# The Legacy of Snow



## Darkkin (Dec 19, 2016)

Can a poem ask a question?  Can it exist if it serves no practical function, should it even exist...Or is it merely a wasted thought?


The Legacy of Snow

Where is the legacy of snow to be found?
In the delicate tracery of lace, remnants,
of the fabled Snow Queen’s tattered veil?

Is it high in the nimbus vaulted ceilings,
ethereal domes painted in constellations,
cathedrals built by the Mistral’s bluster?

Is it the tatters?  Snowflakes without mooring,
those derelicts, riding a sea of bitter currents,
soaring and adrift, counter to gravity’s sway.

Does the legacy sail with that harsh wind,
only to wreck as Longfellow’s _Hesperus?_
Where is the legacy of cold Boreal North?

Is it borne within the breath of a child,
a soft warmth upon a frost glazed pane,
paisley forming where a fractal had been?

Icy fingers, small hands cold to the bone
trace the feathers of the fog—That child,
whose touch does not damage the frost—

It is here, the legacy rests, a finite moment,
preserved by the memories of cold hands—
Cold hands, refuge from embittered hands.

Thoughts, these words without purpose,
all that remains, a legacy built of snow.


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## midnightpoet (Dec 19, 2016)

If this poem had been on the last poetry challenge, I would have voted for it. Strong imagery.


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## Firemajic (Dec 19, 2016)

Have you ever saw something, like a snow covered woods, or trees layered in ice, and suddenly the mundane is magical... transformed into something that takes your breath away, from the sheer beauty... and you struggle to process the awe and wonder you are feeling... then consider that you want to immortalize that fleeting beauty, and the magical way that moment made you feel, and your tool of choice are words... if you are a painter, you would try to capture it with paint... I am a glass blower, so I try to capture beauty within my glass.... but a writer uses words.... and the writer captures with imagery, mood and perfect word choice, as you have done here, Darkkin... Why write a Sci- Fi novel, a Mystery, or a romance novel, if not to take your reader on a trip, show them something new, remove them from the mundane world of bills, work, sorrow, boredom... ect.. Why write anything.... Why?? For entertainment, for pleasure... Does ANY artist need to justify the act of creation? Should any form of art exist? The answer is of course, yes... the soul needs beauty... the heart longs to express emotions, and most of us want to be heard... what is wrong with something giving someone simple pleasure.... Your poem is so lovely, and reading it reminded me of how I felt as a child, and the snow enchanted me.....


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## jenthepen (Dec 19, 2016)

I agree with Julia, this is a lovely poem but I preferred the original ending. In fact it was that original last line that secured my vote.


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## Darkkin (Dec 19, 2016)

jenthepen said:


> I agree with Julia, this is a lovely poem but I preferred the original ending. In fact it was that original last line that secured my vote.




The DQ?  A poem deemed by critique to essentially be a waste of incorrectly chosen words and effort?

Edit:  A revision with the original ending.  Not sure if it works.



The Legacy of Snow

Where is the legacy of snow to be found?
In the delicate tracery of lace, remnants,
of the fabled Snow Queen’s tattered veil?

Is it high in the nimbus vaulted ceilings,
ethereal domes painted in constellations,
cathedrals built by the Mistral’s bluster?

Is it the tatters?  Snowflakes without mooring,
those derelicts, riding a sea of bitter currents,
soaring and adrift, counter to gravity’s sway.

Does the legacy sail with that harsh wind,
only to wreck as Longfellow’s _Hesperus?_
Where is the legacy of cold Boreal North?

Is it borne within the breath of a child,
a soft warmth upon a frost glazed pane,
paisley forming where a fractal had been?

Icy fingers, small hands cold to the bone
trace the feathers of the fog—That child,
whose touch does not damage the frost—

It is here, the legacy rests, a finite moment,
preserved by the memories of cold hands—
free from the burn of calloused mortal hands.


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## Firemajic (Dec 19, 2016)

Darkkin said:


> The DQ?  A poem deemed by critique to essentially be a waste of incorrectly chosen words and effort?




Everyone is NOT going to love everything we write, DarKKin... and that is ok... I don't love every poem I read... There are some of your poems that I love MORE than others, and I am a fan of your work. Everyone has an opinion, and sometimes we disagree... that also is ok... 
I do love this poem, though... as I said, it took me back to my childhood, to a time where there was magic in a snowflake, sooo for that, I thank you...


