"thaws" poems
To girls who dream of being fairy princesses: turn your
balconies into paradise greenhouses, and every
night sing each of the Thumbelinas
to sleep. Frost's flowers crowd beneath my fingers, the
young moon peaking in. I dare not invite you again -
your mind exploded into a nebula last time you saw
so many lights. My tiny Thumbelinas have gotten
married, with Thumbelinas of their won. I kiss
their frostbitten flowers awake. I promised. Blue
fingertips have become a norm, a childhood
reminder of a wish for blue blood. It thaws
outside. Wee Thumbelinas weep. The ferns
unfurl. My lullabies make plants awaken, not from the
beauty, but of dying loyalty.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
Though frost come down,
Night after night
What does it matter?
They melt in the morning sun.
Though the snow falls
Each passing year,
What does it matter?
With spring days it thaws.
Yet once let them settle
On a man’s head,
Fall and pile up-
Then the New Year
May come and go,
But never you’ll see them fade away.
5.4k
Connecting,
tribes on the cusp--
the lost family...
merging thought patterns
of old & new paradigms
into a geometric shipibo song
singing in moonlit sky,
smoke gray mauve clouds
are painted into the frozen lake background.
We paint
a new paradise--
together
at the table
on a sacred indigo candlelit map map
for people to set sail
on their journey through the seas of skies of their minds
guiding familiar souls
to speak their treasure light again.
We are the Indigo Pilgrims,
soul brothers reunited
after the frozen season thaws,
pushing on toward the place
where mind-flowers commence their bloom
as herb and sage slowly burns throughout the day
as the smoke dotes across the landscape
like dancing hieroglyphic clouds.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
I gazed into his eyes like beads of sweat
Blacker than the empty spacious depths
Around the little bridge-like tiny speck,
An ember on His hearth
We only think is worth
Its broken wharfs.
He said to me: "Son, don't fear empty bluffs.
They may be steep but they're not steep enough."
And judging by the ace tucked in his cuff,
I knew he would be true
And his tale would be true too
About the wharfs.
"Throughout the many vicious centuries
The motor of it always seems to freeze
Until the kindled flame does hit the breeze
And thaws its frostbit joints
And burns the hand that points
Out from the wharf."
He cleared his throat and then he said aloud:
"Is piety reaped from fertile ground?
Or by the planter's hand is it endowed?
The answer lies in strife
So mount the throne of life
Far from the wharf."
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
Moods are in synch once again
with this monsoon season
raindrops come with threads of pain,
maybe there's a good reason
why pain...rhymes with rain.
there's pen and paper
here...there...everywhere
for, when rain pours
is when my poetry flows
softly weeping its woes
like ice...that quietly thaws.
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sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 2020
Oct 6, 2021
Oct 6, 2021 at 10:58 AM UTC
Sitting here in this heat, thinking slow,
Your last night loving thaws my icy soul,
This silly snowman loves the feeling as,
My cold-cold heart is melting to you love.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
I rode the wings of night on rising air
That carried me from Africa's wild shore;
To fields of meadowsweet and maidenhair
To sing of heaven's dome and ocean's floor.
Spring greets my song with hawthorn flower and briar.
Rewards my voice with nectar-tinted sun;
The thrum of earth's renewal is my lyre
As thaws begin and waters speed to run.
I sing for memories of sultry days
For zebras racing over arid plains.
I sing of England's tepid Summer haze;
Slow-strolling shire horses with plaited manes.
From heaven's heights I sing, for life's divine,
The purest voice, the lightest heart is mine.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
NOTES:
Written on 22nd June 2003. I did some research about where the Willow Warbler goes on its "migration holidays" before writing this sonnet.
