greater good?

Words as false as the teeth that rattle in my mouth shall not be impaired.

Words shall topple a president as a sword smites a king on battlefield, or blade on scaffold.

A bloodless coup committed not in shadows, but openly and most false.

I toast my Democratic confederates. A cloudy chardonnay can be rancid or most tasteful.

May our fermented hate harvest a fruitful vintage!