Hoarfrost on barbed wire
holds until the first blackbird
tests the silver thread—
The dawn was never asked, if
it intended to stay cold.
A gold wedding band
leaves an imprint underneath
beside weathered skin—
The pale pledge there lingers long
after finger tires of it.
Knots tied in dry strings
to remember promises
slowly surrender
when they're immersed in water
to the form they never lost.
The builder chooses
the straightest tree trunk for beams—
High in the branches
magpies nest in the curved limbs
that bow when wild winds arrive.
Seaweed on the rocks
remembers yesterday's tide
higher than today's—
No wave returns for its mark
only salt lingers there still.
A watermark sleeps
inside each folded message
with a hidden date—
that rises with candle warmth
to tell the truth, time knew well.
Snake held by its tail,
its mouth swinging so freely
circling round the arm—
Every vow has the same aim
to taste the hand that shaped it.
The face in the glass
nods before it answers back
they both know their names—
The one who made promises
has long become someone else.
No morning hoarfrost covered meadows and hills,
just flowers tinted in ochre coloring.
Early blooms of wild jonquil and daffodils ~
A new season has arrived and taken wing.
Farewell Winter snow, and your blustery chills.
Robins trill in welcoming voices, "It's Spring."
Earth gives birth to budded trees and buzzing bees.
Advent's fragrant scents are carried in the breeze.
In a cool winter day
as the season begins to warm
trees are covered in a coat of white
decorated by hoarfrost
transforming it
to a beautiful winter land
as the wind gently blows
through the branches
with each puff it cascades
settling on the ground below
soon the trees become barren
the coats gently removed
only to be redecorated
on another day in winter's season.
The cold is me
The frost my bones
A frozen skeleton
Lost, alone
Wandering numbly
Beneath the still sky
Darkness enclosing
As I coldly pass by
My breath is just vapor
A smoke That you see
But I am just hoarfrost
And dead frosted leaves
I walk through the ether
A shadow you see
A ghost in the winter
Frozen and free.
An abdominal snowman’s state of mind
fixated on an eldritch view of summer.
Hoarfrost made him catch a craving
for something called Jolly-tinseltoes.
Fixated on an eldritch view of summer
even as his brumal eyes flashed gelid,
he melted at the mention of sunshine.
Hoarfrost made him catch a craving,
side effect of being a valetudinary.
Like a Seer he could taste this treat.
For something called Jolly-tinseltoes
chocolate ice cream with a berry twist,
the world was slush in eternal wintertide.
mid-fall
cold snap
low temps
hard slap
bold winds
blowing
hoarfrost
glowing
frigid
fall days
missing
sun’s rays
forecast
heeded
thick coats
needed
last leaves
falling
winter’s
calling
Snow continues toppling from darkling gray skies.
And by dusk, the flurries will bank on the ground.
Landscapes painted by Nature's hand, the artist
Hallmarks of winter ~
Embers turn to ash; darkness gives up the night.
Sunlight's shadows lengthen from pine and blue spruce.
Melting ice is dripping from gabled dormers.
Morning is frigid ~
Hushed, the silent world until creaking resounds
Footsteps crunch and crackle on beds of hoarfrost
Woolen scarves and mittens for warming cold hands
Sleigh rides o'er hill sides ~
“The fog may come on little cat feet”*
But Autumn eschews silence
The thick crunch of crisp fallen foliage
Hastens the homebound honking of gaggled geese
Soft whispers of falling rose petals
Fade into the haze of hoarfrost
Cold winds whistle wildly through naked Maples
Flags snap loudly to attention
A brutish barn cat recoils from the touch of snow
Squawking ducks slowly slide across an icy crust
Chattering children board a school bus
Winter awaits its curtain call
When the days begin to grow shorter,
and the sky becomes dreary and gray.
When the nights turn darker and colder,
you know that Jack Frost has come to play.
When birds fly south to warmer places,
we pull our heavy coats out to stay.
Snowflakes fall and the ponds ice over,
you know that Jack Frost has come to play.
When crystals form on barren branches,
the cold north wind makes them creak and sway.
If your old bones feel so much older,
you know that Jack Frost has come to play.
His breath will turn the green grass to brown,
his touch has flowers wilting away.
His dark shadow sends hoarfrost creeping,
you know that Jack Frost has come to play.
