Frost Bitten

Gnarly, these withered limbs,
this vessel more rigidity than flow,
winter upon me, a permanent clouding,
sunnier days passed – oh how vivid
the imagination when blue skies
met green grass, no hindrances

Old dreams hover, tethered to fences –
defences to camouflage vulnerability,
offences to keep my paths cleared

Find balance in isolation –
an old tree, past her prime –

Would cut loose this precarious
hold on all things fantastical,
but fear the act a harbinger –

So, I bide my days in this
frigid limbo, and hold on.

(Today’s poem is inspired by the image from Willow Poetry’s challenge:  What Do You See?  I am also linking up to dVerse’s pub night, where Sarah is hosting with the prompt: harbinger.  Ragtag Community provided balance, and Fandango’s word is tree.)

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

45 thoughts on “Frost Bitten

  1. The winter of our years………
    beautifully and realistically at the same time…words of aging and feeling and a matching to the seasons.
    The setting sun….an oft used harbinger of ending…but this idea of being in winter, the rigidity, tethered to fences. Really gives the feeling of ending approaching.
    I enjoyed this very much.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. There is a magic to your words as you describe what holds you in this season of your life. It is not an easy stage yet you empower yourself:
    “So, I bide my days in this
    frigid limbo, and hold on.”
    It gives me goosebumps and encouragement all at the same time.
    Thank you for sharing V.J.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. You had me at /old dreams hover–tethered to fences/. I’m not a lover of winter; must be different in Alaska, the Yukon, much of Canada, Michigan and Minnesota, where winter is imprinted.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. identifying the seasons of life and the gentle harbingers – i see a woman coming into her own – you remind me of Glenn Close – the regal proud beauty of a woman’s soul

    Liked by 1 person

  5. You’ve created a powerful chill in your poem, V.J, with a rigid vessel in the opening lines and ‘frigid limbo’ in the last. I love the line ‘Old dreams hover, tethered to fences’ and the wordplay on ‘fences/offences’.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Such beautiful language, metaphor of life, and such a lovely flow to this. “Old dreams hover, tethered to fences” is a wonderful line, but I see in that, too, that they haven’t died. The old tree is living in limbo, but I see strength in that it’s still biding and waiting.

    Liked by 1 person

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