Winter’s Hour
by revbillcook
This is winter’s hour: a frozen moon
withdraws into a frozen sky. Thin aisles
of snow drift like ash, a white woven
shawl falls across your shoulders. Your smile
slowly fades in the soft neon light of the T.V.
recently turned off. This is the liquid hour.
Memories surge and recede, a shallow stream
disappearing among stones. A pale flower
once open to the sun now folds into
itself. This is the hour of dreams. The play
of your hair across my lips slips through
my mouth its texture lingers these many days.
The trace of your fingers slips through my hand
in this silent empty hour of snow and sand.
-Bill Cook
nice..
Like a fresh breeze…I love it. Have a wonderful day x
cool job!
beautiful images!
felt like a witching hour.. smooth and tragically melancholic.. beautiful write.
beautifully written
Think this is a great poem. The ending couplet is extraordinary…
“The trace of your fingers slips through my hand / in this silent empty hour of snow and sand.” Could there be a sadder hour? brilliant
Very passionate and heavy-hearted… brings out the emotion.. very nice 🙂
vivid imagery and heartfelt emotion… lovely. Heartspell
Lovely sonnet, love the last two lines….bkm
http://signedbkm.blogspot.com
Love this image – a white woven
shawl falls across your shoulders
really like this poem, good imagery
hope that you find time to return favors to poets who were here..
thank you in advance!
Hi Jinglem Absolutely. Already have. I have also (and will continue to) visit each person’s blog. I enjoy the process and appreciate it very much! And thank you for your work to make it happen.