"icicle" poems
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Every year to me, now and then
Families and hollies filled with merriment
Only steps away of the outside snow
Sprawling emotions underneath the mistletoe
Glisten, the pavement covered in hue
Journey of a thousand crystals falling anew
The icicle dew at the gutter lines in row
Constellation tales upon the sky-light glow
Enchant pines adored by ornaments
Treasured memories flew like a firmament
Wreaths to every door, signs of triumph & joy
Bringing glad tidings from God's little boy
Trains in and out of the winter-night
Gifts and glory offered with endless blithe
Hymns from a choir trailing every post
Greetings to an old friend even to the unknown
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
I new something was wrong
Everything seemed so real
So unconditional
Almost too good to be true
I was obsessively inlove
You new it, you took advantage of my summer hot love
Your Hypnotizing winter froze my summer time breeze.
My heart in a center, your icicle stabbed right through it several times freezing my summer bleeding heart almost falling apart but still kept together frozen with open wounds
You were so cold my heart felt it even in the deepest vain that was once alive . I felt it throb in pain and you felt no sympathetic emotion.
I was still frozen after a couple of years you won't let me unfreeze . I started to find comfort in the pain and realized that you didn't want to let me go. I loved you . Gave in the last bit of my soul for you.
You didn't care...
You loved plenty...
Broke hearts...
I was just another..
Another heart you won't let mend
But then I realized your the only thing holding me together
Until you fall for someone else I'll be your submissive
And after I'll live in the snow flakes of your winter storm waiting for the next new flake to finish the last bit of my heart.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
~
Dreaming past snow drifts
Framing the distance
Starlight reflections
Closer than tomorrow
Touching my skin
~
Through soft woolen mittens
Ski jacket hugs, turtleneck wishes
Snow angel dreams and icicle kisses
Slipping my heart inside of your pocket
Where it is warm, safe and secure
~
Calling in echoes
Across the white valley
Listen to the wind
Feel the wintry whispers
Touching your skin
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
There was once a young woman who,
possessing the disposition of ice,
icy cold and somewhat frigid
went walking in the snow
slipped on the black ice
and down she did go
tried to get up but
it was too slick
and so, she
lay there
frozen,
alone
like
an
I
C
E
C
I
C
L
E
but
then
a nice
man with
warm hands
reached down
and lifted her up
he held her close and
warmed her heart, melting
her in his strong arms. She'd like
to think that he was her guardian angel
and he thought she was his own snow angel.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
she pours me a glass of wine
and with overgentle hand caresses my cheek
tells me a tale from her long ago
in a strange voice like smoke
tells me me of a love that chimed like the bells of spring
rang straight and true
like carefully crafted glass slippers on the night dancer
like all the comfortable things that she keeps
in the closet of her heart
pulling out the decorations in dusty celebration
of the summer night years past
with the photographs sad with their smiles
that true love of her girlhood
standing in the dusk holding his hand
and the kiss like a king and his blushing princess bride
she was so nervous she left her shoes on the lake shore
and when he was gone to the distant winter gate
she lingered by the icicle window tracing with
a finger hearts with his name
she laughs with a ghost of a tear
over how silly she had been
her first kiss hadn't been with such fanfares
and flowing silken robes
but with some handsome lad
who is now lost to the vastness of years
but she still has the picture of her in that dress
standing on the lake shore with shoes in hand
while the carnival spun in the background like a drunken man
whos song has given way to his lament
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Standing still
Breath uneven
Gaze slipping down the snowy tracks
I watch
exasperated as you stutter
reasons
You can't
like the way
the slush clings
to my heart
unwilling to stop
Skiing,
I glance around at the beautiful
You
Breath uneven
You're laughing
Over me
The altitude,
And I can't think of anything else
Clouds gathering
The future
And I'm confused
As the rain melts down me
Breath uneven
My body
One great icicle
You see
Breath uneven
I'm crying
Snow dances
Weaving frozen tears
Together
Breath uneven
Blizzard
We can't find
The way back
to where
We began
But there's no forgetting
the journey
Here
I'm lost but found
Breath uneven
As your eyes
Tell me
Everything.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Though the faraway look combs through the glances, the heads lowering and longing
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
The icicle street of perturbing yellow parallel lines and molasses traffic that seems to rake the people across pavement into curvatures of avoidance keep me running.
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
I repeat it, a gesturing phrase, recurring, as I watch the transcendent glow, a denouement to a one-sentence story.
