The Poem
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Icicles as Art, and Other
Initimate Insights into a Inland Winter " ~ Spokane 2010 #1 I
look at the natural sculpture created
by Nature at her leisure and I am seized
with awe as I was by the cold as I stepped out of the warmth of my apartment for the chill area embracing my City, my State, my state of mind, my Nation. If
Spring is capricious with her warmth so
too is Winter with her gifts of snow; a
solitude as illusive as moods, Mending
souls and healing hearts by silencing
the clamour of growth, illustrating the
transition between random, demanding movement for the slow drip of winter down a solid sphere. Moment by moment, drip by drip,
and I am seized with cold and awe. ♥ . #2 Slender, long, cylindrical, is strength measured by degrees of cold! The solitary sentinel
who waits where it was formed and formed
by where it waits as the sun peaks. Angling its generosity toward warmer climes as if enamoured of the one thing i's embrace would only destroy by close proximity. The difference in shape and mass size and nature in delicate balance with the others ♥ . #3 Icy spindle's from a seldom used pipe, shadow trapped and held under an eave. Morning's glow caught within a glistening trap; one of the few things which allows us to see what we left behind on previous days that we may touch, even as they touch us: sparkling diamonds living in the open rather than hidden in the ground, sans shaper or sculptor save for the hand of GOD. Tiny
snowflakes, frozen water, condensed into crystal daggers, grinning dragon's teeth unable to keep the cold at bay that gives life and breadth to icy dreams; sometimes closing the gap between
water that is shed from the roof and
the ground too cold to absorb it stacked
to the thickness of a working man's thigh as
they hang like thick wasted jewels belonging
only to the season that belongs only to them. ♥ . 4. The
wind's chill breath circles and presses close on all sides leaving stalagmites of frozen cold like a spoon in a pot testing the temperature with disposable rods of ice hung in convenient array along the sides of buildings where the sun doesn't shine. As
the chill winds give birth to slender hopes allowing
free passage of cold air up and around leaning
stalactites of frozen cold clinging to the
invisivable looms of fog. ♥ . 5 Scarves
and mittens and caps adorn, red noses,
flushed cheeks and dry eyes, the season
of lights dimly remembered by the young plastic
markers of the season's decay hung from
galvanized nails from year to year while
the real things gathers its source from
the cold and the wet of the season renewed
and expanded. ♥ . 6 Shaped without hands, cylindrical joyously. selflessly yielding itself drip by drip, as if thought by thought, released by day, recaptured at night. lengthening, swelling, immutable. the gallant possession of every cold winter's day. ♥ . 7. Strike it, does it not move? Does it care? Shatter it and see if the fragments do not cling -to one another or claim the place they fall with the same intensity that allowed them to challenge the brittle sun. ♥ . 8. Moisture,
locked, locking hands, bound sharing a
singular sphere which sheds any new input;
frozen in time and place. . Moisture, sealed, breath to breath, fixed locked into an embrace of molecules, transparent, immutable, crystalline. Transporting the orderly into extraordinary beauty sweeping the mind upwards on droplets of cold air and perception. . Moisture, exhaled, condensed,
globular swirling endlessly in place within the transparent spheres hung down suspended between heaven and earth until it gently arrives through space. ♥ . 9. Sometimes closing the gap between water shed and the water shed from the roof and the ground too cold to absorb it stacked
to the thickness of a working man's thighs they hang like thick wasted jewels belonging to the season that belongs only to them. ♥ . 10 I lack the patience I once knew when
printed Christmas Cards seemed to seize
and embrace the poetry of the season when
oddly prayed horses floated over ground
disguised by white in eternal levitation
without need to strive. Too painfully,
painfully real until- I came to live within
the four seasons of green and grays and
shades of whites; gray skies, black clouds,
exhaled breath frozen against the outside
window pane as well as inside as I shiver
within remembering Christmas in California. ♥ . 11. As I walk across sidewalks now defined by snow and footprints where strangers have walked I find my spirit struggling against
the restraint required to stay on my feet. Old bones don't bounce!. As I walk before the store fronts with the winter reflections embedded in gray glares and cast shadows I
