day three: frost
bracketing seasons
early and late frost dashes
languid mild longing
love this.
I googled the purpose of frost
Searching for hidden meaning
Turns out frost means it is cold
And I will try to conjure meaning out of anything
Perhaps the beauty of frost is not in her purpose
But in her presence
Her persistent, chilly, glittering presence
Covering everything
🤍
I love this!
Oof, so good. Love the rawness and honesty. Thank you!
Speckles and spackles
an icy rind
on the inside of window-panes
struggling to hold back the
seeping dripping midwinter chill.
Flowers of winter,
tiny white stars.
tiny white stars-
I love those images!
Absolutely agree! Beautiful, Lisa. Thank you!
Beautiful Imposter
I thought the frost was snow
At a glance.
Lacy patterns of ice on the windows.
The back field glazed in white.
Only to discover as the sun rose
And the air warmed
My icy wonderland was no more.
Karri Temple Brackett
May 3, 2023
https://themarvelousandthemundane.com/2023/05/03/beautiful-imposter/
Really lovely. Have loved all your work so far.
Thanks so much
Day Three: Frost
White crystals etched in
wood, in stone, in tiny tufts
of new grass, in me.
***
Warm air caught
in the chill
of what lies beneath.
A temporary frost.
As the warmth of day
seeps into the ground
the etchings disappear,
a bit of damp left behind
until that, too. Is gone.
A pattern etched
in my heart,
the chill of fear
and shame and guilt —
and loneliness.
I breathe,
await the warmth of
“being with,”
of trusting.
I am not alone.
I am beloved.
yes. love this!
This is splendid, Saorise. Very evocative and moving--we are beloved!
A Frost Haiku
frost comes to the glass
etching pictures of the ferns
seen in the dark woods
Love a good haiku!
The blossom’s stored furnace
of orange explosion
has left town.
The invite of frost -
inevitable and bearing no scythe -
slides in on an icy glide.
~ Jack Cuffari
yes! thank you for sharing!
the duality of frost
letting us know
that seasons are changing
and the year is coming closer
to its end
yet even in the chill
the beauty shines through
to frame creation
in a subtle dusting
ever thoughtful
of a more dynamic purpose
to be messenger
announcing the season of
rest is approaching
The Ice Queen leers with cold contempt upon her kingdom
until the ground becomes still and frozen.
I stand beyond the hoar frost meadow and raise my staff high to challenge her cruelty and to sing aloud a curse into the hell of it
calling down a righteous flame that will pull the pendulum back to the center
We are equals - frost and flame- doomed to repeat the scene into eternity
. The 'ice queen'.....
muahahaha.....
Frozen
Ripples
Overlaying
Sharply
Twinkling
My favorite frost lies
like a doily left
on top of budding
lawns, frozen lake
of lace purled in the night.
wonderful imagery.
I told my seven year old who is really into writing poetry lately about “A poem a day in the month of May” and she loves the idea.
Here’s her Frost poem:
Frost is white
It’s not snow
It is dew that freezes
Oh look it snowed!
Frost is beautiful
It’s not a lot
Frost is great
It’s a little better than snow
Frost sparkles a lot
In the frost of joy
And in that beauty
It’s very merry
I love frost
It has sooo much beauty
For everyone to share and love
yess more kids writing poetry!!! I love this so much!
That is such an amazing poem. Tell your 7 year old "thanks for sharing and it is my favorite poem today"
Frost
Like
A blanket
Of
Glitter.
Everywhere.
.frost.
nixon.
Ali.
Steinem.
Thatcher.
Mikhail.
John&Yoko.
Tennessee Williams.
Groucho.
thanks, david.
A lifetime of dancing with frost! Here goes:
In these northern reaches in our hemisphere,
it is a challenge to know precisely
When the first frost will come.
It teases and taunts until we turn our heads,
and then it just arrives.
Announcing in its own way,
winter is coming.
That first year in Vermont
the last frost came late June,
the first frost early August.
We looked at each other and wondered
“where are we?”
Frost is a prickly teacher.
Showing us, when we open,
How to listen.
To the birds,
to the wind,
to the signs;
to feel the earth in our bones.
To lie face down,
heart to freezing center,
faith that the warmth in our spirits
may thaw the deepest of freezes.
Knowing that like the frost,
even love will rise again.
Frost is a prickly teacher--yes indeed!
Written as one who clearly knows the frost. This was beautiful, understated, and so wonderfully playful. Thank you!
Thank you Jillian! Peace to you!
I feel like I could dance with this word all day, sharing my work in progress ❤️
Good morning, Frost. I see you’ve etched the window panes, spread around the edges like a picture frame.
I wasn’t expecting you, Frost. I would have steeped some tea, kept the weighty wool that comforts me.
Are you here with a message, Frost? I turn my ear to the frigid breeze, and hear your whisper: now everybody freeze.
I will heed your wisdom, Frost; press pause for distillation. Before we bloom we need crystallization.
I’ve seen your magic, Frost; with buried ice you heave soil through the surface. Unearthing our hoary beliefs is part of your noble purpose.
I send you gratitude, Frost; for your quiet alchemy. You still us before the spring is revelatory.
bracketing seasons
early and late frost dashes
languid mild longing
love this.
