Archive for the ‘Memories’ Category

I truly have not forgot my Dad’s readers, nor will I.  As many of you know, my Dad was part Irish and had a love for Ireland that was very deep.  He always wanted to visit the Emerald Isle but circumstances never allowed that dream to be fulfilled.  My wife (Susan) and I traveled to Ireland this month to fulfill that dream on his behalf (I must admit it was also the dream of Susan and me).  We spent two (2) weeks traveling the length and width of Ireland and spreading Dad’s love of the country and letting the wonderful folk hear his words.

One of his favorite pieces from Ireland was Galway Bay.  We visited that beautiful place and I know that he was with us.  We also visited Dingle Bay.  Four young Irish lasses (none of which we knew) learned of Dad and his love for Galway and Dingle Bays.  Much to our surprise, one of the lasses blessed us and my Dad with the singing of Dingle Bay (of course this occurred in one of Dublin’s many fine pubs).

Later in our trip, our dear friend Joe O’Leary and our new friends Frank and Robbie (all three being true Irish countrymen) serenaded us with Galway Bay (of course this also occurred at pub, this time in the fine city of Cork).  Joe, Frank and Robbie exemplify the true people of Ireland – warm, friendly, helpful and just f..ing great.  We love you guys.

I am sure Dad was with us – every step of the way – and I am also sure that he would agree that every aspect of Ireland and its people exceeded our expectations many-fold.  We will be back.

And I must let all of you know, that I have not forgot my promise to Dad and to you.  I will soon start posting more of his works and will continue The Nether Folk Story.

Go raibh maith agat Éire agus míle buíochas le gach do chuid daoine iontach. Dia Bless agus is Fearr Mianta do na an chuid is fearr.

Bruce, Susan agus Charles Frost


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We are still here. New posts from my Dad’s works are forthcoming. Please bear with me as I strive to become 1/10 as organized as he was.

Thank you

Bruce E. Frost

A lot is going on at the present time. There are more words from my Dad forthcoming. He may have joined my Mom but he has left some additional thoughts behind. Also the Nether Folk Story will continue as per his wishes. The information regarding Dad’s first book and how to obtain a copy will be made available within the next few months. I am sorry for the delay. He loved life, he loved people and he loved his readers. I hope I am worthy to continue his work.

Bruce E. Frost (son)

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frost ceilidh

Frost Ceilidh


Alone on the winter road,
the New Year air bites,
sheets of snow
as I tramp up the mountain pass,
a journey
to the old Ledgecrest home,
a walk to remember
the frost past.


Despite piercing blue sky,
ghostly squalls swirls among
the bone trees,
the rhythmic words of
Padraic Colum
in my head
enchanting flakes into
companionable sprites
among the still
and quietude,
urging and
pulling me forward.


Over silver water trickles
that winds
and tumbles
past the distant Ledgecrest home,
down among
crystal-crusted stones
and snowcapped boulders,
through paper birches
and mill blades,
murmuring forgotten
and songs of near
and far ago.


Each step a memory,
a treasure breath
in my chest.


The climb steepens,
toward graying clouds
thickening in the west,
each breath harder,
sleety tears stinging
as old years
swallow the new.


Then upon the first summit,
frozen pond cupped
in mountain bowl,
giant breaths of wind
gusting unimpeded,
a stray slant of gold
sneaks prizmatically,
warming me,
I stand,
like a deer
caught in the light,
lost in moments.


A moment
lasting near a century.


Then the squall sprites return,
shake me,
spur me to the wild meadows,
beyond pond and woods,
where they join spirits
and multiply,
dance and fly
in a confluence
of flickering white
and golden light,
the world tilting with sun, cloud,
and sapphire sky.


I waver and teeter
during this rare
fairy ceilidh.


And as they begun,
they suspend,
they flutter and settle,
like memories,
I discover,
like frost words,
his late words,
on shifting pages
of sound and rhythm,
spinning tales of long ago
and future,
permeating skin to soul,
from toe to hair,
hair to toe.