am relieved that I am finally able to
make a dream come true- no matter the
inconvenience- Old bones don't bounce! . I wrap myself in the odd silence that occupies the cold, buffered by
ear muffs and knit wool scarfs and the
lack of eye contact from strangers as
we all focus on our steps to avoid the
ice we can not see- Old bones don't bounce! . The light from the car windows as they pass reflect the light like the
surface of the water when the wind is
free to rifle thought he heated air but
that will have to wait for June. Old
bones don't bounce- to my skin and chins
chagrin! ♥ . 12. Snow compressed together
by snow plows at night retreat into sunlight
mounds warmth to the insides of mouths
and mittens as icy glints of yesterday's
dew now glisten- magnified by crystal
shards of yesterday's promise carried
by a winter's vagrant wind whispering
of sky high chills and swirls cold beyond degree of perception chilled and swirled
in sovereign space from heights beyond measure
of a finite mind is prepared to fall - as
I would fear falling from unknown through unguessed to linger breathless on the edge of a sill before I plundered the last joy
of my escape- only to rise and do it again! ♥ . 13. There is no way to think of winter in the Northwest without experiencing the clammy clasp of Arctic air frozen in strange shapes at the edges of buildings along snow defined lanes of us where summer sun scorched twin rows of tire's passage by day - there is now only one and this trapped in mid stride! ♥ . 14 Even
as I sleep the cold creeps in and settles
down around the edges. Cat wakes me with
a single nudge of his nose so I may raise
up the covers in permission where once he boldly strode. I don't know whether to be flattered or annoyed? ♥ . 15. My muscles cramp up in the cold and
I shuffle, stooped. like an old lady but
my heart looks out on the snow of the
roof of the one story building below my
window, on the whitened city street as
it stretches out to receive the most sun possible
and I marvel that anything as fragile
and small as it drifts from the sky so
effortlessly could bundle its fragility into
the cold hardness of ice bound snow on
the streets between my feet as if I'd offended them by watching too closely as they tumbled downward from the limitless, cloud defined sky. ♥ . 16. I peer out the window of the van as it threads its way carefully around mounds, over hidden sheets of ice where
grip cannot be maintained by heated tires. I see the effects of sun and time on icy mounds where star lights glisten as if trapped from the night held prisoner by the light of day and
as I watch, I shiver, unguessed, my thoughts
lumped together like the androgynous mounds
shoved to one side by the prowling snow
plow heaped all into one mass as we are by words and assumed identity because we are pressed undistinguished like a snow mound as I peer out the window of the van as we thread out way carefully along city
streets where I once was allowed to drive
in glorious solitude of thought and purpose I shiver as we thread intricate paths between snow burls, as if the night stars stayed too long enamoured of their reflections to be held prisoner under the
frozen fog ♥ . 17 In a corner of my window I
am shocked to discover an irregular patch
of snow from last night's storm of chilled
and blowing snowflakes during the midnight hours as wind chased its tail round and round the building. The sunlight is bright hot reflecting off the snow covered roof of the building next door to us as Shiloh waits upon the window sill where a foot of snow blown over the downtown area became contact snow and ice on the streets below as the bitter wind chill dropped the scene well below zero. But does the mound care? It didn't even flinch when I opened the blinds to ease Cat's getaway only to come face to face with the unguessed remnant from the Universe. ♥ . 18. The voice on the other end of the line admitted to being in India even as we spoke, being
three-forty-five in the morning because
'that's the only time we can find you
folks awake' even as I pull back the blinds
to watch snow fall so thick it was nearly
blinding obscuring the mountains and the
buildings and steep mountain side so
near in the normal course of events, watching the snow thicken as cars charge at them knocking them aside but accomplishing nothing other than changing the place of their ultimate pause as I picture tigers and trees and mountains of stone
carved into lost cities, valleys, and
swamps and I wonder how a tiger would
look wrapped in a clock of white snow? ♥ . 19 A brief break as the cold Artic air advances the mountain passess bearing the brunt of the fierce clinging storm our streets are just bare and wet as they wait out a cold front to slice through a
