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Six-Above
by Jim MooreAt first I think of us as Astronauts,
Each of us stepping out of our capsule
Onto to a frozen world--
We are alone here,
Three strangers among a field of white,
The cosmic equivalent of a dead planet--
But the cold brings me back,
And the whip of wind desperate to reclaim
The footprints of our travels,
Erasing our existence in
Its slow, steady drift of snow--
The ghostly impressions,
The slumbering streets,
Reshaping themselves one flake at a time.
07/23/2007 Posted on 07/23/2007
Copyright © 2026 Jim Moore
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 07/25/07 at 04:28 PM Having grown up in Mich I remember a few cold and snowy winters. It used to be one of my favorite seasons. I remember walking home in the quite snow covered evenings. This speakes very well to the feeling. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 07/25/07 at 04:28 PM Having grown up in Mich I remember a few cold and snowy winters. It used to be one of my favorite seasons. I remember walking home in the quite snow covered evenings. This speakes very well to the feeling. |
| Posted by Paul Lastovica on 07/25/07 at 09:13 PM this is otherworldly - a dream, but not. I feel as if "of snow" were left out, the surreality would be enhanced a bit more; just enough to place it on the very edge of reality. Nice work, and welcome =) |
| Posted by Melissa Arel on 09/17/07 at 03:46 AM what a serenely beautiful poem. and since i live in CT, i totally get it :) awesome poem, Jim.. |
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