This week let’s write a frost poem. There are several different types of frost to explore and bonus points for an allusion to the great 20th century poet. Post your chill in the comments below.
Living Poetry
A group of poets and poetry readers.
Monday Poetry Prompt: Frost
Living Poetry 
Walls
Old family photos hid
A secret revealed years later
When a brother and cousin appeared after 54 years
We always thought
My grandmother hid something but
Never did we imagine this
A secret child conceived amid grief
My grandparents retreated behind their walls
As surely as Frost’s New England farmers retreated behind theirs
LikeLiked by 3 people
Posted by Second Act Blogger | January 28, 2022, 2:12 PMI probably should edit title and poem to refer to fences instead of walls
LikeLiked by 3 people
Posted by Second Act Blogger | January 28, 2022, 2:31 PMLove it! And yes, once you change the walls to fences, it’s perfect. Well done!
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | January 28, 2022, 5:38 PMThank you
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by Second Act Blogger | January 29, 2022, 12:01 AMLikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | January 26, 2022, 8:58 PMI like how the word-thoughts are unsullied as new fallen snow. I like the idea of frozen echoes that make the mind’s own voice a herald. Winter.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by ts19page | January 26, 2022, 1:53 PMFrost
Humans from the north
acclimated to long dark,
find firelight soothes
light eyes,
Women standing behind us
in time.
lead us here,
by this winter fire.
They were beautiful
and cherished,
self-contained
and ignored.
As the body bends to lift the child,
to push its weight
into kneading bread,
or stretches to hang clothes to dry,
We feel this and turn inward,
a recompense against the cold.
As if to send love backward,
laying offerings to gods of home and hearth.
Even the voice is inherited,
the way lullabies
spring from flame.
Lives, lyrical, by frost curtailed,
and encompassed,
whose eyes, glittering in lambent light,
we seem to see.
Those who learned what summer means,
laced in hammocks hung from trees,
rocking outward into force, into abandon,
our progenitors.
Across meadows barefoot, they ran,
spinning under re-leafed trees,
heedless of the meter
of the warm-weather brook,
Irreverent to winter,
casting off inklings
of the slow earth-turn
toward dark.
In January,
the close winter night wind simpers,
the fire burns low,
ice freezes in the buckets outside the door.
T. Page
LikeLiked by 3 people
Posted by ts19page | January 26, 2022, 12:59 PMLove the voice/lullabies stanza and the warm weather images folded into the cold. Well done!
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | January 26, 2022, 7:06 PMThank you for you comments, Bartholomew, much appreciated.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by ts19page | January 27, 2022, 5:48 PMHexapsalmos
The sun hidden behind the ridge
Smoke rising from somewhere beyond
into the blue-blue sky of a bitter morning
the moon holding fast against the now-here day
Echoes stilled in the calm air
tinnitus, the false sound
growling into a crescendo forte
a mighty 11-note chord
into Sergei’s pride
A step breaks the sostenuto
crunching crashing cross crust
thoroughly sealed by rime the night before
a one-inch slab of snow gives way
under the weighted boot
Sunlight overflows the mountain
Hoar frost lit in suspension
Light and sound
cold air and warm breath
elementals, present now
I am just a witness
as my word-thoughts drone on
and will not be still
until I write them down
as they have been before
as they have been unspoken
as they will always be
until someone unhears them again
unwritten, unsullied and ever-new
LikeLiked by 2 people
Posted by Chris Clarke | January 25, 2022, 11:05 PMLove the tinnitus stanza and the alliteration in the second stanza. Well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | January 26, 2022, 7:00 PMThat’s just plain awesome! 😍
LikeLike
Posted by Kathy Jo Bryant | January 24, 2022, 4:00 PM