The Frost Maid (a mid-winter tale)

 

Born perfectly formed one cold, cold night

her crystalline features sparkled in the early light

Her beauty stole my breath

my warm air dying in the cold that dawn

my warmth melting into the ice clad ground

 

My heat is gone

taken by the frozen one who stole my heart

I tried to give her my warmth

to no avail

Her heart was made of ice

 

She took my breath and my warmth

it made no difference to her, but oh so much to me

 

I grow cold

so, so cold

Lost to this frozen landscape

the crystals forming over me

I am cold now

cold and ice

no heat left in me

She stole my all

 

Perhaps one day the sun will rise

will start to thaw this earth

Perhaps one day the sun will rise

will melt her frozen heart

Perhaps one day the sun will rise

will melt her heart and soul

 Perhaps one day the sun will rise

 

But it will be too late for me

 

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Sometimes (a poem)

Sometimes the bravest thing I can do is to walk down the stairs.

You probably don’t realise that,

as you charge down behind me,

only to be slowed by this healthy-looking woman hugging the handrail as if her life depends on it.

“What was with her?” you might ask

as I reach the ground and hit my stride, taking off across the safe flat land.

You can’t see inside me

You don’t know what’s in my head

Six years ago it happened

A momentary lapse

A sudden change of life

Six years ago

I slipped on the stairs.

I bruised my butt

And I bruised my brain.

They call it post-concussion syndrome

Fancy words for what happens when your brain bounces inside your skull

Officially, I have fully recovered.

I am  healthy and normal

All my readings are fine

(as if I were ‘normal’ before)

When they assess your brain after a concussion there is no benchmark to who you were before… that was never tested. You’re ‘normal’ and ‘healthy’ if you fit the medically proven range…

(it doesn’t matter who you were before

you’ll never be that person again anyway)

Six years have passed, and I have apparently healed.

I function well.

You might never guess I’ve been severely concussed

(some scars can’t be seen)

Just

don’t ask me to ceilidh dance, or lie down flat on the floor, or spin around a lot

And

 (please)

don’t ask me to rush down the stairs.

PC66

Re-blog: Year 2: Day 36 – Salad Bar

I love this poem by Charlotte Cuevas – it is one of my favourite poems. It sticks in my brain with good humour and keeps me thinking…

Charlotte Cuevas

Friends
don’t invite friends
to a salad bar.

What kind of bar
is that?

After we’ve been sitting around
pouring our hearts out
about the unfair standards of clothing sizes
and the outrageous expense
of gym memberships
and society’s expectations
for what our bodies should look like
and putting flavors in our water bottles
to make ourselves drink more
and we’re trying to teach our kids
about loving themselves
no matter their size

it’s just exhausting.
And we deserve donuts,
I believe.

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Year 2: Day 63 – Last Christmas

Re-blogging this fab poem by Charlotte Cuevas

Charlotte Cuevas

Last Christmas was nothing to write home about.
(We didn’t send a camel with any urgent news
because there were no emergencies.)

We didn’t have family in from out of town-
good thing, because there’s never any room
at the inn.

I didn’t get a present last Christmas;
in fact, the taxes were raised and I lost
two extra sheep.

We had a tree but we used it to make a table,
we sang but it was for a funeral march,
we ate but it was the usual fish and bread,
and we prayed and waited, like every year,
for a Savior.

And this Christmas, we got one.

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Year 2: Day 51 – The Road To Almost

I really love this poem by Charlotte Cuevas – powerful imagery for a powerful message…

Charlotte Cuevas

The road to Almost is paved in silk,
smooth to a slide
straight into a city
where life is so very easy.

I don’t even know
how many lives
I could lead there.

I asked a wise man
how to get to Certain
and he said there was
no such place,
so I asked how to get
to Close Enough
and he said it’s right on
the border of Almost,
touching,
but nobody wants
to go there.

I sighed and said
I won’t go Anywhere
but he said I was
already there.

And I smiled and told him
I’d rather be Anywhere
than on the road
to Almost.

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Almost haiku

Sunshine through leaves

while the rain pours down.

Look! A rainbow!

The view that inspired my almost-haiku (haikant?!) Yes, it was raining when I took this...
The view that inspired my almost-haiku (hai-kant?!) Yes, it was raining when I took this… that’s what the little dots are.

Pondering the empty page

Pondering the empty page,

Wondering what to write,

Thoughts fly through my head

Too fast to capture.

Oh, to have wings to fly

Or feet fleet enough

To catch them…

Instead I sit

And dream.