Once Upon a Morning
A Frosted Acrostic Verse
Fogging, my words are captured in cloudy mist.
Rapid steps take me to my waiting car, where
Exhalations of steam extend from the tail pipe as it churns to life.
Extending further from me, I see my breath start to sleepily drift
Zabaglione-like, semi-solid as the cold gathers the moist air to itself, rising
Ever Higher.
* * * * * * * *
Flexing fingers unaccustomed to mittens
Reaching through backseat detritus for weather-appropriate help
Overlooking sandals and towels from warmer days
Scraper is finally located for the first windshield onslaught of the season.
Though first: a moment to appreciate this Master artist's work.
* * * * * * * *
Bountiful brushes by unseen hands have been at work
Evocative swirls, twining branches of rimed crystal
Arch across the glass in a pattern both wondrous and strange
Unasked for anointing has slowed my morning
Though now I wonder: do the birds always sing so sweetly?
Yanked from my inner monologue of woe: I am now fully in the moment.
About the Creator
Judey Kalchik
It's my time to find and use my voice.
Poetry, short stories, memories, and a lot of things I think and wish I'd known a long time ago.
You can also find me on Medium
And please follow me on Threads, too!
Keep reading
More stories from Judey Kalchik and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Body Remembers
The body remembers what the mind tries to outrun. It remembers every storm, every rupture, every season of survival you forced yourself through. It remembers the nights you held yourself together with nothing but breath and grit. It remembers the mornings you rose anyway, even when rising felt like lifting a collapsed building off your own chest. The body keeps its own archive, written in muscle, breath, pulse, and instinct. Long after the mind rewrites the story, the body still carries the original draft.
By Elisa Wontorcik7 days ago in Poets
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith6 days ago in Humor
Comments (11)
Oh I love that last line, how true! Nature always succeeds at yanking me from my inner monologuing of woe.
Jk - Who me pragmatic: Living between the ocean's breeze and the snowy mountains - I've never felt the need to turn on the car A/C or the Heater: And, never saw a scrapper. Enjoy your Keto Lasagna Turkey Day Recipe..! Just Jk.in.l.a.
Delightful acrostic ❄️… I especially like: “ Unasked for anointing has slowed my morning Though now I wonder: do the birds always sings so sweetly? Yanked from my inner monologue of woe: I am now fully in the moment.”💖
Wow, I felt like I was there with you!
Very vivid. I do believe I felt the chill.
Beautiful words and imagery: "Flexing fingers unaccustomed to mittens" landed for me.
Clever acrostic and a beautifully described scene, laced with some subtle humor regarding findng the scraper, etc. Great read!
That Jack Frost is quite the artist and at times it seems wrong to scrap it away but what must be done is done. Great beautiful poem.
Awesome plus I learned a new word -‘ Zabaglione’
I like your Acrostics!
This is beautifully descriptive. Well done.