Frost Lines

Winter snuck in overnight,

a parade of soundless shivers

followed by the muffled creak-pop 

of old bones,

the groaning protests of frozen midnight trees.

 

Cold hands on the back of my neck

wick away the sweat from this

endless black-out summer.

My breath hangs heavy in the frozen air,

redolent of strong spirits,

wavering in the early morning stillness.

 

The anemic sun crests the horizon,

sluggish and sleepy-eyed.

It burns away the exhaled apparition,

as if I wasn't hiding countless more

within smoke-battered lungs. 

Reviews

[FJ Davis]

Admire the metaphorical array; expertly creating a specific mood.
Every reader comes away with a certain amount of grey--and can't help
but be a little sad at the poet's seeming world weariness. Still, excellent work
clearly reflecting both talent and craft.

[Ben Taylor]

Aah you're back! It's been so long, I'm glad you're still on here :)

[FJ Davis]

Glad you're glad.
You are, however, in today's minority.

[Ben Taylor]

Well, stick around. This site is better with you around.

[Chris]

Oh they DO get counted ...one-by-one-by-one.

I like the pause of this one.

[barleygirl]

This writing is literally sparkling in the "anemic sun . . . sluggish & sleepy-eyed"!!! Most writers would kill to have an opening so bright & inviting as your first line. Your imagery is over-the-top creative & I'm wildly jealous! I can feel this cold assaulting me all over! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie