What stings like wasps in hives,
Of trying minds' regret,
Invasive blips, flash frozen pictures,
Recalls, counterfeit,
Serrated icy sickled thoughts,
In glaciated snow,
Dread the warmth, the trickled stream,
Of thawing reapers' sown,
Sipping from the melt embibes,
The swarming, claustrophobic choke,
Alone the white hot heat of heart,
Scatters them with smoke.
London collapses
trains, planes, and automobiles
trapped and flash-frozen emplace
Christmas lights still bright
If one ventured through the night
ghost carolers in the mews
I will be most blessed to be long frozen
If Trump comes back to the White House
Thoughtless Americans will have chosen.
When I die, I’ll be quickly flash-frozen
Escaping another term for that louse
I will be most blessed to be long frozen!
Can statesmen please put their toes in?
If Trump squeaks through like a mouse
Thoughtless Americans will have chosen.
I fear the disaster of America’s erosion
I can’t imagine more years of his spouse
I will be most blessed to be long frozen.
Consider four more years, just supposin’
More whining, more narcissistic joust
Thoughtless Americans will have chosen.
Can any administration take more exposin’?
More high-placed bureaucrats to be roust
I will be most blessed to be long frozen.
Thoughtless Americans will have chosen!
Written October 5, 2022
I’m in sandals.
Mid-morning.
Thoughts of Midgard
and Northmen.
And sturdystock;
Noresemen.
I’m sweeping snow.
In the morning sun.
I guessed it’d be easier
to sweep than cut in
at the heels and lift.
And turn.
And toss.
Then cut in again.
I sweep.
Some geese call out from the
hazy near-beyond.
Returnéd from
their night of snow.
From wherever they ever go.
And extend their webbed feet,
so made for water.
So smooth.
So broad.
So slick.
And find
...well...
they do find water.
A flash-frozen pond.
A crackening rather than a splashering.
I wonder if they’d notice.
I wonder when they know.
That snow means ice.
And if they entertain a
moment’s surprise.
At finding dry feet.
And stiff-plane pond.
I sweep the snow
The birds skate and wait.
For sun to lower them.
Into the wet.
By a few more feet.
Unraveled and frayed
Futile shouts in the valley
My soul flash frozen
Jack Frost etches glass panes
with His icy chisel,
sculpting feathery curls.
But an October sun
melts his flash-frozen art,
creating liquid swirls.
Green leaves playing striptease
garner color from the
chill of an Autumn breeze.
And morning wakes to see
scarlet and crimson hues,
crowning the tops of trees.
The ground crackles with the
crunch of fresh fallen leaves;
from the dead and dying.
The night air quickly cools,
as somber clouds gather
under grey skies crying.
When raindrops turn to flakes,
skeletal trees shiver
in a flurry of snow.
And while brisk breezes blow;
Winter is upon us,
before we even know.
Waiting for that right moment to say the wrong thing
Cold calculations made precisely
Nothing can go bad in the plan
It's perfect
Time stops
A gunshot through the flash-frozen
A smile at the shattering pain showing
Or more like a scream
The hunt winds down
Everything is still perfect
Everything going according to the plan
At last to claim the prize
Bring it back dead or alive you say
But that it is too much to ask for
It can kill one so, so easy
Too much to ask for one alive.
She thought of herself as Dorothy
tornadoed into an unknowable oblivion
winded she rises,
fetal curled about an umbilicus of she
a shattered reality lays before her.
Shards of past self's pirouette, prisms
released from the boxed frame of sash
and nested frame of sill,
she rises.
The crisp whiteness of a slip sheeted reality
anesthetizes the tumult of pillows
and comforters left behind
she is trampolined upward
but blown inward,
no out lay.
Unpierced by cut glass
chin tucked, bookless, fairy groomed,
the she child exists within the blink
a flash frozen riser.
Silent forever
Blue champagne flash frozen ice
Frozen cork unpops
To take a drink of nature
It's heavenly sculpted art
-- Thoughts on a frozen lake --
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