Remembrance of Things Past. Ice. Bees. Honey. Buzz. (and a video inspiration for the poem)

Ice and Fire and Memory

Sheep’s frozen water.

Cleaving the ice open,

passing through summer’s sternum

Into our beehive’s buzzing heart.

Heat and bees

on my tongue

Tasted and said and eaten

Mid-winter honey memory and

Sheep’s water,  re-freezing.

Video Inspiration for Poem–Remix?



  1. // Reply

    I listened to the beginning several times. Their song is soothing; I could hear the different voices, including one who is a complainer like my cat. Does it usually get so cold in Kentucky that you can play ice frisbee with your sheep?

    Gentle orange glow
    Fields in the soothing,
    Subdued bah bah! humDo
    Of the flock
    Waiting for

    1. // Reply

      I love the coinage–humDo!

      I love the word subdued because it not only describes the light but contrast to the humble insistence of the sheep.

      I am such a sucker for the rhythmical alliteration of the last three lines.

      We get whatever weather the jetstream brings us. It will be sixty today, but if Alberta sends a missive we have no choice but to open it.

      The sheep all have their own voice, humble though it might be. She sings the same humDo every day of her life and that’s a passle of bahbah’s.

  2. // Reply

    I am taken by the image of the grandkids and dog. It seems to have been snapped through a screen door ‘filter’ of some kind. I love how objects serve as totems for memory. They hold them and are keyed open in so many ways. In my case the sound of ice being cleaved open. As dear Emily writes,

    One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
    One need not be a house;
    The brain has corridors surpassing
    Material place.
    ~Emily Dickinson, “Time and Eternity”

    1. // Reply

      See my response. What a great Saturday it is shaping up to be. Tonight my wife, kids and I will be taking a full moon hike at Jefferson State Forest near Louisville. May you have blue skies.

  3. // Reply

    The long canvas bucket
    a wind sock of the subterranean world
    falls quickly down
    and plops
    into the coolest, cleanest, sweetest water
    this LA kid had ever tasted
    it was hard to wait for
    the slow pulling of the bucket back up [I helped, I doubt i ever
    made the whole haul by myself at eight]
    out of that well in Plainview, Arkansas in 1950
    came deep dreams and sweet bitter memories

  4. // Reply

    Working on a response, Fred. A lot happened in 1950, like the well it’s a very deep subject.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *