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Haunted

And so on December 31, 2013, it came to pass.  True Love!

Haunted

Each night and through each long
Day, I hear voices always singing
A haunting melody of love. Its old
But still new and always bringing

Memories of the old yet recent past.
I try to shut them out, to no avail
Because instilled in me, is the desire,
To make them last and not ever fail.

They come to protect me, I am sure
Against the loss of our binding love,
And say: “interlopers, beware.
This ground is sacred, held from above”.

I do not ever want the spirit of our love
To leave, to go away to another place.
The picture in my mind, as I listen to
The melody of love is the smiling face

Of the one I have loved, whose spirit
Lives on in this, my Haunted House.
And so it will be forever more, the
Time will come quietly as with a mouse.

The Haunt and I will leave this house
Together to live again in our haunting
Spirit world where we haunt another
House of love.

Copyright © 2011 Charles E. Frost
September 17, 2011

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Changing Times

At the age of 93, he was still open to learning ~ still open to change.

Changing Times

The hour hand just plods along,
The minute hand speeds up the march,
The second hand rushes on.
They work together to make the day.
And so go we — hour on hour,
To follow the clock of time.
Should we pattern our life that way,
Never changing — just plod along,
As the hour hand on the clock?
Let’s take a moment now and then,
To look ahead — to see what’s new.
Don’t set a pattern and forget it
As we set the clock of time,
Our life’s patterns are ever changing.
We must change
With the changing times.

Copyright © 2009 Charles E. Frost
February 28, 2009

Update

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)

His Wishes

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

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

Charles E. Frost passed away at 4:50Pm on December 31, 2013. This poem was written for him today. His love of life and people transcends his passing and will shine as a beacon for all eternity.

No more days in this year
New ones start tomorrow
With them come great joy
With them come great sorrow

Dad was finishing his 98th
He will not make it 99
He has gone to be with loved ones
And now it is his time

The sorrow is for all of us
Who had him in our life
The joy is for our Dad
In his rejoining with his wife

The suffering has ended
No more sadness, no more pain
Now he’ll have eternity in heaven
No greater gift can one attain

98 years of love and teaching
98 years he gave to us
He enriched our every moment
He taught our hearts to feel and trust

This will be his glorious journey
The great reunion comes at last
They will all be there to greet him
As some day will all the rest

Copyright © 2013 Bruce E. Frost
December 31, 2013

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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