city clothed in white. ♥ . 20 I''ve
come to expect to see Nature's classic
ornamentation on the porches as they stand shoulder to shoulder beside covered lawns as proof that Old Man Winter's grip hasn't yet been broken by March - neither Times nor the month ♥ . 21 The sun shines brightly as it guides the soft white sphere to city streets while I watch gap-mouthed from behind my window pane. I try to connect the two events when every fiber of my being rejects such bold juxtaposition of warmth and chill. Shouldn't sunlight and snow be at enmity with each
other? one cancelling the other out? And
yet... if such a paradox should exist
within parochial limitations what would
the world cease to be be-if my sternest expectations were unexpectedly to be met? ♥ . 22. Tendril leaf now seer brown tapping
nervously against a spindle of ice hung near clinging to a branch in the growing
wind juxtaposed against a glass ornament left on the tree year by year. Am
I the only one who feels that's a little ironic? ♥ . 23 Warmth rises from within winter's shards to the place briefly ceded to the cold; intimate arousal of the basic need for survival
against a mindless foe that which exists in-and-of- itself in accordance to the
Laws of Science and physics. The chemical smell of blossoms and flora gracing
the walls of my upstairs apartment not withstanding. I keep hearing complaints that Spring should have remained after the days of consistent sunshine and
March warmth! In a most offended tone. I feel inadequate to the task of reminding
them, this is only mid-February! ♥ . 24. I notice as an after thought as I turn away from the window amused by the memories crowded by the lacy tatting
on the outside window pane when a glint catches the corner of my eye and I pull
the curtain back further to see a trio of spires hung down from the uppermost corner
of my windoiw where it faces the River. I watch their quiet presence with a kind of awe that something so fragile could have such a tenacious
hold on where they are and when they'll fall- the sunshine seeming to spell
their doom instead disappering into an unexpected bliding snowstorm! ♥ . 25. Water shed by day or
seeping down by night contained within sufficient sheets of ice compacted into a singular mass. ♥ #26. The train speaks with loud authority sounding near within the womb of cold
and dark, as
I listen to its imperative to clear the tracks and I am pressed backwards though the envelope of Time sans pressure
on
my shoulder or my mind and I am twenty-something again sitting up in bed while my husband sleeps open mouthed. The smells of linen and old lace exchanged for things left too long out of water from their place at the bottom of the sea and as my gaze locks individual snowflakes resume their fall identical to the
ones already spread across the streets in a thin sheets below my feet as the train rolls out to another county buried as deep in snow as us. ♥ . #27 I watch the color
move through and around the crystalline tower reflecting speed and color while absorbing what part of it it wishes to keep. That
something without an intelligence of its own can possess
what will be stores in seamless isolation with the Man
in the Moon. I am reminded that Winter alone makes my favorite holidays possible as the orange of pumpkins, shared with the brillant scarlets, oranges and yellows of
leaves gracefully saying goodbye to the trees and the
sun, that the hues of tinsel and the red blue flame of the Hanukkah Candles know that its time for
their return, holding the hand of Father time. ♥ . #28. Fist sized or pin prick in width, they linger from
house to house as i walk down the street more cocnerned
for the ice I can not see than its more showy brother
exposing its crystalline core to whom ever may pass this
way and see. ♥ . #29. I feel an exhilarating freedom as I step outside the door and the cold strips the warmth from me like an enraged matron in uniform white. I pause under the canvas awning and look up hopefully past the tall buildings across the street, my heart in my throat wondering if I will see sky or the ominous underbelly of too ripe clouds? Red rushes to the cold lumps
of my cheeks and I breath deeply, welcoming the sting
of cold, as if new, when my head knows its eons old, consistently refined, rejoined, renewed, as if linking myself to this stronger stage of regeneration' then I shuffle towards my goal renewed and rejoined. ♥ . 30. As I pause at the
edge of the slow moving river I am a trifle intimidated
by the stately beauty of the denuded trees standing sentinel
on the other side of the narrow, rocky path which soon
will run green, as though gallons of paint were spilled
