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Frost Dreams
The Hyacinth Review
The Hyacinth Review

Frost Dreams

by
January 29, 2025
White Frost, Claude Monet, 1875

Having worked a variety health care and Civil Service jobs…

Fog sheets, fog, the tree tips draped in the gray ineluctable as dove echoes----- How I love the marvels of this park, each chiascuro swirl as the brick path miraculously leads on. Here Willows are still & lonely. Also, gas lamps, the antique balls, purple, green, in this thrall of drops this cold coats. I lift my eyes to those promises that, though blind, indefinite, the journey does not stop. Neon too glows hope through life now on the bus, each sign that I pass reading time, the temp, thirty-two degrees, & names for what a meaning could be. Getting off, solo passenger, strangers know you by the defiant cigs' familiarity, the jacket on loan from lonesome thrift. Brother, no wonder there are little green things peeping up through the earth, such fibrous moss to pin some faith on. In bed dreams resume. Lay down on poems, prop 'round the room the paintings of life mirroring, mirroring all that never was & the bridge where one leapt, one fell.
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Having worked a variety health care and Civil Service jobs to pay the bills, Stephen Mead, now retired, always managed to squeeze out time for writing poetry/essays and creating art. Occasionally he even got paid for this work. Currently he is resident artist/curator for The Chroma Museum, an online site depicting artistic renderings of LGBTQI historical figures, organizations and allies predominantly before Stonewall, The Chroma Museum

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