Each six-pronged crystal,
a word,
puzzled together
into lines and stanzas,
lilting, meandering sentences,
crafting a spell
of living memory,
an everlasting tome
to celebrate the old and the new,
to make our own,
to add and to multiply,
to dance and fly
like sprites and fairies
in our own frost ceilidh,
as we all climb toward
each New Year’s Day,
now and
in this poet’s world
he has spun.


Bruce Frost II copyright © 2014
January 2, 2014

dedicated to Charles E. Frost,
April 28, 1915 to December 31, 2013

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It’s Time

It’s time to share my feelings
And tell how happy you make me.
It’s time to yell “I love you”
And say “I know that you love me”.

It’s time for hugs and touching
And the feeling of your warmth,
To thank you for my being
And for guiding me through storms.

It’s time to let you know that all I am
Is because of all that you gave me.

It’s not only time for memories
But also time to make some more.
It’s time to take the present days
And find even newer joys in store

Let’s find some more together
Let’s smile and laugh and dance.
Let’s take this as a challenge
And not leave it all to chance.

And also as we walk these roads together
It’s important that you always know.

I’m filled with pride with all the memories
Of all the wondrous times we’ve had
I’m filled with pride of all we’ve done together
But I’m most proud that you’re my Dad

It’s time to smile and share our love.

I Love You, Dad

Copyright © 2013 Bruce E. Frost
November 10, 2013

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Here I am at age ninety-eight still trying to scratch
My way back to the womb, the place of my birth
And the time. I’ve heard it said that memory may
Begin in the womb. That maybe so, for its worth.

Should that be, I thought it important to me, until,
I gave it a bit more thought. What ever came about
To tear my mother and father apart is most likely,
Much better forgot; I’ll go back, to age ninety-eight.

There, I’ve drawn smarts from my account of gains
Through the years by deposits of forgives and forgets.
Those moves that I’ve made, I will not ever regret.
Nor ever forget what I’ve learned in just ninety-eight.

Ninety-eight have past, I will take what I’ve gained
Through my life time deposits and share it all through
The recall of my memories. To my Mother and Father
Who are no longer apart ~ I will be with you in our time.


Copyright © 2013 Charles E. Frost
August 17, 2013

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Many years ago there was a little Red House
That sat on a rocky ledge called, Rock Knoll.
All that passed by admired the view and the
deer many times, standing there on the hill.

The little red house, has been gone for years,
Never forgotten, it’s seen laughter, joy and tears .
A small family, of course now grown, saw need
For more rooms than that of the house there

On the knoll. They loved that tiny home but refused
To tear it down, added on and on. It grew
With the family. All loved it and took part.
Small animals lived there too, there’s more

Of that yet to tell ~ I’m going to bed now, that’s all,
Good nite to all at Rock Knoll

Good Mornin’ all, I am back at Rock Knoll,
Awakened by thought of that wee red house
And all that reside there including tha mouse
That took residence there, that many years ago.

That little red house in reality is extinct
But in the minds of some will never go away.
There now stands majestic ~ I say this in ink,
A big brown house, but memory holds sway!

As I said, I am back, but I am leavin’ toot sweet
Whatever the hell that may mean. So long,
Not good bye, we were taught long ago by,
A Mom, who was wise, never, never, good byes.

Ha, Ha, I was the wisest of all,
I made her my wife, Alas, she has passed.
Our time will come, sooner than later
It will be our ‘forever and ever’ at last!

Copyright © 2013 Charles E. Frost
May 11, 2013

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Horizon Sunrise

Another day on the horizon
Good mornin’ one and all
I push away yesterday’s cares
As a memory, without recall.

I gaze thru my eastern window
The Sun is rising there
To cheer and brighten up my day
It’s all I need and I wish to share.

The mornin’ Sun offers promise
Of twenty four, filled with hope
I want to grasp it, hold it tight
As I might, on a slippery slope.

I am not greedy, the Sun is for all
I’m back at my window pane
Looking East, I’m enthralled as
The Sun peeks thru the trees once again.

A light breeze shakes up the trees
As the Sun shines thru the leaves
A pattern’s drawn on the floor
Much like water thru a sieve.

My Eastern window serves me well
And pleasures me no end
I return to it, time after time
Think ~~ write a bit, click on send.

You see, my computer knows my mind.

Copyright © 2011 Charles E. Frost
July 25, 2011

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