I googled the purpose of frost
Searching for hidden meaning
Turns out frost means it is cold
And I will try to conjure meaning out of anything
Perhaps the beauty of frost is not in her purpose
But in her presence
Her persistent, chilly, glittering presence
Covering everything
🤍
I love this!
Oof, so good. Love the rawness and honesty. Thank you!
Speckles and spackles
an icy rind
on the inside of window-panes
struggling to hold back the
seeping dripping midwinter chill.
Flowers of winter,
tiny white stars.
Flowers of winter,
tiny white stars-
I love those images!
Absolutely agree! Beautiful, Lisa. Thank you!
Beautiful Imposter
I thought the frost was snow
At a glance.
Lacy patterns of ice on the windows.
The back field glazed in white.
Only to discover as the sun rose
And the air warmed
My icy wonderland was no more.
Karri Temple Brackett
May 3, 2023
https://themarvelousandthemundane.com/2023/05/03/beautiful-imposter/
Really lovely. Have loved all your work so far.
Thanks so much
Day Three: Frost
White crystals etched in
wood, in stone, in tiny tufts
of new grass, in me.
***
Warm air caught
in the chill
of what lies beneath.
A temporary frost.
As the warmth of day
seeps into the ground
the etchings disappear,
a bit of damp left behind
until that, too. Is gone.
A pattern etched
in my heart,
the chill of fear
and shame and guilt —
and loneliness.
I breathe,
await the warmth of
“being with,”
of trusting.
I am not alone.
I am beloved.
yes. love this!
This is splendid, Saorise. Very evocative and moving--we are beloved!
A Frost Haiku
frost comes to the glass
etching pictures of the ferns
seen in the dark woods
Love a good haiku!
The blossom’s stored furnace
of orange explosion
has left town.
The invite of frost -
inevitable and bearing no scythe -
slides in on an icy glide.
~ Jack Cuffari
yes! thank you for sharing!
the duality of frost
letting us know
that seasons are changing
and the year is coming closer
to its end
yet even in the chill
the beauty shines through
to frame creation
in a subtle dusting
ever thoughtful
of a more dynamic purpose
to be messenger
announcing the season of
rest is approaching
The Ice Queen leers with cold contempt upon her kingdom
until the ground becomes still and frozen.
I stand beyond the hoar frost meadow and raise my staff high to challenge her cruelty and to sing aloud a curse into the hell of it
calling down a righteous flame that will pull the pendulum back to the center
We are equals - frost and flame- doomed to repeat the scene into eternity
. The 'ice queen'.....
muahahaha.....
Frozen
Ripples
Overlaying
Sharply
Twinkling
My favorite frost lies
like a doily left
on top of budding
lawns, frozen lake
of lace purled in the night.
wonderful imagery.
I told my seven year old who is really into writing poetry lately about “A poem a day in the month of May” and she loves the idea.
Here’s her Frost poem:
Frost is white
It’s not snow
It is dew that freezes
Oh look it snowed!
Frost is beautiful
It’s not a lot
Frost is great
It’s a little better than snow
Frost sparkles a lot
In the frost of joy
And in that beauty
It’s very merry
I love frost
It has sooo much beauty
For everyone to share and love
yess more kids writing poetry!!! I love this so much!
That is such an amazing poem. Tell your 7 year old "thanks for sharing and it is my favorite poem today"
Frost
Like
A blanket
Of
Glitter.
Everywhere.
.frost.
nixon.
Ali.
Steinem.
Thatcher.
Mikhail.
John&Yoko.
Tennessee Williams.
Groucho.
.frost.
thanks, david.
A lifetime of dancing with frost! Here goes:
Frost
In these northern reaches in our hemisphere,
it is a challenge to know precisely
When the first frost will come.
It teases and taunts until we turn our heads,
and then it just arrives.
Announcing in its own way,
winter is coming.
That first year in Vermont
the last frost came late June,
the first frost early August.
We looked at each other and wondered
“where are we?”
Frost is a prickly teacher.
Showing us, when we open,
How to listen.
To the birds,
to the wind,
to the signs;
to feel the earth in our bones.
To lie face down,
heart to freezing center,
faith that the warmth in our spirits
may thaw the deepest of freezes.
Knowing that like the frost,
even love will rise again.
Frost is a prickly teacher--yes indeed!
Written as one who clearly knows the frost. This was beautiful, understated, and so wonderfully playful. Thank you!
Thank you Jillian! Peace to you!
I feel like I could dance with this word all day, sharing my work in progress ❤️
Good morning, Frost. I see you’ve etched the window panes, spread around the edges like a picture frame.
I wasn’t expecting you, Frost. I would have steeped some tea, kept the weighty wool that comforts me.
Are you here with a message, Frost? I turn my ear to the frigid breeze, and hear your whisper: now everybody freeze.
I will heed your wisdom, Frost; press pause for distillation. Before we bloom we need crystallization.
I’ve seen your magic, Frost; with buried ice you heave soil through the surface. Unearthing our hoary beliefs is part of your noble purpose.
I send you gratitude, Frost; for your quiet alchemy. You still us before the spring is revelatory.