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## Ariel (Dec 19, 2016)

You have inspired me to write my own poem about snow.


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## Firemajic (Dec 19, 2016)

Darkkin said:


> The DQ?  A poem deemed by critique to essentially be a waste of incorrectly chosen words and effort?
> 
> Edit:  A revision with the original ending.  Not sure if it works.
> 
> ...





Nooo... I am disappointed with the last 2 lines... sorry... no...


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## Firemajic (Dec 19, 2016)

LOVE... LOOVE the Longfellow reference.... fabulous!!!! Maybe make THAT the end... you have the perfect end lines, in your poem... juggle around one of the stanzas... ? Maybe...


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## Darkkin (Dec 19, 2016)

Author's Note:  As a writer I don't use or understand metaphors, however, I do understand parallels and correlations and what I am failing as a writer to impart is the correlation between the fact that the legacy of snow is fleeting and frail, nearly invisible to most people. They see it as a nuisance, they don't marvel at the glitter of Jack Frost's fractals, all they see is a windshield that needs scraping.  They don't see the pristine perfection of a glass topped pond.  All they feel is the bitter wind and the bite it brings.  They don't see how bright and clear the blue of the sky is, the play of light through an impossible number of prisms.

It isn't about the beauty, the wonder of the snow, it is about the impossibility of it, how as soon as the Westerly blows and air warms, it all comes crashing down and is lost within hours.  As a writer all I'm trying to say is look beyond the pedantic, allow for the possibility that there is a deeper meaning.  Not an overt metaphor, but something less tangible that like the legacy of snow almost defies explanation.  It is something I once knew, and am desperately trying to find again.


The Legacy of Snow

 Where is the legacy of snow to be found?
In the delicate tracery of lace, remnants,
of the fabled Snow Queen’s old bridal veil?

In the tatters?  Snowflakes without mooring,
those derelicts, riding a sea of bitter currents,
soaring and adrift, counter to gravity’s sway.

 Is it high in the nimbus vaulted ceilings,
ethereal domes painted in constellations,
cathedrals built by the Mistral’s bluster?

 Is it borne within the breath of a child,
a soft warmth upon a frost glazed pane,
paisley forming where a fractal had been?

Icy fingers, small hands cold to the bone
trace the feathers of the fog—That child,
whose touch does not damage the frost—

Does the legacy sail with that harsh wind,
only to wreck as Longfellow’s _Hesperus?_
Where is the legacy of cold Boreal North?


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## Nellie (Dec 19, 2016)

Darkkin said:


> Author's Note:  As a writer I don't use or understand metaphors, however, I do understand parallels and correlations and what I am failing as a writer to impart is the correlation between the fact that the legacy of snow is fleeting and frail, nearly invisible to most people. They see it as a nuisance, they don't marvel at the glitter of Jack Frost's fractals, all they see is a windshield that needs scraping.  They don't see the pristine perfection of a glass topped pond.  All they feel is the bitter wind and the bite it brings.  They don't see how bright and clear the blue of the sky is, the play of light through an impossible number of prisms.
> 
> It isn't about the beauty, the wonder of the snow, it is about the impossibility of it, how as soon as the Westerly blows and air warms it all comes crashing down and is lost within hours.



Nonetheless, this poem is beautiful! It is, IMO, one of best the of yours I've read. Thanks!


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## Firemajic (Dec 19, 2016)

Fabulous! I am going to argue my point though.. you said it was not about the beauty, but you wrote about the beauty...  "Paisley" [sublime imagery] "delicate tracery of lace" "derelicts"... fabulous stuff... if not for the beauty, then what is the loss? If not the loss of the magical, ethereal fleeting beauty...


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## Darkkin (Dec 19, 2016)

Firemajic said:


> Fabulous! I am going to argue my point though.. you said it was not about the beauty, but you wrote about the beauty...  "Paisley" [sublime imagery] "delicate tracery of lace" "derelicts"... fabulous stuff... if not for the beauty, then what is the loss? If not the loss of the magical, ethereal fleeting beauty...



It isn't just about the beauty, it is also about the emotions such marvels evoke.  It is a moment of joy that costs nothing, yet can mean everything.  It is a little thing that keeps a flicker of hope, furtive wonder alive in a cynical world.


