#frigid
Frigidity wounded the tender palms,
numbness nestled in beards,
crystals of snow hung from her earrings;
all now photographs that have creased.
The souls stare into the windows once mistaken for walls,
recalling their shadows chained to the stagnant snow,
but the seasons are meant to spiral,
and amidst the mosses osculated by winters,
there bloomed petals adorned by renewal.
Some cling tight to the yarn,
afraid of pointed crystals shredding the weave,
while some recall the cold, garbed in a tender sweater —
the tender sweater spun by bleeding hands,
pricked by needles and lost amongst the threads.
Once one with the pine tree,
trembling in a blizzard,
they now converse of and with past,
clad in fabrics of rejuvenation.
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:05 AM UTC
I love the month of February,
The shortest and coldest month of the season,
For an array of personal reasons.
And yet, it feels like Feb is the longest,
For the events that happen haphazardly,
Amidst treacherous winter storm blasts.
Quasi everything is frozen and solid near the nest
Of the American bald eagles,
Except the Mardi Gras masks under the rumbles.
February is the season of love,
The month of Saint Valentine,
A quintessential paradise cove,
Where lovers take refuge. Pure, Pristine,
Snowy, short, Pure, dark, and lovely; Feb is now
The celebratory month of Black history,
One wonders why and how
We get the shortest one. It's another story
That we should let the nomad seagulls
Decipher. No bathers on the sandy beaches,
Solely, a few birds are perched on the branches,
Far away from the cribs of the bald eagles.
February is a month of a kaleidoscopic contrast,
Where snowfalls happen quite often,
And ******** lovers dream warmth under a heaven
Full of hope, love, beauty, and ice.
Copyright © January 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 5:54 PM UTC
I know when to be persistent,
I know when to stop trying.
I'll quit my ********
Stop my "crying."
:)
Jun 19, 2023
Jun 19, 2023 at 10:57 PM UTC
ice is sharp and cold and you don’t wanna get frostbite during the winter months
i never wanted to step on the cracks
i never wanted to fall in so deep
painfully sobbing and at the very edge of drowning
i never wanted to get hypothermia from my fatal accident
i only wanted to step over the cracks
and return safely to the promised land of warm beds and train tracks
Feb 18, 2022
Feb 18, 2022 at 3:56 PM UTC
Embers of autumn
Swept away by frigid wind
Winter's arrival
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 9:18 AM UTC
_Frigid Nights
Thick Forests
My shattered hair
Ghost spirit
Are wandering
Like an owl
At
Frigid nights._
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 5:58 AM UTC
Frigid nights
Thick forests
My shattered hair
Ghost spirit
Are wandering
Like an owl
at
frigid nights.
Jul 26, 2020
Jul 26, 2020 at 12:23 PM UTC
The language of Los Angeles
gets lost in translation.
Even the rain clouds
drop their contents
with an unfamiliar accent.
The peculiar way
she tilts her head,
the distinct way
she crosses her legs,
are every bit incorrect.
The uninvolved way
she sits, steps, speaks,
alludes to her lack
of the irrepressible nature
surrounding her day.
"The rest is rust
and stardust."
She is quite
American.
There is no turning of the shadow
under a European sun.
The silence of her heart,
the stillness in her limbs,
is barren, muted,
her leaves brittle.
In the breezy part
of the afternoon,
her core lay hollow
and unfelt,
regardless of...
He wakes her,
demurely she makes
an effort at soixante-neuf,
arbitrarily she bends for him.
"Her dream-gray gaze
never flinches."
She is quite
American.
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 4:35 PM UTC
Confidence in all of us is attached and frigid
Opportunities will always survive and be there
The burning desire to better ourselves is genuine
Can we really be so ignorant to believe that someone or something can stop us
I THINK NOT
Brian Hill - 2020 # 31
Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 9:30 AM UTC
Above Mount Fuji
Sizzling, the noon sun suspend
frigid smoke erupts
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 9:12 PM UTC
Frigid steps
Uninvited guests
Hideous segues
Rendezvous', no ways
Puritanical loves
Overvalued doves
But don't forget the turkey!
Nov 1, 2019
Nov 1, 2019 at 4:01 PM UTC
I'll hold your hand (even while the world watches) in my hand; feeling the warmth at our fingertips. Your eyes (being the deepest sea I've ever seen) make me forget the futility and uselessness of it all. I never thought I'd find a reason to go on (passively watching the tides of life crash by my feet) but your presence provides the reason to continue. I want to spend my life with you, clumsily dance days away, badly singing along to songs, and holding you as close as my heart is to me each night, maintaining the pleasant warmth and comfort between the two of us despite the frigid wind beating at our backs. I'll hold your hand [even as the world (as they would hate our happiness) watches]. As you, your company, give me the strength to tread on. If only I would simply allow my fingertips to graze yours.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:22 AM UTC
I was
no fool
and here
my favor
was one
that overcame
a voice
of salacious
mold and
might throttle
my goad
and too
berserk with
her bare
in this
fold with
Carroll Stream
that extreme
today in
Carol Stream
there was
the cold
went to
bed with
a sweater
just to
wake a
buddy in
Claremont weather
that a
whiplash tomorrow
made best
picture in
ole LA
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 12:12 PM UTC
I run from witches
On narrow bridges
Between frigid ridges
With avalanche glitches
When the weather switches
I’m swept into ditches
Of icy riches
A sorcerer finds me
And binds me
To my snowy grave
Where ice has paved
Over my eternal cave
Underneath frozen waves
A necromancer revives me
As the living dead thriving
On maliciously driving
The innocent to my tomb
Mother Earth’s icy womb
I grab my skeleton broom
And start to make room
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 4:53 PM UTC
Frigid fire and scorching cold
blue from such happiness -
one's youth found in the old,
clinging onto letting go, such paradoxes.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 8:43 PM UTC
Tapping scabs smolder my face; predictable
And prophecy, like owning a, “dead man’s hand,”
Parallel the pistol at your back.
It all began when the pen’s been dropped,
Somewhere untouchable; beyond claw,
Sooner the excuse as I’d long forgotten, “run.”
When drink’s not enough and, “escape’s,” the
Only to embrace oblivion, so it is and
So wrought, a solid right-hook.
Executed in pandemonium and
Scrambled eggs upstairs,
I scratch a different sort of stubborn
Come a morning in between graffiti,
An anxiety born an impatience for an already evening
And, “newborn,” as I look for the
Baby’s skin beneath battered lash;
But I’d killed that boy long ago.
It’s when I find the green in between cracks,
Concrete pervades and poisoned memories of mother,
Return; they’re scratched upon the stone,
Carved under cheek, knotted in lumber and heart.
I’ve hammered the point upon slab
And before and before and after;
Indenting the first letter to my name, remember me,
Whilst continuing to procure this numb
Nearing necropolis.
The fight’s last night, but the blister’s
Every day, every hour and every minute;
Eternity, as I trace my cheek with two fingers,
Once with a ring, and the other
A broken knuckle, swollen in a
Twenty-second attempt to never let go;
One more second or so and so,
Ticking, “21,” I fold, letting ropes conjure false hope
And only after the hands have grown frigid.
So much the longer after my heart had
And so much the better.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 9:52 PM UTC
Traversing edges,
gliding o’er sledges
undulating ridges,
crossing broken bridges:
One could sense-
the Zephyr’s nudge;
glacier’s gelid grudge-
Frigid frail feet, fail to budge,
the mirage of hope, forever will trudge
traces of existence, begin to smudge.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
when you told me how you broke
my mouth and my eyes were sewn
'cos
at first I just thought
you might be made of stone
so
when you told me that
you were stepping off your throne
oh
I thought we bound our ropes
until your safety cover was blown
well
I guess you just
didn’t want to be alone
still
I thought you might drop me
after your secret was shown
but
we kept on talking
late nights on the phone
and
**you made me repeat your name
until I forgot my own**
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
A frigid night--
the frosty air.
I shiver in the wake..
My fragile, numb fingers
attempt to touch my face.
I'm frozen....
The crisp, biting wind
gusts violently toward me..
I exhale a visible breath
and trudge onward
over the frozen lake.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
This wind keeps snapping at our feet
through shoes unravelling.
Gales are hungry.
Night's abandoned,
streets have emptied.
Still, we own them--just keep talking.
Winter's wailing.
**** the old days.
Clutching coats closed,
tread nostalgia
past these sidewalk intersections.
Claimed by rambling conversations,
often
we're only
rehashing
our worst mistakes
and
shivering
our way be-
-neath stoplights
lit by good memories.
I've got this notion tonight
that we'll find our way
back
into the warmth found behind
our locked front doorways.
Ways we've found to always hide
our faces from the cold outside
have been running dry all night.
So drink down the cold street light
and we'll make a blur of those green-white street signs.
This cold's still clawing at your face
through scarf unraveling.
Chapped lips smiling.
Nights like this have
kept on piling.
Winter owns us. Just keep walking.
Winter's crying,
**** the old days!"
Frostbit footsteps
slip nostalgia
past these frowning checkpoint questions.
Retouch same old observations.
Sometimes
we're only
retracing
the same missteps
but
frigid
friends like us
are melting
into old habits
I've got this notion tonight
that we'll take this route
for
one more familiar cold flight
from here to daybreak.
Say, "let fly those bomb bay doors!"
We've bombed these frozen streets before,
and I've got a couple more
so keep moving 'til we find our front doors.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
I found him in the most unlikely of people
In the coldest of nights
In the warmest of hearts
The softest of touches.
Out of the frigid wind was I pulled
I can breathe.
No rushing currents choking me
No biting cold cutting through me
Protected.
Safe.
But for how long?
Do not rush
Darling, savor what little I can offer
Not what little I have left, but what little may be allowed.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
I want to fix you
I want to watch your eyes light up
I want to know what your laugh sounds like
I want to see the corners of your eyes crinkle up when you smile
I want you to crack the worst jokes just to make people laugh
I want to hold you without you flinching
I want to touch you without you screaming
I want you to sleep without nightmares
I want you to feel comfortable in your own skin
I want to wipe away the marks
I want to heal the scars he left
I want to fix you
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC