You are so cold
A frostbitten soul
Me, frantic incandescent
Trying to warm us both
On embers of visions
And flames of memories
You are beyond my heat
Frigid, rigid, crystallized
This expedition is a failure
I’m no match for the elements
Erebus’ dreams flicker out
Crushed in your icy, uncaring grip
Sinking to crystalline depths
Preserved in icy midnight
A frozen spark of hope lost
In the Arctic of your soul
28 October 2015
Where do these rules of communication come from?
I am hamstrung by the fear of being perceived as “desperate”
Odd that. There is no lack of men or women I can talk too
It’s just that there is constant disquiet in my brain
The face it wears is yours and the eyes are so sad
Fey thoughts? This is me and so perhaps
If I reach out to you unbidden am I desperate?
Intuition says it’s the right thing to do
Why do I care about how it’s perceived?
Meanwhile, convention keeps me second guessing
While perception shackles my pen
9 February 2014
I know you don’t read here and yet I feel compelled to try to reach you…
Is this all there is?
You waited all these years to speak
Don’t hide now
Call it for a misstep. You know you’re forgiven
Don’t let foolish pride stay your hand
Life doesn’t grant second chances very often
Don’t waste the gift
4 February 2014
January. Week two of below -20°C. So. Damn. Cold…
Right now there’s only one place that I want to be
In your tumbled bed at Queen’s University
With warm September sun slanting over our bodies
And the weight of you falling asleep inside of me
29 January 2014
The room was cold, god knows the last time they’d been able to pay the heating bill.
Winter had claimed Toronto for her own while they slept.
He had woken first, cold because she had stolen the better part of the one thin blanket on their bed.
When he wrapped himself round her to share it, the first slivers of dawn slanted through the frost glazed window.
Brilliant, cold and beautiful, creating Chantilly lace patterns across the bare floor of their room.
His artist’s heart ached with the beauty of it, this exquisite gift from December and he felt hope stir again.
It had been absent for a very long while…
He looked down at her, gently brushed the errant curls out of her eyes, whispered her name.
When she opened her eyes, a sleepy reproof on her lips; he touched a finger to them and gently turned her face to the curtainless window.
She stared for a moment and then swung her legs over the side of the bed, excited as a child, exclaiming “Oh! So beautiful!”
“Yes, beautiful”, he thought as he looked at her silhouetted against the light, and he stood, grabbing the blanket from the bed.
Walking up behind her, he wrapped the blanket round the two of them, holding her tight as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder.
They had been both cold and hungry for the last two nights. But held by each other in the sun, everything was beautiful and all was endless possibilities.
Holding tight to his arm circling her waist, she reached to trace a heart in the frost on the window.
He in turn, ran his fingers down her arm, and took her hand in his. Bringing it to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips.
The touch of his mouth caused shivers that had nothing to do with the cold…
Then he reached their hands together to the glass and wrote their initials inside the heart. “P & K” 4VR.
And she believed him…
Previously published in Every Picture Tells A Story by Karin Bole Tupper… sometimes winter isn’t all bad…
There are moments when winter looks so warm and perfect and right
I forget the cold, the aching, the bitter wind
I really look at the beauty around me
Seeing that there is a gift to be received from this the most barren of the seasons
It’s almost as though Demeter has gently exhaled upon the twigs and trees and shrubs
And that her breath is a frosty white blanket, gently tucking the earth in and saying:
Sleep well my most treasured possessions. Sleep and awake with my precious Persephone
Sleep now and wake with renewed beauty and vigour to gladden mankind’s heart
Sleep until she returns to warm my heart again…
© KeiB 19 December 2011
The furnace ticks down waning warmth
Keeping rhythm with my hibernating heartbeat
Wind and rain have taken most of the leaves already
Bare branches look like skeleton fingers against the sky
A sure sign that winter is coming
I was born in the crown jewel of Winter’s dwelling places
And she’s become such a bitch these last few years
Makes my bones ache and feel brittle from ice acrobatics
Everything will be cold, brown and grey. We’ll long for her
Until she deigns to cover it with snow. Cold beauty, it’s just a ruse
It’ll be pretty for a while and then she’ll get temperamental
Exquisite as all stories of The Snow Queen
All icy and stormy and making it hard to breathe
Through lungs that feel crystallized on the intake
As miserable as a jealous ex-girlfriend, snarky and sneaky
Clingy and showing up when you least expect her; like in April
Frigidly angry that you’ve fallen in love with Spring…
22 October 2011