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Could have: (What will save the moment in untickable preservation?)
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
What could be worse
Than a garden
Full of gnomes and trolls?
Is it:
Lawn jockeys and yardells;
Chuck adjusting his carb every Sunday afternoon;
Bathtub ****** Marys beseaching us to love;
Metal flowers on outside garage walls;
Fish ponds with gills in the filter;
Red gravel flowerbeds with little white fences;
Cosmetic door knockers;
Swimming pools without diving boards;
Mirrors on fences;
Burning ******* in fire pits;
Backyard landfills;
Icicle lights;
Weedy neighbours and an east wind;
The screech of tires;
The thump of metal;
The sound of screaming;
The absence?
Yeah. Plenty could be worse.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
A visitor—
icicle fingers
tapping on my windows' pain—
white blanket in tow
Hurting enough, I paid him no mind
so he kept tap, tap, tapping
‘til cobweb-like cracks appeared:
a final, gentle tap
shatters my windows
My rainbow world
now smothered, pallid,
forced into boredom and slumber,
sunlight chased away
and I am never the same again…
Soul gets plunged deep in the cold
blinded by whiteness, numbed with simplicity
there is an eerie stillness,
almost as if no one dared to breathe,
even the barren trees refused to quiver
brittle dendrites seem to claw the sky
futile though, for they are frozen,
grasping at nothingness,
clouds stubborn and stoic,
brooding in silent grayness
…and then from within, a filigreed whisper escapes
palpable and brave~
it weaves its way through the branches,
gathering strength wherever it went
it beckons to the sky, which in turn
gives in and celebrates ~
letting dainty confetti fall
white, yet amazingly graceful
each flake falls softly on the ground—
a fashionable brocade
trees softly sway now,
and dance to a winter song
the sky weeps with happiness
for seeing a glimpse of life—
diamond teardrops
they catch a bit of evasive sunlight,
of which I thought I’ve lost
and give birth to miniature rainbows…
all this time, Sunlight was there
I just
never knew
how to
catch
it.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 9:37 AM UTC
**Anything is possible...
Even the impossible
Note that I said ‘the impossible’
And not ‘the seemingly impossible’...
This reality to me has always seemed plausible
Even when I was cold and hard-hearted, when inside my chest there was an icicle
This kind of faith kept me balanced
Like riding a bicycle
Through sanity and mental imbalance
Through all those self-deceptive lies we call…
‘Necessary evils’
When separating the good grain from the bad, do we ever make an exception and say to ourselves… “It isn't fit for consumption, but I’ll keep this grain… for it has but one necessary weevil…”?
If it isn't good for me, it simply isn't good
And I have to distance myself from it
And it is possible for I say it is
It may have seemed impossible previously
For that was how I saw it as
Not anymore
I will ease over this hurdle
And look forward to many more
Yes, look forward to them
For there are no limits anymore.**
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
The plane is emotion.
The form is a gentle rider,
she pushes bullets off cliffs, she hugs the stars.
Catches the moon eyeing her with one
great big hand wrapped on its ****
spins the bell of her dress
round and round.
Sifted from the Earth, man moody
cleft in heaps of his entrails,
no progress has been made.
My metal mother pulls hula hoops for zulu,
she rips down the shelves and pulls
Bobby Dylan from the wall. She says,
"grrrplleeopzhrka." And the smoke gets into
my eyes and burns my nostrils too.
In the great wind screen, footprints of man,
Native American blood weeps on my bright
Summer burning, no regency cleared. The
outlook denied. It sits stagnant, maddening
with its blockhead on sideways. Heavy, old
mutter hubbard wilting gold in her stare.
Mess comes. She spoils, her skin is loud
and anointed, her fecund white placard
is thinner than air. People look at each other,
a goblin, two trollops, the green woolen winter-wear
of a soldier in despair. Only a putrid noon, escaping,
cuts the flesh from the garden. Cuts out all the weakness,
the hope, the love, every thing owned, every one cleared.
The skin trap and oyster flap. The rich mixture of voices,
nothing holds common that bond, that few could look upon,
that youth could-
none of the old things work anymore.
Just a wicked boredom trickling in blood down her legs, just
the lust trickling down her legs, dear mommy, I obey.
