Arctic Cold

2 Comments

Tags:
  • Memories

    Poem Commentary

    I spent 10 years in Canada, and this pretty much tells part of my first winter in the great, frozen far north. It was so beautiful, I had trouble breathing as I watched in awe.

    Arctic Cold

    I stood in the nearly silent hush
    of The Arctic cold's white light,
    hearing ice crystals tinkle softly
    as they filtered through the night.

    Newcomer that I was, at 50 below,
    no scarf sheltered bejewled ears,
    nor warm air to lung, I watched in awe
    the bitter whiteness winter brings.

    I watched the splender of Northern Lights
    dancing across the starlit sky.
    Soft colors blend, fingers move,
    rays and drapes, glow then softly die.

    In panic, I heard loud cannon blast
    when tree hearts burst and die
    from frozen sap expanding cold -
    in pain, they seemed to cry.

    On snowshoes, I trod across the snow's
    frozen crust - desperately - wanting
    to sample everything in this new
                         land, strange, cold and daunting.

    Poem Comments

    (2)

    Please login or register

    You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
    leave comments/feedback and rate this poem.

    Login or Register

    Artistpoet commented on Arctic Cold

    09-26-2009

    Great insight of places untrodden. I like your descriptions of the climate otherwise not noticed or realized..

    winterdawn

    09/26/2009

    thank you. I enjoy writing about nature and people I have known.

    Lolee commented on Arctic Cold

    09-17-2009

    You made me feel as if I were there. I can see the desolate white acres with cold wisps of white shifting with the wind. I'll bet it was awesome in the moonlight...glittering...with a electric blue hew. I am looking forward to more poems from you : )

    Lolee

    09/22/2009

    Yes, I got your comment.(smiling)

    winterdawn

    09/17/2009

    Lolee, I do not know if my answer got to you - my puter is acting up -so if it didn't, thank you very much. I miss the north at times dot s

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    winterdawn’s Poems (2)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Winter Winds 1
    Arctic Cold 2