Some fires, like winter’s low sun
linger hard and remote:
grip far gravity and tend away
taunting like a doppler scream
past far stars:
blues sparks that fade to black.
We scramble over icy flint
barefoot, seeking release
from the icy knife,
but juicy life freezes here
and love has no place
but inside another’s skin.
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If you click on the title of a post, you will be taken to the archive copy of the text, where there are many options:
"Print this post" -- creates a printable screen
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"(Visited N times)" -- Started Jan 5, 2010If you click "Add to Favourites", the software sets a cookie on your device. This cookie is quite harmless; however, it saves a list of your favourite posts on this site. Up to 99 of your favourites will appear on your computer only, in the list to the right, on the device that has the cookie. Note that favourites saved on one device will not be favourites on others, and that clearing your cookies will clear that particular device's list.
I am not sure about this, but the favourites list should work, even if you are not a subscriber. I know that it does work for subscribers.
The flow
New favorite one for print-and save. Thank you!
This piece is a reflection upon my youth in the far north, and the influence of some sci-fi short fiction that I read back then. It got me thinking that my daily trek to school at -40 was a bit similar to walking on a far moon.
That’s very interesting. I read much more into it, suggesting what Archibald MacLeish meant when he wrote:
A poem should not mean
But be
Words are magical!
That’s the idea: your imagination can make it what you want. I often feel that my words define more than the impetus that made them; as I write a piece, it tells me what it is. This poem, “slow cold glow”, derives from the experience I had, but as I wrote it, there entered other elements that built on the experience, and it became more. That’s one very powerful reason that I write: each piece becomes an intriguing adventure in my mind.