into the water in just another six or eight weeks and winter will be just a memory. though I feel as though this moment is endless: It always was and always will be. Hands shoved
into my pockets for warmth despite the knit wool mittens
pressed between the spaces of my fingers. Then chilled, I take another step forward, drawn by the pattern sparkling across the swift moving waters as a chilled breeze lingers for the moment at my side before
rushing on like city traffic. . ♥ #31 Sparkling strands of translucent water frozen in place, more complex than perceived, caught in a spectacular moment, as if frozen in time as well as place. ♥ . #32 A
breath of cold twists past my scarf whispering something
I can't quite hear, I pull the scarf closer. A touch of air made icy by its dance with a crystalline Nature rolls
and trembles against my feet. I walk faster. Snow dismounts from the window ledge where it rested comfortably until a likely target happened to chance underneath
its loosened grip. I see it in time to stop. Winter is in a good mood to play but I need to get indoors before
I freeze- purple doesn't become me. . ♥ #33 I
hear a high pitched tinkle of sparkling ice falling around
me in freedom of flight bold enough, brave enough to fling themselves into empty space. I hear the crackle of ice letting go ready to finish the slide into the remaining
portion of Infinity and I wish I had
the courage to plunge forward as freely as them! . ♥ #34 Lingering, growing, stretching, waiting for the end of day to rebuild, reconstruct, reclaiming anything the callous sun may have attempted to steal away. Grouped together
in mutual support holding back the cold that would otherwise race past them. . ♥ #35 As I walk I straighten
finding my shoulders tense from leaning forward on my walker as I find myself confronted with an abrupt change
in what I am and what I used to be as I shuffle home, and I pause since I dare not walk forward without my gaze glued to the mounds and glistening sheets, even knowing its the ice that you don't see that
leaves you in breathless agony on the ground with a new
insight- what it takes to see the 'ssame old' with a brand new way. . ♥ #36 Another piece of
the puzzle drifts to the palm of my hand as I linger under the street lamp flakes drifting down from the open sky the darkness above the light over my head. . ♥ #37 We
stopped at a red light and as I glanced out the window
I noticed a row of gleaming crystalline teeth hung in rows along the eave of a porch. The house set back as
if recoiling from the frozen remnants trapped at the
edge between worlds of warmth and cold. The light changed but we remained in place because of traffic slowed by snow and ice on the street but as we inched forward, the light changing at the Intersection the light inside the funnel of
the icicle shinning bright at the house were frozen remnants
baring their teeth ♥ #38 I wake to find sunshine
pressing lightly on my eyelids forbidden sleep and as I turn away to seek solace from the dark but even there the glow reflects the sunshine as much as it did the silvered moonlight cast
back carelessly, flung in exuberance I am too groggy
to share and I wonder why did I think only of Spring as the time of illumination? When the chill air and drifted snow untrammeled
on the night's street reflects on intense luminosity deidicated to the cold underbelly of Winter? . ♥ #39 Calling
out to matters most of the night air challenge and invigorates
alluring, luring me from the warmth of my bed to investigate the prism cast on my bedroom wall as passing car lights are
caught with a singular sphere then flung on my bedroom
wall while Cat sleeps, and roles reversed, I
am the one to chase the moving lights rainbow sprayed along a lively arc. . ♥ #40 I wrap myself in
the colors of Spring as white presses down on me from all sides. The white frost pressed against the window pane like
a hungry beggar. The white fog gracefully draping it all against the briefly immobile rail road cars. The pale luminous shades of white mixed discretely with gray to hide the hills
or shimmering veils of varying thickness and opaque degrees of versatility - since I doubt there is a word "opaque-osity" - and I actually don't want to be the first one! As
winter deepens, I wrap myself in cobalt blue of winter
hues as shadows seep into the spaces carved by the clarion
Winter sun-awaiting the return of snow drifted from the overcast skies before
the multipurpose Inter-mogul in shimmering drapes of
rapidly chilling atmosphere. . ♥ #41 As a child in Los Angeles I reveled in fake snow and envied those with red noses and mittens and scarfs. I'd watch the night stars
rise over the Municipal Coliseum and dream that the stars could grow dander and shed it around. Now
