Winter People Poem by Val Morehouse
Winter People
Faces of natives turn inward
like talk in uncertain throats.
Small replicas of life eclipse
inside shuttered eyes,
narrow horizons between stones,
and still ponds, frayed with
pitchpine and knotted oak,
tinder of witches.
Underneath pewter skies they winter
through fog where only ice is genuine;
And it spare as a puritan,
with the color of silver.
Superlative vocabulary and striking mood/word-picture piece. Love the phrase 'tinder of witches'-very vivid.
Val, how do you say fabulous without drooling! Rgds, Ivan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 6:17:37 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I think this is bad because there are no rhyming words.😡🤔🤫🤭