Survive the ice

Morning arrived with an icy slap 
of good intentions — a cheeky 
red reminder to weather another day. 

Will the unwritten tourist hasten 
to the conclusion, twenty-four unlived 
chapters cut for time? 

Or will she hold the day close and enjoy 
whatever blows in with the chill, knowing 
we cannot choose the story but relish the book? 

The sun illuminates 
what night tries to hide —  a colorless tale 
cannot survive long. 
Survive long.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2020

Written for the Go Dog Go Cafe Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge : “twenty four” and “ice”


Chill

Photo by Sue Vincent

As I leap into middle age 
                    (knuckles white)
I wonder if the greatest adventure 
is merely to breathe 
                    (snow meets altruistic land)

In a world spinning its wheels, 
                    (frigid morning scrubs icy)
the eager sound can’t whine for change,
stale taste of winter
                    (skin burning with the chill)

The calendar will jump to Spring
                    (teeth rattle loose)
anticipation blooming every dewy night
I snore away
                    (gray hair wind-blown)


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Chill #writephoto as well as Free Verse Revolution’s December Writing Prompt #2: to breathe.

Submitted for the dVerse Poetics Pub Thursday OpenLinkNight #256.


Winter scent

Just a murmur of a scent — 
whispering as it passes in my nose —
announcing a chill with a hint
of pine (sweet as it burns) carrying
smokey remembrances of hot chocolate
afternoons on rising clouds 
of melting obligations.

Those fabled days — when white 
shrouded the world as far as
we could image — of mythic adventures
unfold like loosely packed snowballs
too ravishing for famished children
hungry to breathe in winter’s 
husky bite too often now.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Written for two prompts: BrewNSpew Cafe (“fable”) and Imaginary gardens with real toads (“scent”)


Cracked ice

What monsters creep
on broken ice, cracks
beneath the weight of overlarge
beasts,
frigid footfalls frozen
in the night?

Is it the chill
or fear that has me
clattering,
clamoring
for warmth and home,
hounded by unseen glaciers,
winter’s snowy persistence
tapping my shoulder.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Submitted to the dVerse Poets Pub Quadrille #92: Take a crack at poeming and the Free Verse Revolution November Writing Prompt #3: monsters.

My first collection of poems is available at Amazon now! Check it out!


The window glass

Photo by Sue Vincent

The snow breathed heavy that day,
a jolt of icy white confetti celebrating
winter’s return. Paralyzed by the cold,
we watched, transfixed by the beauty
and ferocity, as winter played out
its first act. Dazzled by the scene, I reached
as if called, for the cold, 
the glass chilly and inhospitable 
on my fingers as I tapped myself 
into the performance.

A stag, startled, heard my intrusion
and stared at us, a spark of terror 
in his eyes, hoofs frozen in fluffy earth. 
Nothing moved as he stood 
staring in a stupor as snow and tree limbs 
cascaded around those antlers, majestic 
and stock-still. What bravery to survive
the savagery spitting numbing flakes
on a naked face.

Just as suddenly he stirred from his bluff
and disappeared behind the stormy curtain,
forever relieving me of his second act. 
And I, roused and staring only at
my own reflection in the poorly insulated
window, resolved to buy some weather strips
and better protect myself from 
nature’s cruelty.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt : “calling”