So blue the morning
rises from the frost
dark the water
beneath the ice
still the world
behind cold glass
unfolding.
Tag: frost
Watching the cold grow
Light pours, spreads
like melted butter,
silent as ice floes
across this winter,
brushing skin
with the sharp, dry callouses
of clawed bird feet,
clinging to life’s thread.
Empty space,
where other warm life spills,
this human part
and parcel of earth
behind cold glass.
An unexpected frost
first frost
furs grass
the waking sky
wakes the winter music
of the throstle
first thrush of winter
when all the summer voices
are fallen silent
his alone fills the leafless trees
with music
sun fills the sky
with light
blue and gold
thrush fills the blue golden air
with song
Too early frost
Fading into winter mist,
frost creeping, stealing joy—
there was golden sun here once
and peace beneath the sky,
lizard-basking on hot stone.
Cold now
il gèle à pierre fendre
and the stream yells loud between its banks
where dragonflies played
their silent summer music.
Haiku for a frosty morning
Last night the temperature was below freezing. By mid morning, in the sun, the lizards and butterflies were back.
Mist hangs frozen
dancing in morning sunbeams
a butterfly.
Daily poem: Essence 22
I’m not going to give in to the temptation to write about yet another massive public service strike.
In morning light frost furs—
last winter night murmurs.
Hungry cold
For the dverse haibun Monday prompt. Winter is coming, and it is not my favourite time of year.
In this country of hot summers and mild winters, frost is short and sharp, a stab in the back, the underhand blow that wilts the house plants left outdoors, that cracks terracotta pots with water left in them. It comes like a thief in the night, of cold moonlight and the diamond glitter of the stars. Faerie, it laps the grass stalks with furred tongue, and stings the lungs with the breath of the otherworld. Mornings break with the brittle tang of ice, and mist billows like taffeta clouds among the naked trees.
Too cold—like the deer, and the rabbits cowering beneath the ground, I long for the sun to rise warm and golden soft and send life coursing once again through these frozen veins.
Pale ice faces stare
from every hedge, cobweb-strung—
hunger stalks these fields.
Quadrille: Winter whispers
A quadrille (44 words) for the dVerse challenge.
Winter whispers in the sedge
at river’s edge
where cold mist lies
and robin flies.
Frost clings white
to winter night
and breaks the dawn
in sun’s rays shorn
of all their gold.
In colours bold,
when wild geese cry,
spring, paint the sky!
In the wintry grass
Photo©Emmanuel Boutet
In the wintry grass,
strung like lace,
frozen webs,
diamond spangled,
catch the dawn light.
Though autumn winds blow
and rain beats
and the bough bends,
the robin sings his winter song
and will sing
beneath the falling snow,
because he hopes in spring.
Star light,
not bright
as even the oldest moon,
pours
an eternal river,
from a time so far away,
the span of our little world,
a pinch of moondust
on a cosmic wind.
Raise your gaze
from the morning grass,
hung with crystal dew globes,
and scry the sky
for shooting stars.
One day they will fall
and hang in bright splinters
on winter blades of grass.
At the brisk dog end of winter
At the brisk dog end of winter,
Rime clings yet to the petals’ edge,
A fading memory, silver splinter.
At the brisk dog end of winter,
When winds and tides are out of kilter,
Wild geese settle amid the sedge.
At the brisk dog end of winter,
Rime clings yet to the petals’ edge.
Jane Dougherty Writes 
