Sunday, January 1, 2012

Thirty-Seven Point Nine Words

They say there’s forty words for snow.
None, though
for thirty-seven point nine degrees
of Celsius.

The flip-flop of doubt as sandals melt,
not into tar, as they are wont,
but onto concrete sidewalks, floating
sideways into slow repose as strangers
chatter into iced cafés, pile up
in tales of wilt and pushing fluids
(Getting old is hell, says Alan,
shouldering his laptop,
don’t get old.)

Time closes.
Sprinklers at 346 go on  
and here at thirty-seven odd degrees,
headlights shine through the mists in flowing
goldfish tails that once, impossibly,
were arctic snow.
 
Oh, no,
this won’t get old.

Image: K. Bischoping.

25 comments:

  1. perfect flow in this write, "sidewalks, floating, and mists in flowing", two great lines in this. Must say it's not 37degrees here but -1 in January in the middle of Canada might as well be 37. Happy New Year!

    ReplyDelete
  2. It was for Toronto's hottest day of 2011 -- 37.9 Celsius = 100.2 Fahrenheit.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I like the use of numbers throughout this. Keeps bringing my attention back to detail, "What does that mean?" It was an interesting read with unconvential images.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Today the temp was at least 35C, here in my Southern hemisphere world... I felt this piece in every hot degree.

    Thank you for your insightful comments on my poem.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Posted to the dVerse Poets pub! A new and happy year to all! http://dversepoets.com/2012/01/03/openlinknight-week-25/

    ReplyDelete
  6. nice....it is rather cold here today and if the sprinklers cam on we might actually get some snow...my body may get old but i wont...smiles

    ReplyDelete
  7. We had a burning summer here--hottest on record, and also the coldest winter temp ever recorded last year--I don't know why I feel that's pertinent, but it has something to do with how your poem nails where/how we coincide with our planet in that plane, and how it is always in some way surprising us, owning us. The language here is a thing of beauty, as always.

    ReplyDelete
  8. I love the segue from snow into heat and back into snow at the end. Wonderful piece.

    ReplyDelete
  9. the fluidity in this, as Semaphore brings up, is spot on. the images, the temperatures: it all just works beautifully.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Lovely, complex keep your attention poem.

    Kathy....you get better and better.

    Lady Nyo

    ReplyDelete
  11. Very nicely done, I like the flow here and the detail to numerical identification. Very nice touch with the use of Celsius as well, as those unaware of the difference to F will have a totally different interpretation. I love when little things like that can be used artistically. Wonderful write. Thanks

    ReplyDelete
  12. I feel the chill of winter brrr...very good use of weather and seasonal change ~

    ReplyDelete
  13. I like the snowy bookends , the sense of change, the image of the "flowing goldfish tails" much to enjoy here

    ReplyDelete
  14. warm winter here as well, not sure if it could get old either. I do like these mild temps.

    ReplyDelete
  15. i like the flow of the lines here, kind of like flowing water, like a slow wind


    bumble bee

    ReplyDelete
  16. Wonderful poem!

    And thanks for your fun contribution to last week's Limerick-Off!

    ReplyDelete
  17. Weather is a contemplative tie and notches the days of life, the feeling of aging, the wanting not to get old--remembering the joy of summer heat that was never too hot to play, remembering the thrill of snow that lured us into a frozen wonderland. Don't age...no, no no no...don't age.
    Well done!

    ReplyDelete
  18. There are some wonderful images here: "floating
    sideways into slow repose as strangers
    chatter into iced cafés, pile up
    in tales of wilt and pushing fluids"
    - absolutely superb.

    ReplyDelete
  19. Lovely piece... I especially like the second stanza.

    http://lkkolp.wordpress.com/2012/01/13/ode-to-bees/

    ReplyDelete
  20. Great images and some fine writing. An absorbing read.

    ReplyDelete
  21. ugh...this was fascinating though, reading about the heat wave in the icy winter cold...would've use for some degrees more..

    ReplyDelete
  22. well, living here colorado, this poem make perfect sense to me. the seasons change every 5 minutes, yesterday i was scraping my windshield in 8 degree weather, today i'm running around in a tee shirt. it doesnt really get old, just intersting. very well written, enjoyed this very much

    ReplyDelete
  23. Nice job. :)

    This is my favorite section:

    "but onto concrete sidewalks, floating
    sideways into slow repose as strangers
    chatter into iced cafés, pile up
    in tales of wilt and pushing fluids"

    ReplyDelete
  24. I agree with many above, Kathy, that the internal feel of "floating... slow repose..." has a lovely flavor. No matter what the thermometer says, or if it's speaking Celsius or Fahrenheit, this is a poem for all seasons. Nicely done! Amy
    http://sharplittlepencil.wordpress.com/2012/02/07/emotional-dyslexic/

    ReplyDelete
  25. Heat...I've had enough too. Though I've grown up with it, I'm certainly not used to it anymore. Turns me into a full-fledged whiner. ;) Enjoyed the poem very much. Appreciate your visit too.

    ReplyDelete

AddThis Widget (for sharing)

Crazy Egg (Analytics)