Escape the Urban: The Last Snow

27 Feb

When the season’s last full snowfall downs,

with wood obscured, white blanketing gown,

I strap shoes to boots. One final trip

to tromp and to stomp, to spy the lip

of secret spring beyond thicket lie,

hidden pond, to frozen shore twixt sky.

A circling path, route I know well.

A last frosty trek to sunken dell,

unique in winter’s tight icy grip,

a fading vision, in summer whip

swarms of gnats, sweltering stinging flies.

Misery at bog in hot steam lies.

Through heather and brambles on I shoe,

past fallen iced woody vines, a clue

that deep winter’s work is nearly done,

a pile like coiled rope, heaped and run

from canopy branch to branch no more,

now a warm fox den on forest floor.

I shoe past dense grove adorned and pale

not with bridal but fat maid’s white veil,

when unseen ice shelf shifts ‘neath my feet.

The sound of cracking plates, my heart beat

both loud in my ears from all surround,

I spring up, I flee to firmer ground.

Fresh liquid water where I last stood,

one more mark that the season’s change could

make this path open mere whether I

am yet done or not with chill, with sky

bitter blue, scurried tracks or softly

muffled, shrouded woods, still and haughty.

Past ash, maple and unlikely elm,

the songs of chickadees overwhelm

the loud crunch of snow beneath my boots,

growing chorus, earnest cry salutes

the steadily warming sun. Release,

fly above my head the vanguard geese

their noisy honk nature’s last sure sign

the freeze will break, the sun will now shine.

Last trek to furtive pond, view I earn,

lost to me til next winter’s return.

7 Responses to “Escape the Urban: The Last Snow”

  1. RaChaCha February 27, 2011 at 6:56 pm #

    Is this original poetry–? Da Google suggests it is. Good stuff — I love this!

    • Brian Castner February 27, 2011 at 8:34 pm #

      It is my own – it’s cool you thought enough of it to punch it into Google and check.

  2. RaChaCha February 28, 2011 at 7:27 am #

    NO ONE punches Da Google.

    I seriously click the “Like This” button on this poem!

  3. Ethan February 28, 2011 at 1:09 pm #

    From whence does this poetic muse arise, good sir?  Someday, I’ll write a triolet about Carcassonne.  

  4. Brian Castner March 1, 2011 at 11:08 am #

    Sometimes (and fortunately, rarely for me) an experience is best depicted in poetry, not prose. But it is no triolet, certainly – I have barely enough patience and discipline for aabbccdd etc, and 9 beats, much less more restrictive forms. And my Dactylic Hexameter experiment was a disaster!

  5. Ryan Bowers March 1, 2011 at 2:10 pm #

    Good stuff Brian. No reason to be hard on yourself. You employ both aphaeresis and assonance effectively.

  6. Brian Castner March 1, 2011 at 2:54 pm #

    Thanks, Ryan – I had to look up aphaeresis and assonance, BTW.

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