And when the summer months set in mahogany, and the icicle
feat swallows us up, dear-
death
Winter
lips
moths buzzing
mouths
fuzzz
your sweet bomb
bon bon
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
A false friend
Such a contradiction
Either false
Or friend
Choose wisely
If friend is your choice
You may have my life
I would lay it down for you
But if you choose false
Never will we recover
No matter if you change your mind
Its over
I'm not so harsh
I simply refuse
To take you back
I won't be used
Such a fragile melty thing
An icicle
Holding the ability
To stab you in the heart
Or dissolve
Nourishing delicate new life
Be cold
Keep to yourself
You won't melt
Just stay eternally the same
As for me
I will melt gladly
If another needs me
How could I deny them?
Feast on winter
Frozen wind
I'm waiting for spring
Warm breezes dance on my skin
Inside the icicle you will forever stay
While I embrace renewal
It's new to me
But change always is
Have you ever tried it?
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 1:13 PM UTC
a polar vortex
swirls eastward
on Siberian Tiger paws
bounding over
Appalachian Highlands
gobbling geography
gelling Great Lakes
spawning Erie blizzards
sculpting Wabash ice floes
clogging commerce all
along the Ohio River Valley
this voracious
juggernaut’s wide maw
bears icicle teeth
laughing as it swallows
Pittsburgh, Little Philly,
and a Big Apple, before
gorging itself on
generous portions
ladled into
simmering crocks
of steaming
Boston Baked Beans
growling
blue arctic
air blasts roar
bursts pipes
savages the heat
of blasting furnaces,
bubbling boilers, hot
belly stoves frantically
drinking oil, flaming gas
burning wood and
burping soot
the blistering
jet stream claws
screech a slashing
stratospheric hum
as Frigidaire blasts
swallows breath
brittles limbs
chafes cheeks
gnaws earlobes
crystallizes tears
nibbles nostrils
cubes snot
numbs toes
bites digits
diving sub zero
gradient subdues
batteries to
deaden states
delays buses
derails trains
cuts power
constricts veins
preys on
vagabonds
and animals
get the homeless
off the street!
bring the animals in
check on your
elderly neighbors
don’t get caught outside
and shut the **** door!
do you own stock
in the Public Service?
beware the polar vortex
and next months heating bill
Sonny Boy Williamson
& Otis Spann
Nine Below Zero
Oakland
1/6/14
jbm
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
Framed so poetically, there it stays
Never steps out of its flimsy boundary line but
it takes in everything with him
Inside a a static sea frame, there
roam all the wild guesses you
took:
all blue
all trapped, as erratic and diminishing as it was named.
Was you were to throw that time when
you tried to take to the sea
all into it?
There is no need to make me open my eyes to see something as obvious as this for a even a blind man can see it so crystal clear
in his pitch black vision
I'm closing my eyes and hope it stops
but
***I remember waking up
somewhere in midnight term
drowning in salty seas
and making bitter coffee to
recede the former taste.
I found your diary on the sea
shore with all of the demerara
sugar sand
disconnecting wires in my mind
with overflowing water in the
bathtub
and getting electrocuted.
Alarms when off buzzing with
tick tocks
I found myself with
a pacemaker also
your dying digital clock you had
since forever, displaying
blurs of phobia***
Am I wrong to be trying
to breath underwater
Would it be right to despise
the blue sea that should soothes us
that turned grey for all our
fears we threw in without hesitate
I put all of my fears into this sea,
as a glitched version of your
deceiving eye hue,
demerara sugar on the edge of
your lips lingering in my coffee
chronomentrophobia oh thalassophobia,
yet I was to choose between icy cold ocean air and
falling into clocks' icicle-like hands.
This
is much of an error as it is
a tsunami washing us with a tide of heartache like
over sugared coffee with still bitter taste that melted into
my inner cheeks when I had ulcers
and
you wearing wristwatch while holding my hands.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
Wild winds pushed my hair back
I had no compass to keep me on track
The winter's cold has swallowed my legs
Through the wastes of snow;
World, may I be your scuffled window.
Dry air feeds my lungs.
Ice has taken over where I left my guns
Traveling night and day;
Through the dreams and throughout my soul
The road's path began with a hole.
There's no way to look back
Any distraction will throw you off track
Through the icy scapes of the heart;
I made this path on my own,
To turn it into frozen stone.
Fire.
Eyes.
Feeling. gone.
Freezing, but warm to the touch.
I thought I had pulled my heart through too much.
Now frozen in my own path.
Icicle beard man I am.
Frozen in place, my legs will not budge.
I went too far from the fire didn't I?