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## Firemajic (Dec 19, 2016)

I agree... There! How is that... hahaaa... You said it best when you said some people just see a windshield that needs scraped... I have tried many... maaaany times to describe the magic of a downy blanket of new snow... and the silence it brings, every day sounds are muffled and ... well you know... It IS truly a fabulous thing, and sometimes the magic can get lost... Poems like yours reignites the joy, and helps us keep in touch with the inner child... something like that... anyway...


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## Darkkin (Dec 19, 2016)

That was the message, the purpose of the original piece was a legacy written in hope, and the other, well hope after it has been through the wringer.  Both are edits from the original. Hopeful the worst of the issues have been resolved.  It is either an exercise in duality or futility, still trying to decide which...8-[

All joking aside, the original is the truer of the two versions, the snapshot of a moment that doesn't fling a question at the reader's head for fear of being misunderstood.  The meaning, the wonder is there, but not overt.  The tercet reworking is about as subtle as a brick, and I admit being fond of allowing for wonder, not a bald statement.


A Legacy of Snow

The tattered lace of the Queen's precious veil,
a smattering of delicate flakes in the bitter air—

Rootless, the derelicts soar on Mistral’s bluster,
drifting from nimbus vaulted cathedrals on high.

Glacial hearts, cold hands deft in their fragile art—
Paisley upon the window pane, the hoar flowers…

Words without purpose, those bits of whimsy,
the whispers heard in the first December snow.

A brief moment of magic, a legacy surrendered
to the burning touch of calloused mortal hands.



The Legacy of Snow: Wrecks and Tatters

 Where is the legacy of snow to be found?
In the delicate tracery of lace, remnants,
of the fabled Snow Queen’s precious veil?

In the tatters?  Snowflakes without mooring,
those derelicts, riding a sea of bitter currents,
soaring and adrift, counter to gravity’s sway.

 Is it high in the nimbus vaulted ceilings,
ethereal domes painted in constellations,
cathedrals built by the Mistral’s bluster?

 Is it borne within the breath of a child,
a soft warmth upon a frost glazed pane,
paisley forming where a fractal had been?

Icy fingers, small hands cold to the bone
trace the feathers of the fog—That child,
whose touch does not damage the frost—

Does the legacy sail with that harsh wind,
only to wreck as Longfellow’s _Hesperus?_
Where is the legacy of cold Boreal North?


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## jenthepen (Dec 20, 2016)

You feel, on the strength of one critique, that your poem has not been understood? All writing, but poems especially, are interactive - the reader adds almost as much as the writer to the message and meaning of the work. There will always be people that a poem works for and those that find it empty of any point. As you said yourself, this is why a writer must grow a thick skin and ultimately have faith in their own writing. No matter how harsh an opinion of another may be, it is still just that, an opinion. The positive response is to be aware of the potential pain that your own words might cause when critiquing others and work towards that fine and difficult balance, tempering your own honest opinion with kindness.

I still prefer the original version of your poem. I empathised with your work completely, probably because I am blessed (or cursed) with a natural ability to see through the eyes of a child and you were able to capture that childish wonder towards frost and snow quite perfectly. Sadly, I don't have your ability to express the emotions and observations of children but I can appreciate it when I see it. You will inevitably be connecting with a minority with work of this sort but, from all the positive comments about your poem, it seems there are more of us than I would have thought.


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## Darkkin (Dec 20, 2016)

The original has an elusiveness to it that is hard to define, the quality that is so innate and critical to its message.  A couple of lines did need tweaking, nimbus providing a better foil than cumulus, and glacial hearts, cold hands needing to be the primary subject of the line, instigating the action.  The first line's end punctuation has been adjusted to reflect that it is a fragment, whose purpose was to illustrate a few flurries in the air.

There were valid points made and they have been addressed, but there was a purpose and direction for the piece.  And one can only apologise a finite number of times for not being clear enough in one's meaning without becoming tedious.  As I am already exceedingly tedious and it doesn't help to compound the flaw, I'm relinquishing that bone.

As to critique, it is subjective, an opinion.  Oddly enough one tactic I think helps balance critique are questions.  The why behind the action. Decent writing is defensible and a writer should be able to explain and defend their choices, delineate the logic behind it.

If you can't argue the point, chances are the observation is valid and the situation needs to be addressed.  It is a tool that helps as a reader and as a writer.

- D. the T.


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## Bard_Daniel (Dec 22, 2016)

I'm arriving late to this but I just wanted to say that I like the first version. The ending had a bittersweet edge to it that I found emphasized finality.

Just my two cents!


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