When the First Frost Appears
A Season's Sacred Testament
The Breath becomes a Messenger
That speaks in frosty Tongues
Each Exhalation bears the News
That Winter's Bell has Rung
The Leaves, now Pilgrims of Descent,
Release their Crimson Hold
While Frost, that Patient Seamstress, sews
Her Crystals sharp and Bold
I feel the Earth grow Obstinate
Her softness turned stiff
Each step sounds a Funeral March
For Warmth I've always Known
The Light, a Miser with her Gold,
Departs before her Due
And Branches stripped of their Attire
Stand Naked to my View
A Woodpecker, that tiny Priest,
Performs his Morning Rite
While Chimneys birth their first Confessions
To the Pallid Light
My Fingers seek their woolen Church
My Palms their Sacred Cup
The Scent of Death and Evergreen
Conspire to wake me Up
The Season poises on her Hinge
Between what Was and Is
I stand a Witness to the World's
Most Intimate Soliloquy
Soon Silence, that grand Surgeon,
Will cover the Earth in White
I taste Tomorrow's Cold
Upon Tonight's last Bite
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Masterful proofreading
Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
Keep reading
More stories from Tim Carmichael and writers in Poets and other communities.
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 β 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 Smith5 days ago in Humor
Comments (2)
This is simply beautiful. I love so many of the metaphors you use that I can't choose just one to point out. A marvelous poem, Tim!
It's almost like you were breathing in and breathing out while you were writing that first bit. Breathing in ties so closely to the feeling of winter, it makes me feel it that much more. Frost as a seamstress. Impressive π€© The football bit deserves a round of applause. As I read aloud the rest of it. In-between the words, I had my mouth open in awe. Outstanding! π€β€οΈ