And now I know, I'll never make it back alive.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 10:29 PM UTC
icy shards are left in
my heart: once
it was filled with the
soft radiance of something
special;
you: an icicle piercing
on my heart insistently
until you yanked it
With your own words. it was to be
a heap of pieces of abrasions
littering at my feet; yet it melted
into a cooling puddle of water
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC
tired because of the things he does,
always remembering where i was.
these fickle things nostalgia brings,
icicle fingers touching ribs—stings.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
Icicle heart
I can't tell if it's cold outside
Or
I'm froze inside.
Icicle heart,
melts to raise the sea levels,
Then we drown in tears,
defeated by fears,
we see Devils,
The water is clear,
but crimson cold.
Your
cool calm and collected,
so level headed,
After all this years,
It's the apathy you feel
that makes fools of us.
Now there's swimming pools of regrets,
when
Icicles melt.
A cologne of shame,
pungent in the air,
carried by breath,
to pollenate the common class,
this
Icicle heart,
can never last
at least without
changing state
as
the landscape moves like a bad mood,
but the worst has passed,
and we backtrack.
Scrap that,
Take me back to the start,
Dinosaurs,
reptilian nature,
evolutions mistake,
Are you down for me and
My icicle heart,
melts into the stream,
and down the river it seems
an estuary divides us,
as we reach the sea,
impeach beliefs,
and the buoyant
keeps
my
icicle heart,
afloat,
I hope you feel me.
and
however it may seem,
you were nothing less
than a dream,
nothing more than a
drop in the ocean to me,
and
my
cold cold icicle heart.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
I've never had a fistful of love,
because my fist is too full of dirt
from digging graves.
And the greatest fist I've ever known
is the one leaving bruises all over my insides.
But that fist has graduated
and been granted tools to be used as weapons.
And my insides which were once diamonds,
are now nothing but sawdust.
And I can feel the knife.
I can always feel the knife.
And stab me just for kicks
because it tickles my fickle chest
and makes me feel like I'm living in a French city
with a quick and fickle tramway system
that can take me anywhere I want to be.
But instead I'm always going to a town
a mere hour away
and sitting in traffic
in a stuffed automobile,
wishing I was where the trains are.
Because the trains that have always sang me lullabies
whisper melodies to me all the time now,
through smoke and haze and swirling lights.
I can feel the knife.
I can always feel the knife.
Call me Miss November
because I'm the first snowfall after the best time of year,
and I cut the world with my icicle sword of a soul.
Can you feel the sword?
I hope you can always feel the sword.
And I will leave and the world will be warm and happy,
and upon my returnal,
I'll give you beautiful sweater weather
and stab you with my icicle sword when you least expect it.
I can feel the knife.
You can feel the sword.
It tickles.
Me and Miss June sing a sister song,
making harmonies with our weaponry.
My icicle sword, her scalding torch.
Just call me Miss Emmy Lou November.
I'll sing a duet with you and depart for almost forever,
and leave with my sister, Miss June.
Wake up.
It's November.
I'm here.
Wake up.
I won't be here for long.
I was born red all over.
Never knowing if I'm meant for love or anger.
But angry leaves fall in November,
getting their revenge.
But nobody listens to anger
when it's falling to the ground so gracefully.
So come to my November house jam
and we'll all be angry and loving
and cold and happy and dreading
the latter end of my company,
and I'll be wishing sister June was with me.
I'm a blackhearted lover.
I'm a blackhearted grave digger.
I'm a blackhearted skinny lover
with skinny arms that'll never be able
to cover anyone from my frigid aura.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
Your words are warm
but there's a sense
of coldness, clearness
between us.
We're frozen shut;
both world-weary
holding each other's
icicle hands
unable to thaw
but freeze together
a blanket of frost
between us.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
Dreaming during the witching hour’s like
Being under the pink with an icicle
And I don’t wanna go to hell on a technicality
So I dream under the sun
I dream ultraviolet
But then to the human race, I seem to lose the keys
And the rabbits always lead me to gardens of lust
And they’re kidnapping angels on capitol hill
Thought me and the universe had an agreement
But still I’m building spaceships the size of a pill
If you let out your monkey, a butterfly gets framed
Where goes all those who have lost their graces
This tattoo of you is a curse-
a Borneo from the bottom of a bottle
And dreaming during the witching hour’s like
Being under the pink with an icicle
And I don’t wanna go to hell on a technicality
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 1:12 PM UTC