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

Cold fire

I am getting the ‘white carpet’ treatment
everywhere I go today.
Sparkles fall like confetti
twinkling in the winter sunlight
and cause me to reflect
on the way that even the coldest things
contain a fire of their own
and how sometimes it is hard to distinguish
between the bite of frost
and the toothy grin of searing heat.
— Annette Marie Hyder

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