Rimestones

Barren community garden

dried-up stalks, charcoal mounds

withered tomato plants-

a few stragglers hang onto the eroding overhang

soon to be ghosts of a November's past

as an approaching December hovers

first frost doses a plot

a not-so-long-ago thriving scenario

with whispers of crystals

freezing colorful garden life

like memories buried under grounded leaves

mud sludge and mukluks

my footprints are imprints

tracing me back to the boondocks

childhood and livelihood

places I'd rather be

and I shiver a bit

recalling many November's past

bone chills to landfills

many hills that I've climbed

rewind, aligned, things heavy on my mind

yet my sullen emotions

Autumn death anniversaries

one dated on my birthday

a November eight, one I'd rather forget

but time won't let me

seasons, cycles, things I regret

these feelings come to the surface

walking a wiped-out garden terrain

*

Then a side-eyed glance

causes reason for pause

a gust of wind carries my gasp

across a fading field

stirring an unearthed Spring

my feet melt into a slow-chilling soil

one lone yellow flower

halts my brooding

my sorrow

my weathered heartbeat

one lone yellow daisy

lingers but is far from lazy

stilled sunshine in an hourglass

knows not of time or circumstance

first frost dazzles her presence

rime glitters on her petals like rhinestones

sparkly rings on golden fingers

reaching out to me

"hold my image in your heart"

she speaks

fading the bruises of my past's peruse

planting seeds for morrow's garden

even when hefty snowprints

will outweigh overturned soil

hope, not one season's seedling

blooms even in harsh conditions

mindset: fertilizer, or salt

the choice is mine

considering the beauty of rime-

first frost on a flower

a yellow daisy

an insistent blossom

late autumn flourisher

lacking reason, yet full of rhyme

*

Winterfall, before me

soon a whiteout washout

will paint this landscape

ivory snowdrifts

scattered pawprints

a once lively garden

sleeping

covered up snug with nature's blanket

hibernation- the magick of inner workings

unseen but are there just the same

a time to rest

time to dream

reflect and wonder

and underneath it all

the freeze and frost

sleet and snow

sunshine is pushing up

yes, like daisies

but not of solemn reminders

graveyards to tombstones

but rhinestones

all the gems, collected and ripe for picking

all the hope in the world

the spirit that remains with us

when all else turns to dirt and dust

***

Author's note: my frost poetry entry reflects on personal emotions upon Winter's arrival and the memories of death anniversaries in November. Sometimes "winter wonderland" is hard to achieve especially when depression and life's crazy moments get in the way. First frost on a daisy reminded me of rhinestones and another word for frost is rime, hence my creative take on the challenge.

Here is the actual photo that inspired my poem, taken in my community garden this November: