Under the Ice Options

[Guest_kerri_*]

Under The Ice


This is where you asked for the rest of my life,
wind mumbling through pines, minting our cheeks,
designing flakes into small drifts.
We walked the lake, ignored warnings
of ice too thin, passion birthing its color,
flushing our skin a sudden pink.

Then back again on anniversaries, each year
bundled in more protective clothing
safe from each other and the wind,
fewer words spoken, the groaning of ice
seemingly louder, every stroll closer to the shore.

Police lights splash a dizzy blue against
the pillows of snow on the hills.
The bodies of two young lovers are sheeted
and slid like loaves of bread into the ambulance.

I imagine the lovers tangled, lips locked
in a hunger so heavy they didn't hear the fist
of ice songs hitting the surface, ripping the night air.
No time for the mold of goodbye to grow on the tongue,
no hide and seek of emotion that you and I have known for years,
just a black plunge, a panicked thought,
the freeze always preserving
the passion calling its color.

[Guest_Kathy_*]

I like it. A lot.

As is usual for me, I'll make a quick comment and go away to ponder this for a while. I love the feelings in it! Seasoned love looking back to the young with understanding. And this sadness, this tragedy.
Love the ending, harking back to that marvelous concept about passion 'birthing' its colour. Yum. I also love 'wind minting our cheeks.' In fact I love all of that stanza (action/show, onamatapoea, metaphor, personification, assonance, consonance, alliteration; the feel and sheer poetry of it...) but I don't understand the first line.

You continue the poem skillfully and with taste, as before. I continue to notice things bracketted above.

Did you mean 'mold' or 'mould?'

Best wishes, Kathy

Under The Ice


This is where you asked for the rest of my life,
wind mumbling through pines, minting our cheeks,
designing flakes into small drifts.
We walked the lake, ignored warnings
of ice too thin, passion birthing its color,
flushing our skin a sudden pink.

Then back again on anniversaries, each year
bundled in more protective clothing
safe from each other and the wind,
fewer words spoken, the groaning of ice
seemingly louder, every stroll closer to the shore.

Police lights splash a dizzy blue against
the pillows of snow on the hills.
The bodies of two young lovers are sheeted
and slid like loaves of bread into the ambulance.

I imagine the lovers tangled, lips locked
in a hunger so heavy they didn't hear the fist
of ice songs hitting the surface, ripping the night air.
No time for the mold of goodbye to grow on the tongue,
no hide and seek of emotion that you and I have known for years,
just a black plunge, a panicked thought,
the freeze always preserving
the passion calling its color.

[Eisa]

Hi Kerri

I love some of the imagery you have woven into this poignant tale. A few thoughts

Under The Ice


This is where you asked for the rest of my life,
wind mumbling through pines, minting our cheeks,
designing flakes into small drifts.
We walked the lake, ignored warnings
of ice too thin, passion birthing its color,
flushing our skin a sudden pink.


Wonderful descriptions. I love 'passion birthing its color'

The first line is not too clear and would sound better as

This is where you asked me for the rest of my life,

but perhaps it could be more concise

Here, you asked me for the rest of my life.

Then back again on anniversaries, each year
bundled in more protective clothing
safe from each other and the wind,
fewer words spoken, the groaning of ice
seemingly louder, every stroll closer to the shore.

I wonder if the narrator is saying something about their relationship with partner?

safe from each other

fewer words spoken

Police lights splash a dizzy blue against
the pillows of snow on the hills.
The bodies of two young lovers are sheeted
and slid like loaves of bread into the ambulance.

and slid like loaves of bread into the ambulance.

A great description!

I imagine the lovers tangled, lips locked
in a hunger so heavy they didn't hear the fist
of ice songs hitting the surface, ripping the night air.
No time for the mold of goodbye to grow on the tongue,
no hide and seek of emotion that you and I have known for years,
just a black plunge, a panicked thought,
the freeze always preserving
the passion calling its color.

Until this stanza I thought the narrator & partner were in the accident, but this st makes me think otherwise and I still feel the pull of emotions

no hide and seek of emotion that you and I have known for years,

and comparison of a passionate couple - now gone and themselves.

I might be completely off track here -- let me know! LOL!

A poignant and intriguing tale.

Snow

[Guest_kerri_*]

Thanks sweet Kathy.

I did mean mold in the line re no time for the mold of goodbye to grow on the tongue.

I was thinking of a relationship that goes bad
and the goodbyes that take years before the couple
admits the relationship is dying.

Elsa,

You are completely on track.

I was trying to portray the comparison of couples:
The young couple in love and the passion as they made
love in the truck before it fell through the ice,
and the other couple is under the emotional ice.

I'll think about that first line.

Yes. The narrator is saying something about
the relationship between the other couple
re safe from each other and the wind,
fewer words spoken, every stroll closer to the shore.

Thanks so much both of you for your thoughts!

kerri

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Thanks sweet Kathy.

I did mean mold in the line re no time for the mold of goodbye to grow on the tongue.

I was thinking of a relationship that goes bad
and the goodbyes that take years before the couple
admits the relationship is dying.

Elsa,

Here comes that regional difference thing again! It has to be that! Over here a 'mold' is a thing you set jellies in. A mould is the thing that grows.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

mold1 (mĹŤld)
n.
A hollow form or matrix for shaping a fluid or plastic substance.
A frame or model around or on which something is formed or shaped.
Something that is made in or shaped on a mold.
The shape or pattern of a mold.
General shape or form: the oval mold of her face.
Distinctive character or type: a leader in the mold of her predecessors.
A fixed or restrictive pattern or form: a method of scientific investigation that broke the mold and led to a new discovery.
Architecture. See molding (sense 3).

v., mold·ed, mold·ing, molds.

v.tr.
To shape in or on a mold.

To form into a particular shape; give shape to.
To guide or determine the growth or development of; influence: a teacher who helps to mold the minds of his students.
To fit closely by following the contours of.
To make a mold of or from (molten metal, for example) before casting.
To ornament with moldings.
v.intr.
To be shaped in or as if in a mold: shoes that gradually molded to my feet.

[Middle English molde, from Old French modle, molle, from Latin modulus, diminutive of modus, measure.]



.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hello Kerri.

It's good to read your poetry - this one is filled with much to ponder! I get a sense of a recall of a proposal and the eventual disinterest in the yoouthful passion as time passes on - the narrator wishing things were as they once were mmany years ago.

This is where you asked for the rest of my life,
wind mumbling through pines, minting our cheeks,
designing flakes into small drifts.
We walked the lake, ignored warnings
of ice too thin, passion birthing its color,
flushing our skin a sudden pink.
I like the word choices here in your opening, it really adds to the imagery of the elements and hints at relations of chance/changing as the weather patterns do. One idea might be to put single quotes around the phrase ‘the rest of my life’ – or you could italicize it too.

Then back again on anniversaries, each year
bundled in more protective clothing
safe from each other and the wind,
fewer words spoken, the groaning of ice
seemingly louder, every stroll closer to the shore.
Perhap:
Each anniversary, we’d revisit this place
bundled in more protective clothing
safe from each other and the wind,
fewer words spoken, the groaning of ice
seemingly louder, every stroll closer to the shore.
WOW – this hints at the relationship faltering and the shore could be a lead in to a ‘drowning’. I must read on!

Police lights splash a dizzy blue against
the pillows of snow on the hills.
The bodies of two young lovers are sheeted
and slid like loaves of bread into the ambulance.
The metaphors continue to thrill and compliment the ‘ice water theme’. The simile of the bodies found and tended to is original too!

I imagine the lovers tangled, lips locked
in a hunger so heavy they didn't hear the fist
of ice songs hitting the surface, ripping the night air.
No time for the mold of goodbye to grow on the tongue,
no hide and seek of emotion that you and I have known for years,
just a black plunge, a panicked thought,
the freeze always preserving
the passion calling its color.

I am not too clear on the ending Kerri because I assume in S3 it is recall of younger days – is it really another, younger couple? I’ll assume that the narrator, older now, has experienced the passion dying over time and imagines them in their youth – but with a twist of fate, the dream is shattered when the thin ice cracks and they plunge through.

Cheers
~Cleo