Icicled Daze.

A quarry baptized in crystal.
Fluorescent, flared auras, 
glittering Angel fire.
A strange strangeness suspended in time
hung solid in misted incense of Cedar wood.

The whey-white snow rallied round
as infant hurricanes buffeted razor-sharp,
hoary, rock edges. The frozen lake,
like a salver of polished glass, zero temperature
trapped water in a silver prison.

A fanged icicle spears the ice wreathed pond.
Hundreds of translucent bracelets emerge
from this Siberian solid sheet, as a spume wave
surges over the hips of the quarry, snarling.
Then...an unearthly stillness.

Sunrise mesmerises itself into an infant’s rise,
Duchess Dawn demands the day to begin.
You are the Icicle Kings and Queens,
chilling air, crisp as celery sticks, in your own
platinum city...of pearled opals.

Lukewarm rays tingle your silent cocoon 
imaging a green-blue hue of ornamental beauty.
Ambushed pure, running droplets
solidify along your smoothed, growing girth,
held in Winter’s grasp.

The first born streams of whiter light
start the bleeding shiver-quiver...Drip, drip, drip...
Almighty down-town launch of silver rocket,
smash-sparks tiny fragments across 
bleached sheet of Moonstone Lake.

Spring Crocus-Elves begin their mop 
of the shrinking, melting Cathedral.
Puffed-up Starlings huddle close,
awaiting the Wormstomp Dance.
Ice Queen departs, duty done.
 

Image Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Own Photo 2008 Germany...by Richard Bartz