Kneeling down on her soft bed, my eyes follow
hollow sounding, icy trails from hot breath;
my hands hold the deep, voluptuous curves
of an ice maiden, languishing e’er long this coldest
of winters.
A contradiction; how easy she melts
at the first caress and too soon my heart aches
for callous black ice to keep forever the footprints
of yesteryear, sadly only imprinted forever in memory –
how quickly they disappear in warmer times.
Is it by tender touch and passionate farewell, or does the iconic
Lady of Winter, as yet unloved, simply
shake off her shrill wrap to vanish once more?
I’m copying Dorinda Duclos and re posting a Christmas favourite of mine and hijacking the lyrics – influenced by ‘The Little Swallow’ Carol of the Bells composed by Ukrainian composer Mykola Leontovych in 1914- Re written, and loosely based, this is what I got. дякую (thank you).
Sing little bird,
fly overhead,
rest in the trees’
wavering breeze.
Lift your curtain high at dawn,
let sleep the flickering candle’s yawning.
Tall trees aglow,
clouds full of snow,
laden with light,
black hops on white,
snow flurry sneeze
small feathers freeze.
Fly little bird
lift up and fight,
go little bird
circle the light,
sleep little bird,
soundly tonight.
Try little bird,
lift your wings while you’re still singing
soon the night will warm your dreaming.
Fly little bird
reach for the night,
go little bird,
shy of winter’s light.
Warm your body, melt the snow
for the daylight crisp below.
Go little bird,
sleep little bird,
find the songs you sweetly sing
nestle there ’til winter’s still.
Go little bird,
up to the night,
fly little bird
soundly tonight.
See the moon she’s smiling for you
shivering stars their arms are open too.
So go, little bird,
fly little bird,
high little bird,
hush, little bird.
Soon will come the voices of the morn,
joyous little creature of our dawn.
Go little bird,
fly little bird,
sleep little bird,
twilight is heard.
I found a blog not long ago that always inspires me to do… something, even if only in a document. This is not a patch on his work but I wrote. Thank you Lance Sheridan. Please visit his amazing writing.
Does winter’s plague
beckon the drowned
who find solace beneath?
Accustomed to the connecting
seasons floating by, they endure
the frowned face stares
tentatively mirroring their own
above taught ice.
Caught in between coldness,
a new age and only a hint
of the smell of warmth
from heads butting on this hard glass
they hurl and shout –
but nothing will reach the surface
till spring time –
a time eagerly awaiting
the scathing torture in their
rambunctious voice –
and not until, after a crack of ice,
thick and headstrong,
all hell is let loose,
if hell, that is, were suddenly,
to become heaven, and spring is reborn.
You all loved the last Comment-a-Haiku Competition, so let’s give it another go! Here’s What You Need to Know:
Vita Brevisis hosting another four-day haiku competition–taking place entirely in the comment section of this post!
How to Submit:
1. Submit one 5-7-5 haiku as a comment on this post — all topics welcome
2. Reblog this post on your blog or write a post announcing that you’ve entered the competition, linking back here
3. Give good feedback on other commenters’ work! [This is what it’s really about–you’ll be receiving good feedback, so try to give it to others as well]
Reward: Honestly, this is less about “winning” and more about meeting and communicating with other poets.But we will choose some honorable mentions, and we’ll publish our favorite haiku on the front page of our online poetry magazine (with a link to the poet’s blog)
Pic source: Mountain Journal.