As summer fades, leaves start to fall;
old memories, you won’t recall
get slowly taken by the worms.
It’s sometimes hard to come to terms
with winter leaving branches bare;
that buds once started growing there.
Your summer’s verdant blush of green
will evermore remain unseen
by multitudes of fruit you bore.
While slowly, hoarfrost chills your core.
Have you never shared the seductive charms
of a cool spring night under moons full glare
Folded in the warmth of a lover’s arms
basking in fire light as bold passions flare
Or felt the coolness of newly turned soil,
had the smell of fresh mown hay in your nose
Felt your imagination start to boil;
when feeling mud squishing between bare toes
If you have never watched a summer’s day
slip east to west across an open sky
While sitting in the shade of an oak tree
letting both time and caring pass you by
Have you ever witnessed October’s breath
shake hoarfrost covered blades of yellow grass
Or place a rainbow in each speck of ice!
that clings to hope upon the window’s glass
Never seen a blanket of winter’s snow
mound on leafless trees and frozen fence rail
Every bush and fern reflecting the moon
as a silent wind slides across the dale
Many are the miles you snake along the hillsides, through the valleys,
conforming to the highways, partitioning pasture from pasture
neighbour from neighbour, friend from foe, son from father.
a face unperturbed…
one inhaling scenic grace
spring chattering birth
Sanctuary to winter flock shelter for the beast,
many characteristics embraced within your tenacity,
while countless shapes formulate your strength,
crag face monument a testament to this place, stone the essence.
breaking dawn’s sunrise …
golden threads breaking the mist
surfing nether clouds
Many years you’ve stood against sweeping rain, hoarfrost nights,
the heat of summer, the inane rambler that mounts your very strength
rests wearily for a while, never a thought for whom created
you, from out of the very ground you now preside over.
there are no concepts…
only seasons to embrace
and generations
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Carmine, crimson, vermillion, and cerise,
dapple canopies of emerald green.
And the ground morphs into a golden fleece;
as yellow, orange, gold, and tangerine,
mark a pathway south for migrating geese.
Autumn's beauty can take one's breath away:
like Spring; it's a colorful time of year.
And when pigments and breezes interplay,
abstract mosaics begin to appear:
while fallen leaves get blown in disarray.
Alabaster hoarfrost dusts the landscape;
as Jack Frost etches swirls on windowpanes.
And Autumn's as barren as a moonscape
when skeletal trees are all that remains;
of Fall's colorful fantasy dreamscape.
Autumn
Autumn greets summer on a gusty breeze
Waves farewell as she spins down the sidewalks
Laughs with delight as northern lights she sees
Finds one final bouquet of the sweet phlox
Waves farewell as she spins down the sidewalks
In the early dusk she tastes the first frost
Finds one final bouquet of the sweet phlox
Weaves her first spell before the hoarfrost
In the early dusk she tastes the first frost
Autumn yawns as early darkness stunts her days
Weaves her magic spell before the hoarfrost
Beneath the amber moon’s song of her praise.
Autumn yawns as early darkness stunts her days
She smiles through misty hues of incensed trees
Beneath the amber moon’s songs of her praise
Wrapped in soft cloak of her finest red leaves
She smiles through misty hues of incensed trees
Laughs with delight as northern lights she sees
Wrapped in a soft cloak of her finest red leaves
Autumn greets summer on a gusty breeze
9-8-22
Contest: Autumn
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Another moment goes by, another monumental stride
day by day, year by year wind-borne dreams
cascade amongst perpetual memories, gifts of light
that penetrates through the windows of time, the clarity
of it all giving hope to a fading prayer.
the inept causeway
a track into the unknown
life’s a survey map
The village supreme basks in the delicacy
of a summer sunlight, the moor-side bleak, in the
shadows of winter’s hoarfrost moon, fluvial waters
jostle amidst ancient limestone, kisses floral river banks
of wooded ghyll. Even the folk remain incessant,
anchored to an inflexible pace, bridled within their
time warp of conformity.
a cosmic spirit
for grace t’was never to be
in chains an outcast
With memories to conceive, each precious moment an
endless reaching out to embrace a time gone by,
only I it seems, cannot find a place there within
the dream. ‘Looking in, alas always, looking in.’
enigma of keys
to unlock a shackled mind
with an open heart
© Harry J Horsman 2022
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