Snowflakes on My Tongue

Snowflakes on my tongue

Snowflakes on my tongue (Photo credit: giraffe_756)

I fear this winter may have ended
and I never consciously captured
on my tongue the essence of its fruit,
the falling snow. Oh, I caught several
windblown facefuls of snowblower mush,
but they taste of two-stroke engine exhaust
and anger. Pure snow, the glistening,
diaphonous jewels that have yet become
a ground-bound part of the landscape
such as I, taste like perfect nothing.

They’re as blank of flavor as they’re
empty of color, their nothingness melting
to shapeless memory in your mouth.
Maybe snow tastes like poetry, though.
Each poem a one-of-a-kind piece
of icy flotsam floating from cloudy thought;
each frozen notion full of facets and edges
only visible by our intimate inspection.
We catch them upon our tongues, they melt
and become part of us in that moment.

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19 thoughts on “Snowflakes on My Tongue

  1. “Maybe snow tastes like poetry.
    Each poem a one-of-a-kind piece”……..
    “We catch them upon our tongues, where
    they melt and become part of us in that moment.”
    Wow!!! Simply superb.

  2. I keep thinking one of these days, I won’t care for one of your poems…but I think you prove, even turning a ‘faceful of snowblower mush’ you are amazingly good at what you do.

  3. Great analogy. And I must say, it is so very refreshing to read a poem which does not malign poor Winter — a season that I love. Spring comes out slowly, as it should, for it intrudes on a world of wonder.

  4. You say:
    “I caught several
    windblown facefuls of snowblower mush,
    but they taste of two-stroke engine exhaust
    and anger.”

    Made me wonder if you had an unpleasant neighbor who was snowblowing you!

    I seem to recall snowflakes from the sky had some kind of elusive flavor, though what it was I cannot say. You seem to have observed them to be flavorless.

    A subject for future research, next time I am traveling in a wintered land…

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