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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Disasters, Delights and Other Detours - 86. Three Winter Walks

As is ever the case, any errors in rhyme, rhythm or reason are my own.

Icicles

catch the morning’s first light,

trapping pink, purple and yellow-green

within their bent and bubbled walls beneath the eaves,

bearing a moment’s purgatory

before shifting, changing

into day.

 

~~~

 

Upon the walk near my abode

Dame Nature gifts of ice bestowed

whereon with step most ill-advised

I blithely trod apace, unslowed.

It may now safely be surmised

that I, by slickness so surprised,

to Newton’s laws a victim fell,

and so by gravity chastised.

I danced the briefest tarantelle,

the ground my feet seemed to repel,

and horizontal was I viewed:

to earth my form stretched parallel.

An instant did this interlude

endure till I lost altitude

and I again the earth bestrode

with epithets both rich and rude.

 

~~~

 

Look close and see hushed secrets in the snow,

encrypted details hinted to the eye,

reflected in faint shadows far below

bare, bony branches stretching to the sky.

Upon white whimsied drifts has nature writ;

a mouse’s love, deciphered at a glance,

or owls, whose eloquence the oaks befit,

which underneath the silent stars may dance.

Yet other signs and signals are more plain

and legible to eyes that will enquire –

fresh footprints merging closely in the lane,

returning to a cozy hearth and fire,

where cuddled on a blanket meant for two

one hardly needs to guess what we might do.


Already the evenings are getting lighter. Still, Winter will be with us for a while. I won't put my shovel away until May. If you have any comments or observations, I'd be glad to see them.
Copyright © 2017 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
  • Love 7
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Chapter Comments

northie

Bravo! I join Gary in chuckling aloud at the middle offering. The snorts were particularly loud at 'I danced the briefest tarantelle' - such a perfect description of that nanosecond before the inevitable. Aren't we mean? 

Nature nearly always returns to love in your poetry and it gladdens my heart. 'Upon white whimsied drifts has nature writ;' is a wonderful line, suggesting those drifts somehow and giving such pleasure in its speaking.

  • Love 5
Parker Owens
1 hour ago, Valkyrie said:

I think that's the most eloquent description of slipping and falling on ice that I've ever read :gikkle:  :worship:  I enjoyed all of these.  After a fresh snowfall, I like to check out the footprints in my backyard to see what visitors I've had during the night.  

My favorite prints in the snow are those left by small birds. Every hop in search a of a seed is perfectly recorded. As for my tumble, I thought it better to write about it than grouse. I’m glad you enjoyed these. 

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Parker Owens
1 hour ago, Headstall said:

Wonderful! Yes, the snow reveals many secrets to those of us who look closely. I love the way you describe your icy fall, Parker. It made me chuckle aloud. :) 

I’m happy you grinned with me over that slip on the ice. I felt just like a cartoon character, complete with blurred legs in motion. The snow seems to show where underground streams run these days, telling me where the soft spots under my skis will be. It’s hard to believe it will all be green again soon. Thanks for reading!

  • Love 4
Parker Owens
52 minutes ago, northie said:

Bravo! I join Gary in chuckling aloud at the middle offering. The snorts were particularly loud at 'I danced the briefest tarantelle' - such a perfect description of that nanosecond before the inevitable. Aren't we mean? 

Nature nearly always returns to love in your poetry and it gladdens my heart. 'Upon white whimsied drifts has nature writ;' is a wonderful line, suggesting those drifts somehow and giving such pleasure in its speaking.

It makes me happy to know you liked that line about whimsied drifts too. It bore speaking aloud once or twice, just for fun. As for the ice, that episode is about the only time I can recall that I was any good at dancing. My bruised backside and dignity are still recovering. Thank you for reading these! 

  • Love 4
Parker Owens
24 minutes ago, dughlas said:

I sometimes miss the snows of my northern home not however those icy sidewalks. There was one morning just before Christmas when damp spots from the previous day's rain froze briefly on the sidewalks here. An odd experience treading lightly during our early morning walk. Thank you for your words and the remembrances they evoke. 

I’m very happy these words brought good memories to mind, even if they included icy pavements. I will be glad when the sun bares the walk again, even though my dancing will be no better for it. Thanks for reading!

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