Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Snow on Broadway

I know, October is a little early for snow.  The poem wasn't really inspired by weather, but by a strange mid-afternoon dream.  My head was full of migraine and so I slept.  I had the most serene dream of a snowstorm.  It was so ethereal and magical.  I stood at my bedroom window, staring into the black and white vignette of the most awesome blizzard I'd ever seen (well, outside a dream anyway).  The flakes were like these huge fist-sized shaped ice balls that exploded like frosty dandelions as they swam the air.  It was so magnificent that I had to write about it when I woke up.
And so here we have the poem.

Perhaps it was
the early October cold,
or my body full
of three-day headache,
but I dreamed of snow;
A headful of gloom,
Shiny white sky pieces as full as
the hugest dandelion bloom
shed their frost-flake into
windows like drunken-bugs
or dizzy moths swimming headlight.
Gray-black clouds stirred the sky
like a cauldron full of
black ice and snuffed the
rays of moon the way death
stifles a last, quivering breath.
I watched between curtains
spun of silk, mannequin-shiny
against the light-globes
of my townhome, a sort
of background halo, the stop signs
shaking their metal vertebrae
in the aftermath of wind,
thunder striking the edges
of street-light poles,
thick jackets of pedestrians
bellowing like fat capes
amidst the most ricocheting
type of silence, a mere murmur
against the whipping white-stone oblivion
as if the tail-end of some misty
apocolypses' rash scream
were sliding against the pane of glass
where my forehead rested
before the siren-wake
of realities telephone ring.

Shared with the Tuesday Platform at Imaginary Garden.


  1. This is a fabulous dreamscape... I love the way you have described the snowflakes.

  2. I love snow and there is no silence like the silence of a deep snowfall, the metabolic slowing of life, the dream-filled sleep.
    Thanks for the beauty.

  3. I think I have had a dream like this once when I had a fever... I can so relate to those strange big flakes tumbling...

  4. The preliminary notes read like a prose-poem ... then the poem itself went to dazzling new heights.


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