I live in the Pacific Northwest and fear snow, even in
summer! While its ninety degrees I 'feel' cold in anticipation and shiver- to the degree that I no longer allow plastic
icicles to hang from the branches of Shiloh's year round Christmas tree! ♥ #42 Silent sentinels guarding the door better than the weatherstripping attempting to
keep the cold out of doors like teeth bared in
eternal snarl? Do icicles hum when the wind clashes fiercely
around them? Do they giggle in secret as they watch rounded people shuffle past in layers and layers of clothing? Do they chatter
at night between themselves as my teeth chatter in the dark and cold? Do they nudge one another - imperceptibly as
they take not of my awestruck admiration of their deteermination and pluck to remain so bare in the frigid cold? And how as I to know if a rain drops soft caress on my cheek in July was one of these in February? . ♥ #43 I'm
caught off-guard by a metallic thump when I'm day dreaming
about snow defined streets to describe for my poems. Something real has come to visit, almost literally falling into my lap as the sound echoes from the metallic cover of the air conditioner braced against my window in case summer ever overtakes these months of snow and ice, as it has before. It's
a good thing I'm not visualizing elephants! . ♥ #44 As
I walked home from the store yesterday, I was shocked
to see waist thick icicles laying on top of the freshly
discard snow scraped away from the front of the resturarnt as it's music played to them and the empty street. They laid mute wish shame, stiffened, as if in shock at their dismembered state and I looked away quickly in pity, yet upon my spying their exectioner
as he completed scraping the sidewalk on the other side of the buidling all I thought to say was 'Thank You' - because
he'd cleared an additional pathway over the curb for walkers
and wheelchairs - I hope, if they heard, they understood! . #45 I was slow to open my eyes this morning as mixed days of March sunshine and bitter Atric blasts struggling like Titans across the screen of my upstair's window's view poor crictic that
I am- I like each for their beauty the blank page held
by Hands larger than my own where I am free tow rite whether I use free running ink of the chisled edges of icelcles until
the page turnswitht he fall of night and I am to be wakened
by a new day, a new dawn, a new view from my frosted
window pane. ♥ #46 Just as they arrive
they tremble and melt and as fast as my heart races, I
can't keep up with them! Turning off the lights, the show
above the empty streets is changless, eternal, yet breathtaking new at the same moment! Once Tie was set in motion, the
snowflakes fell, When ash brought nuclear winter to all
Creation the snowflakes fell without changre, when the street was empty of people, red or white, the snowflakes fell without changre, as I watched, holdin up my chin in my hand, the
snowflakes drifted and fell without changre. . ♥ #47 The newscaster took twenty seconds to sat it! I would have given a month of Sundays to see it! The
day snow fell in san Franiscio and iciclyes clung from the red Golden Gate. . ♥ #48 The daylight graces
its slender form reflecting from side to side but unable to pentrate anywhere within the core where strong hands bon invisibly shielded moculclues standing shoulder to shoulder while vividly hued world
around it covers everything in fashinable white, hiding imperfections under wind sculted mounds it risks standing alone, apart, vulnerable until the seasons chose to alter. Honoring the past, preserving the present, and promising a better and future hope beyond's summer's searign grasp . ♥ . #49 Iconic images of winter at rest iciclyes hung
in private at the whim of Old Man Winter and Jack Frost icicles grace places summer isgnores so that
even in shunshine we never lose sight that Winter's time and chilled Hand remain upon us, no matter how many sighs we sigh or layers we layer on. The houses may change, the modes of lighting and of transportqaion but they remain the same iconic image of winter
at rest . #50 Ice caught in the super-slow motion
act of shedding itself as it was formed: one droplet at a time. And while most seasons have colors winter has
hues of blue and white, as if being careful not to clash with the bright woolen caps, mittens, and scarfs! As the winds blow in many directions Christmas memeories wave goodbye from the corner of my mind, I find myself longing
for the greens of easrly Spring. as snow blows and ice mounds where it will |
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Asia Rachael Cohen
Other books by the same author
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