Sep 6, 2009
Sep 6, 2009 at 3:14 PM UTC
An indifferent ache swirls in the silence
throbbing like a dancing candle flame;
no one understands the heart of silence
moving the darkness with its ancient dance
Its voice is only felt but never heard
the way it whispers the reality it bears;
disrobing the nakedness of a fragile heart
exposing inherent truth deep in disguise
retouching the chaos passing of love laid bare
Unspoken emotions that nobody hears
float around a muted tongue benumbed by fear
doubt is a bitter taste that knows not love
searching for a labyrinth to begin to wend a better way
trying to feel the unfelt warmth of love in an endless cold
waiting on a frozen emptiness that never thaws
No one understands the haunting fear,
... surly it couldn't happen again ― and surly it will,
a heart stifled silent, silence doth loudly peal
poignant dreaded words:
***"It's not you ― it's me ,.......
I love you but I'm not in love with you"***
and like winter dreaming for the sun to reappear,
to come back again and dry the memory of fallen tears,
a hushed heart falls off the earth lost in ether shadows lay
mooning in the lonely silence within moonlit dapple
When you pull love too close ― it will push you away
some silence heals ― a dissonant silence cuts to the bone
Only the lonely feel a silent voice sigh
Only one hears a silenced heart die ...
harlon rivers ... March 2018
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
Baby dont cry.
Cause I'll be ****** if this is goodbye.
Lift your head, hold it high.
Because girl.
Ill always be here, here by your side.
Dry your tears.
Look my way.
Hold my memory everyday.
Let my smile be your embrace.
Let my hands erase your pain
Feel my warmth,
Hear my song.
Girl, you know...
You are not alone
I will hold you tight,
As this snow falls.
I will warm your body
As this winter thaws.
Dont cry,
Baby...
Dry those eyes.
I'll hold you close, every night
If days grow dark.
And you cant go on.i
Let my presence,
Keep you strong.
You will never...
Never, be alone.
I will never...
Never, let you fall.
Baby, dont cry.
Let the color change in your eyes.
In the night ill be your light
If you're scared ill hold you tight.
A tear wont fall, without a fight.
So baby dont cry...
If you're down, i'll lift you high.
Because baby, you're my angel...
And you deserve to fly.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
I am not spring
frost thaws eternally
from shallow-rooted fronds
tenuous and unbound
susceptible to wind's constant round
battering the living flat to ground
sodden, smell of decay all around
time is fleeing
these shoulder seasons
with all their restless reasons
yet to unfold in you
sun-soaked glade
I need your rays
to germinate
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
Squall borne aloft, wildly brewing;
Erudite words or malarkey
Bustling and rustling and howling;
This poor mooncalf's soliloquy
Snow came to lay on rolling hills
Extinguished surviving embers
Absent warmth to counter the chills
This lone, tortured soul remembers
Spring arrived, flowers grow in bloom
Butterflies morphed to razor blades
Star! Save me from impending doom!
As this replete ice thaws and fades
Summer warms trees and birds above
Kiss from the breeze of gentle sea
My lady's heart billowed with love;
Much love to give, but naught for me
Hope, a sweet promise and a sham
Such a cruel drug, a poison
Sure to put a man in bedlam
I stand, steady as a bison
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 7:10 AM UTC
It used to be that it was simple.
Something fun
or something not fun at all.
It was all skirts sweeping across the kitchen floor
and warm eyes.
Blue or brown
it didn’t matter.
But sometimes it was different
it was sad and cold
and sometimes it was a cold blue.
Freezing and instant
but gone with the cracked door.
This wasn’t always to be the case.
Something new always comes
with the candles on cakes.
With the taste of candy corn,
sweet but false.
Change leaves an aftertaste of honey,
and something counterfeit.
Memory comes and goes,
time passes like the sun.
It soaks through my skin
and left me
warm. But cooling
with a lingering hug from an old friend.
There’s something about the feel of the sun
on a snow day.
The warmth thaws the ice,
the shudder of cold finally leaving
bathed in a pure joy.
Wisdom an old soul could only borrow.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 4:38 PM UTC
Now that the winter’s gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful Spring.
The valleys, hills, and woods in rich array
Welcome the coming of the long’d-for May.
Now all things smile, only my love doth lour;
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
To melt that marble ice, which still doth hold
Her heart congeal’d, and makes her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside, but in the cooler shade
Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep
Under a sycamore, and all things keep
Time with the season; only she doth carry
June in her eyes, in her heart January.
2.4k
Someday will be cold, dead and stiff as my joints dry and stick.
Underground is nowhere to rest, burning up leaves your bones a mess.
Ocean current, out to sea, That is just not me.
Preserved in ***** for all to see? Maybe you but not for thee.
John Wayne is frozen for years to come,when he thaws, his life still done. Decaying for years in all these ways, we all forget we have our day.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 12:26 AM UTC
Step one,
choose your topic.
Likely yourself.
Because what greater
subject could there be?
None
surely.
Step two,
choose an image.
Find something
that can serve
as a metaphor
for you.
Find the rain forest
for instance.
Or perhaps a pond
frozen over in winter.
Yes,
these should serve nicely.
Step three,
place yourself
somewhere in the midst of these things.
Let you be
the trunks of the trees
supporting the lush, green canopy.
You, poor, tired,
supporting the thick boughs
that are the real life
meters
and
meters
and
meters
above you.
Or is your face
the ice of the pond.
All that people ever notice
is how much you can take
before you break.
But there is so much more
just beneath the surface.
So much
teeming with life.
No one knows
how deep you go.
No one will know
until the ice thaws
(which is unlikely to happen anytime soon.
but the metaphor was never meant to extend that far.)
Step four,
write yourself in
to the piece
in such a way that no one else
will be able to identify you.
(Unless they're **** cunning.)
Perhaps disguise your identity
within the purpose of the piece
or the flowing imagery
seeping through the spacious cracks
in your technique.
Riddle the work
with subtle ins and outs
and minute complexities
that vex the reader
away from your intentions.
Nicely done.
Step five,
ruminate.
contemplate
your reflection
as it appears
in your monitor.
Not the image of your face
bouncing off the glass
but the snapshot
of your thoughts
so opaquely back-lit.
Remind yourself
that this is for you
and no one else.
Proofread.
This is just for you
and no one else.
Revise.
This is just for you
and no one else.
Justify
this is just for you.
Step six,
post to a public forum.
Check back in an hour.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 4:14 PM UTC
~
frost and snow,
hail and ice...
expressions of winter's
tantalizing sights;
displays that mesmerize
with sparkling magic,
and inexplicably
its sullen moods,
its stormy, icy grip.
like a garden’s blooms
remind us of our brevity,
the cruelty of this life;
but also whispers softly
of graces found within
life's wintery courtship,
a beauty easily overlooked
or altogether missed,
awaiting springtime thaws
while tightly held within
winter’s frosty mix.
for it is here
that winter whispers
e’er so quietly,
*”i’m less like death
than you imagined,
watch closely as
i draw my knife;
and with razor edge unfurl
the frosty breath i breathe
o’er flower’s sleepy seed,
firm within my grasp
i freeze her fast asleep,
her beauty held within my arms
until the sun, my brother
can reach her with his warmth,
to stir her from
her restful slumber,
and awaken her
to spring to life.”*
~
***postscript. **
you know how it goes, you read a poem that absolutely speaks to you, so much so that it stirs a moment of creative writing out of which flows a series of lines; words for which you know you really cannot claim true authorship. this then is the inspired result of reading my friend Harlon Rivers' “that which often whispers”. i invite you to read it here -
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1016263/that-which-often-whispers/
"winter whispers"...
intended to speak of
the paradoxical,
the irony of winter,
just one of nature’s many mirrors...
of life.*
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
i read like a thermostat
i feel cold shrill of eyes
hot blisters of souls
i’ve seen aplenty
fully literate to the hunger
inside denim of men
with twenty tongues
pulling their weight
like untrained dogs
they lick my face to a swell
heating and cooling
my metals expand
silvers contracting
but I can very much tell
who is ready
who is not
some do
some talk
if you'd like
to open me wide like a mouth,
be mean with your smile
to get my thaws down to feet,
**** fire to the wind
with the door
wide open
let
it
all
hang
i’m very keen on intense
i salute a heavy gut
and the confidence of a mutt
an appetite
and if I’m truly your win,
jackhammer
the thermostat
out of the wall
get the wires all bent
and with violence
cement
the
type
of
love
that
knocks
me
dead
completely illiterate
i don’t want to think
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 12:23 PM UTC
As candy thaws neath my tongue
My eyes take dilation.
