Not Really a Magritte Morning – March

Not Really a Magritte Morning – March

Frost chicken-scratches
the drive;
flakes feathering stems into found
pipe cleaners, only ceci
n’est pas
une pipe–not in this sea
of spring
where peeps hardly sound,
the downed stars at our feet
as silent as
the wind, only shushing this morning
a mist that does not emanate
from what is not an ember
at hill’s horizon,
lighting what feels
as if it’s never
been seen before: this, that is,
this, that is not–


poem for Real Toads Play It Again Sam, hosted by the wonderful photographer and poet, Margaret Bednar.  In my case, I specifically use a returning prompt by Mary Kling asking one to write of the ordinary.  Frost in the morning?  It’s so beautiful that it is hard to know if it qualifies! 


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10 Comments on “Not Really a Magritte Morning – March”

  1. Kerry O'Connor Says:

    I love walking to work when the frost is twinkling on the grass. It happens seldom enough to be very out of the ordinary. Beautiful.

  2. “Frost chicken-scratches the drive;” That is a brilliant observation. wow

  3. Candy Says:

    you make the ordinary even more beautiful

  4. Finding the sublime in the ordinary is a peculiar talent of poets, and you have it. Nicely done! Amy

  5. Bekkie Says:

    Awesome write Manic and I loved those pictures! The day after Easter in California is cold and very windy. Too windy to ride my bike by the Bay. I see you’re not having much luck with the spring weather too.

  6. Great photos! Frost does turn ordinary into sublime…I wish I could write like this.

  7. downed stars at our feet – they really DO look like that – little impressions in the mud or dust… Lovely!

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