You're in the same page of my thinking
That's why my heart is ready for you
decided to keep ringing
I wish I had a chance to be with you
In the north pole
Cause it gives me the feeling like being on Giant
Flying above & see the whole
Sing your song louder
When your lips
Are against mine
And my nerves become calmer & Calmer
Than I have no way to feel colder
My heart isn't interpreted  
Yet is bold
To let go of the numbness
Right way back to the Old!

To be honest, I feel pretty broken inside
I live with a woman who’s out of her mind.
What’s right is wrong, what’s wrong is right,
The moon is the sun, the day is the night.

She screams and she shouts,
She wallows and pouts,
Her mockery’s vicious,
Her memories? Fictitious.

Nothing in life is as it would seem.
I wake up and feel like I’m still in a dream.
A nightmare of dreary existence, of pain,
Of suffering from the voices in my brain.

With her condescension she sends me reeling
Her temper takes hours, no, days in its healing.
She tells me I’m awful, ungrateful, I’m rude,
That I have to change my bad attitude…

I have not said a word.
But she still hasn’t heard.
I say nothing, I’m doomed.
If I speak I’m entombed.

My very existence just sets off a bomb.
Is this what you want?
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

neither.
her body froze over,
attempting to protect her.
it became a block of ice,
waiting for him to leave.
when he did,
she slowly, carefully
chipped at the ice.
some parts of her
are still frozen,
but she's walking
towards the sun.

we are frozen in time - stuck in the muck of the present


© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

It's me, the master of never letting go,
and yet I let you slip, you kept me for
show, and to prove your theory about
                me
             + a bit of confidence
             = you
said you wouldn't want to miss it
and that's a reason to stay.

It's me, the master of never letting go,
I was kept for show and stole it, got burned
yet returned, listened to, not understood,
the one who always sticks around, now
I look both ways crossing streets, managed
to become an end to the means.

It's me again, I'm tired, was held in a cage
that promised flight, the sun never changed
directions, it's a never-ending sight, like
a movie set, except this time I'm a side
character and there are no extras.

It's me, the master of never letting go.
Is anyone listening? It's fine if you aren't.
This one is not about the show.

Singing the song of still never being
Deep deep in the ceremony of wind
Swirling and swirling more than a typhoon without any wing
Deep and deep under the dust green emerald hot
Roots in and petals swift frozen cuts
What drinks necessarily from the bottle of a lovers’ heart
Dirge dire nasty ecstasy belonging to no creature
Except whom filled with wine
White, white or crimson like a passionate loves  
Talking to you my frozen blossom
Wide soft  
Without hearing you without knowing me
Without any incident happening to shape our way
Bright.

Once Upon a Frozen Star
by Michael R. Burch

Oh, was it in this dark-Decembered world
we walked among the moonbeam-shadowed fields
and did not know ourselves for weight of snow
upon our laden parkas? White as sheets,
as spectral-white as ghosts, with clawlike hands
****** deep into our pockets, holding what
we thought were tickets home: what did we know
of anything that night? Were we deceived
by moonlight making shadows of gaunt trees
that loomed like fiends between us, by the songs
of owls like phantoms hooting: Who? Who? Who?

And if that night I looked and smiled at you
a little out of tenderness . . . or kissed
the wet salt from your lips, or took your hand,
so cold inside your parka . . . if I wished
upon a frozen star . . .  that I could give
you something of myself to keep you warm . . .
yet something still not love . . . if I embraced
the contours of your face with one stiff glove . . .

How could I know the years would strip away
the soft flesh from your face, that time would flay
your heart of consolation, that my words
would break like ice between us, till the void
of words became eternal? Oh, my love,
I never knew. I never knew at all,
that anything so vast could curl so small.

Originally published by Nisqually Delta Review. Keywords/Tags: blank verse, winter, December, snow, white, ghosts, parka, frozen, star, warm, warmth, tenderness, glove, ice

All Afterglow
by Michael R. Burch

Something remarkable, perhaps ...
the color of her eyes ... though I forget
the color of her eyes ... perhaps her hair
the way it blew about ... I do not know
just what it was about her that has kept
her thought lodged deep in mine ... unmelted snow
that lasted till July would be less rare,
clasped in some frozen cavern where the wind
sculpts bright grotesqueries, ignoring springs’
and summers’ higher laws ... there thawing slow
and strange by strange degrees, one tick beyond
the freezing point which keeps all things the same
... till what remains is fragile and unlike
the world above, where melted snows and rains
form rivulets that, inundate with sun,
evaporate, and in life’s cyclic stream
remake the world again ... I do not know
that we can be remade—all afterglow.

[Note: “inundate with snow” is not a typo.] Keywords/Tags: afterglow, remarkable, light, color, eyes, hair, snow, frozen, cavern, grotesqueries, freezing, thaw, degrees, melt, melted, permafrost, snow, rain, rivulets, sun, evaporate, evaporation, love, loss, parting, separation