Poem: Last Impression

I’m beginning to enjoy these little poetry experiments.  I might be the only one, but I don’t care!   I like playing about with meters and seeing what happens.  Here’s one that sprang up, probably influenced from writing about that poor old ice man.

 

There’s a chill in his gaze 

Just a frosty hint

And the breath from his mouth

Smells of Glacier mint

And his earlobes are red

As they cringe to his head

As they freeze what was said

Like a ghosts  footprint.

© L. M. Roberts

My other poetry experiments;

Haiku: Three for March

Drowned in sound

Her Facebook has it

Finding the words

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