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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Long Overdue Update

To all my Dad’s faithful readers, I apologize for my absence.  The next installment of The Nether Folk Story is close to completion.  My Mom and Dad’s beloved home has been going through some changes as Susan (my precious wife and friend for 48 years) and I prepare to move our lives to Ledgecrest (Mom and Dad’s name).  We have received permission from the Nether Folk with some reasonable stipulations (of Course).  We have lived down the street since 1977 – it amazes us as to how much two people can accumulate.

With regards to Dad’s poetry, many of his poems remain unread.  I will begin to add them to this site as time permits.  Your patience is appreciated.  Let me assure you that hundreds of his poems remain to be revealed as does his life story which he had been writing for the last 25 years of his life.

I am bound by my promise to him that all these things will be done.  I am sure that Mom and Dad, along with my brothers, Warren and Russell (he joined them earlier this year) will be watching from Heaven and will let me do no less.

Thank You and Love to All,

Bruce

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As you know, my Dad, Charles E. Frost, passed away on December 31st, 2013. He loved life. More than life he loved every living creature on this earth. He spent every waking moment, as well as those he spent in slumber and his dreams, wishing only for a way to help people understand the joy of loving and sharing the beauty of life. He did not want to be famous. He only wanted to share his thoughts and feelings with as many people as possible. Through this blog he was able to begin this process. He truly wanted to have his poems and stories made available in book form as well as his blog. Unbeknown to him, his first book was in process thanks to many hours of dedication and hard work by his Grandson (Bruce E Frost II). Titled simply Book of Words, Poems and Stories from the Eastern Window – Volume 1, his book went to print one (1) week after his passing. It will be made available at cost (no profit to his estate) to those who desire to procure a copy. More information will be made available shortly.

I truly believe that He, along with his wife Alma and his son Warren, are together again. His first wish has been granted. His love for Alma (his wife of 71 years) was unfaltering as was his love for all of his family. His second wish has also been granted. His work will continue to be available to all those here on this earth. In addition he has asked that I continue The Nether Folk Story. I do not profess to have the talents my Dad had but I do promise to do my best to fulfill his request. He was not only my Dad, but he was truly my best friend.

He looked forward to seeing his words read each day and loved your comments. I hope you continue to enjoy his works, and even more importantly, that you continue to comment with your thoughts. He is with his loving wife and son and above all else he is with his Lord and Savior. Thank you, Dad.

Bruce E. Frost (son)
January 14, 2014

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frost ceilidh

Frost Ceilidh

 

Alone on the winter road,
the New Year air bites,
sheets of snow
crunch,
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
down
past the distant Ledgecrest home,
down among
crystal-crusted stones
and snowcapped boulders,
through paper birches
and mill blades,
murmuring forgotten
stories
and songs of near
and far ago.

 

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

 

The climb steepens,
heavenward
toward graying clouds
thickening in the west,
each breath harder,
sharper,
sleety tears stinging
cheeks,
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,
and
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
forever
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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Dad was presented with a challenge this Christmas. He had a spill on Monday before Christmas and broke his hip. However, being young at heart, he opted to have a replacement, which occurred on Christmas day. He is now home doing rehab at home and would sure appreciate any comments, prayers, wishes, or literary creations of your own. He writes for his readers. That is his true joy. Thank you,

Bruce E. Frost (The youngest son)

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Case in Hand

I’m gonna take my case in hand tonight
To see just where I’m at. It seems to me
That I’m lost and looking for a line
To tie onto and pull me from this misery.

My friends, don’t get upset, I’m not ill. It’s
Just a matter of the mind. I think I shall
Recoup. Don’t go now to spread the word
I’d rather that I would be the one to tell

The world, I’ve lost my vocabulary. O’ now,
Wait! Isn’t that word big in the dictionary?
Is there a reaction taking place in my head?
My gosh, this whole thing is getting scary!

I want and have to write but, lacking words
It will be like being asea in a ship, no engine.
My being a poet, lacking words, naught to say,
There’ll be no readers, there will be no friends.

To see and carry me on through another day
I hear a call for poetry with rhyming
That was my thing when I could have my way.
I’ll give it a try, then off I’ll be signing,

Off my friends, thank you all, That is my say!

Copyright 2013 Charles E. Frost
April 18, 2013

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