The Cold is Back

The cold is back.
Spring was sleepwalking.
Shes’ been sent back to her bed
of rose tumbled sheets. — Annette Marie Smith

Advertisements

Portcullis

portcullis
Portcullis to a frozen fairy land,
these teeth of winter gleam
as they bite the bright air.
If they do open
at a secret touch or word,
creak with the weight of weird
like an omen bird,
then pause at the threshold
and read the two limen words carven there:
“beauty” in script and bold “beware”. — Annette Marie Smith

Still Life: Door in Winter

snowydoorwithc

Sometimes it’s hard to disturb things,
to change the staus quo.
A still life can be beautiful in its pristine
unchangeableness.
But even the quietest door
that hasn’t been opened in the longest time
has new vines creeping across its letter slot,
has freshly fallen beauty at its feet,
has light playing across its windows
like the fingers of a goddess strumming
the strings of a harp made of rainbows and glass.
And me? I am the one who really can’t help herself,
even if it wasn’t her job,
breaking a path through the snow,
knocking on every door I come across
and leaving missives
in unused mail slots that like stubborn mouths
and sealed hearts
have stayed closed till rust rubricates their metal lips.
Don’t say I never gave you anything. 😉
— From the “Places the Mail Took Me” series by Annette Marie Hyder

With the passing of the longest night

Daylight grows,
drapes itself along tree limbs
across the many feathered breasts of birds,
pools in hollows,
kinks sinuously over the tops of city buildings
from the highest skyscraper
to the lowest dilapidated shack,
undulates across the land
a python magnificent and grand
strong and beautiful in its glowing/growing fatness
and look — just look —
at the multifaceted diamonds it wears upon its back.
— Annette Marie Hyder

Happy first day of winter!

Steampunk pterodactyl dreams

The frozen voice of a steampunk pterodactyl cracking its screams open like eggs of despair on the jagged edges of the night woke me last night.

Haha! I had so much fun writing that sentence.

It was all screeching metal and city spanning wings with the darkest things of nightmares attendant in its train. I ran to the window to prove this apparition of fear that had reached with cold claws and pulled me from my sleep.

This is what I saw:

Underneath the nine inches of snow that recently fell, a thick layer of ice has been lurking. That truck is an ice-eater (I don’t know what it’s really called but that is what I am calling it) and the screams I heard in the night were the cries of it feeding. Bon appétit, ice-eater. Bon appétit!


Update:
Laura Rae Fuglestad was kind enough to share this short video she took of the ice-eater’s screams. Thank you, Laura Rae Fuglestad!
Enjoy!
<a href="/files/8/7/2/2/4/151613-142278/So_this_happened_last_night_at_about_145_pm.mov”>Click here to view.