What Happens Next
Another night with the frost,
she says, and you’ll know
the half-life of cold.
Which is not to say enjoy,
or pity, or pretend.
It is the sheath of God’s
gaze, an unsuspected lump.
The harvested curse.
You grasp what happens next.
“What Happens Next” first appeared here in November 2017.
O at the Edges 
Great post π
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Thank you!
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No problem π check out my blog when you get the chance π
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I love this one, especially since I come from a very cold part of Canada. You have such a nice way of blending the initiating subject of your poems with the real subject/meaning of what you go on to write. You are such a master of poetry!
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I suppose the blending occurs as it does because I seldom know what Iβm writing about until Iβm well into a piece, or have a completed draft.
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But that is exactly the point. The real subject of your poems evolves naturally out of its own development. If you have a poem that starts off concerning cheese (initiating subject), within five lines you are ruminating about the moon and loneliness (the real subject/meaning behind the entire work). Young poets would stick to the cheese and desperately try and figure out how to make “cheese” and “loneliness” work together (“thesaurus poetry”). Your cheese poems are actually about loneliness, your cloud poems are about cheese, your cat poems are about dogs, etc. Your head writes the first line and your heart writes the rest, ergo you are a master!
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When I was young, I tried to force poems, to tell the reader exactly what I meant. The results were pitiful.
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It is like trying to force one’s beard to grow. One trims what is there; one trims the poem that grows out of Life (?)
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Ha! Thatβs it!
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β€ *gasp* β€
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Thank you, Carrie!
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