I fall into an inception
as I walk into a place
where my tender age went...
Then,
I saw sevenths of an illusion
Acidic iridescence
Suffused in a type of dimension
I was present.
Bound to life's existence...
Each and every Earth-bound object
was formed
by masked bodies
that cradled each other.
Lifelessly connected to one another.
Expressing the same dainty love
we are mad for...
Jade orbs
were absorbed
by a topiary lord.
Beating.
Circulating.
Captivating.
Caught me devoted in all sorts of emotions.
Repetition. Repetition.
Sight distortion.
Colors stacked on colors.
I saw modulations.
But they spoke to me in motions.
I felt as if I was breathing this all before.
And that I was anticipating on something that I could not get myself to ignore.
Some moral.
That I've been awakened for...
I was reverted back into a timeless age,
where matters were forgave
and where passions were seemliness.
and because of awareness
you become unable to love like a child
when you abandon your innocence.
So here's the message.
"Seven is perfection."
The eye to see life.
Making a connection.
Breathing Earth's affection.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
I will pack up all my dresses
put them in brown boxes.
I will draw all the rough curtains
and lock all of the doors.
I will give away all my books
and wrap up all my china.
I will leave, I will leave, I will leave.
You will call for three long days
and wonder where I am.
You will ask my best friend Mary
about the location to which I've gone.
You will remember the way I smiled
and then realise what I've done.
I will leave, I will leave, I will leave.
The dust is starting to settle
like the frozen river in winter.
Oh the flowers are starting to bloom
It's been a year now, It's been a year.
Sometimes memories come calling
then blow away like dandelions.
I need you, I need you, I need you.
You and I used to get so drunk
and sing until we fell.
Then one night you looked at me
and kissed me 'till the light.
Now the Autumn leaves fall softly
as the hurt comes back in stages.
Why'd I leave, why'd I leave, why'd I leave.
The ice only lasts so long
before you remember nothing's left.
Whilst the frost slowly thaws
cracking fragments of my heart.
And if one day I return
I hope to hear your voice.
Oh I hope, oh I hope, oh I hope ..
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 2:39 AM UTC
when winter thaws
and our delicate red noses
turn to gold
Again.
After years of solace
might you entreat a glance
from bewildered eyes
that sing songs of stolen years
and seasons past
and unrealized summers
ripe with ifs and
Suns,
and overgrown fields
to shield us from the world
and shiver in the wandering breeze
with that hands brush upon your
cheeks and long, summer arms
to whisk your hair about
in strained fits
to hearken lovers lips;
an entire tryst
In the ascendency of summer...
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
We stand unrobed where daylight splits the air,
Her thighs a bramble, mine are smooth and spare.
The mirror's glare reveals what we both share:
One breast a plum, its twin a rounder pear.
Time’s cursive scrawls on skin we’ve learned to bare—
Her stretchmarks ripple, tides, my palms embrace.
No clues hide the faint silver in her hair—
My thumb traces the laugh-lines on her face.
Past phantoms fade—two clocks now beat as one.
Her skin, once chilled, now thaws beneath my sighs;
My stony silence ripens into sun;
Time-frozen hearts melt in each other's eyes.
Your mouth—a fig split ripe—now drinks my moan:
We fuse to one fierce sun, no dusk, no dawn.
Feb 8, 2025
Feb 8, 2025 at 5:19 PM UTC
As the sun wakes in the east
and rests in the west;
As autumn leaves float on the breeze
and become still with the chill earth;
As snow coats the jaded pasture
and thaws under the dawn;
As mundane rain drops
and robins splash in their bath;
As father’s zinnias come alive
and buzzing flocks thrive in their nectar;
As the sun wakes in the east
and rests in the west,
I love you.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC