Entering the Poetry Portal (2)

It’s about the size of a hand cupping a snow-
flake, the first of the season, this heart
beating back the fires around her

the frozen lake, the sweep of wind rising
to quell the fear, the voices drowning
then driving, jealously guarding

the ground snow pure in its pristine skyfall
a secret bower where the moon shone
and the woods sang to her and she knew

one day she would sing back to the Voice
that sang delight from the dark unknown
lovely to the child cupping a handful of snow


A second (this time poetic) response to Joy‘s prompt at earthweal weekly challengeabout how our first poems become part of our first voices, and how those voices are always with us because they have become part of our own. If you can include an echo of the natural world, even if it’s only the wind as a torrent of darkness, that will be all to the good, but is not mandatory.Click here for the first response in prose which explains how Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” was my first entry into the wondrous world of poetry.

26 thoughts on “Entering the Poetry Portal (2)

  1. Those moments when the magic and music and mystery of the world enthrall mind and heart are like seeds for the poetry we eventually found to speak it properly. Snow in a cupped hand, the secret bower of moony woods give the child the nascent words she will speak back in its Voice. A divine portal and response to the challenge, Dora.

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  2. And here we see the results of our early voices in action. Just beautiful. I love how this echoes the theme of the Frost poem without in any way making it obvious as a source–it’s just a bit of music and image under the hood, and that is what I think our first poems become, enriching us like compost, if you will; tho they still retain in our hearts their initial integrity and power to speak to us. they are also dissolving, feeding us with their energy. In this, I love the counterpoise of warmth and cold, light and darkness, the heart which is “the size of a hand cupping a snowflake..” and “…the ground snow pure in its pristine skyfall..” I enjoyed your first response,Dora, but I really savor this one.

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