Thursday, December 4, 2014

Like Snowdrops

morgueFile



Ice blood
thickens, congeals
with spindly fingers
stretching across winter’s skin.

We bear the marks,
troublesome, melancholic,
after a year of sidetracked seasons,
of storms.  But wait

for hope
to spring, reveal
what in the dark
can grow.


© 2014 Jennifer Wagner
  


18 comments:

  1. I like this a lot, both literally and as a possible metaphor.

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  2. I love the things that show their beauty in the dark. Not because I dislike the light--I like it just as much. But when something wonderful grows in the dark, it existence speaks of hope.

    Love this!

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  3. I agree with Justin. This is good on multiple levels.

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  4. I love the imagery of winter's ice blood waiting for spring ~ Superb ending Jennifer ~ Have a good week ~

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  5. Yes, this piece can be taken as reality or metaphor. I love "ice blood." It is amazing what can grow in the dark to bloom from winter's blanket. Thanks so much for writing for the challenge!

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  6. Wondeful--as if those frosty fingers contained no pain but the pangs of nature's birth. I wrote another that might mate with yours: http://susanspoetry.blogspot.com/2014/12/pain.html

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  7. Jennifer you begin in an oxymoron mood and continue to challenge us outside the box, quite an interesting write

    much love...

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  8. This is beautiful, and it touches me on a personal level.

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  9. I enjoyed your poem very much, I found it to be melancholy yet still filled with hope. Winter can be that kind of season.

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  10. So many layers and nuances in this beautifully crafted metaphor, Jennifer - that ends on such a soothing note of possibilities.

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  11. Like this a bunch Jennifer--really beautiful layering here

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  12. Lovely poem, mournful with hope springing from within. I really like it!

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  13. This is just lovely.. Especially the first stanza hits me hard... I like that there is hope in the end...

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  14. after a year of side tracked seasons...what a line that is...
    and spring will come...in its time....

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  15. "morguefile" is the image source? yikes!

    this piece also has a cold grip to it ~

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  16. How did I miss this earlier? (Now I remember: I was away at the time.) Beautiful poem and picture.

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Thank you for your thoughts!