Array ( [sid] => 173766 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Frost Fair [time] => 2012-09-07 18:38:16 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Messiahs of our very own winter.
Dancing through gooseflesh and
Kissing on unsteady tiptoes,
We made a mockery of the miracle.

Our tenderness tidal, the river our whoreson,
For that frozen fortnight, she was ours.
In her glacial grave, the glassy gaze
That lay still for us, perhaps just for us.

Warmed by the liquor and euphoric
At the lighting of midnight fires,
We laughed and hugged and devoured
Lapland mutton as if it were true love.

Chilblains of the soul, hot aches of the heart
Emotions like silver shards in your arms.
The old cold woman beneath the shimmer
Will never feel like we did that night.

But perfect crystals in vain implosions
Left us naked; exposed to the elementals.
I guess the weather never meant to turn
And you never meant to change your mind.

As love cooled with the thaw,
With the flood came our demise.
A return to diurnal mediocrity,
Stale greys and tepid twilights.

All the summers that have passed,
Have not dimmed this chill.
Sunburnt multi-centenarian I may be,
But I remember everything.

In autumnal silence, I still stand
With the flower sellers, fire-eaters,
Bear baiters, jesters, merchants all.
Redundant and dreaming of white.

Clutching our crumbling keepsakes,
Postcard souvenirs stained by frosted lips.
By the riverbank we watch the skies
Grieving for lives put on ice.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 160 [topic] => 43 [informant] => newsfromnowhere [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops ) Your Poetry Dot Com - The Frost Fair


The Frost Fair
Date: Friday, 7th September 2012 @ 06:38:16 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: newsfromnowhere
Messiahs of our very own winter.
Dancing through gooseflesh and
Kissing on unsteady tiptoes,
We made a mockery of the miracle.

Our tenderness tidal, the river our whoreson,
For that frozen fortnight, she was ours.
In her glacial grave, the glassy gaze
That lay still for us, perhaps just for us.

Warmed by the liquor and euphoric
At the lighting of midnight fires,
We laughed and hugged and devoured
Lapland mutton as if it were true love.

Chilblains of the soul, hot aches of the heart
Emotions like silver shards in your arms.
The old cold woman beneath the shimmer
Will never feel like we did that night.

But perfect crystals in vain implosions
Left us naked; exposed to the elementals.
I guess the weather never meant to turn
And you never meant to change your mind.

As love cooled with the thaw,
With the flood came our demise.
A return to diurnal mediocrity,
Stale greys and tepid twilights.

All the summers that have passed,
Have not dimmed this chill.
Sunburnt multi-centenarian I may be,
But I remember everything.

In autumnal silence, I still stand
With the flower sellers, fire-eaters,
Bear baiters, jesters, merchants all.
Redundant and dreaming of white.

Clutching our crumbling keepsakes,
Postcard souvenirs stained by frosted lips.
By the riverbank we watch the skies
Grieving for lives put on ice.


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