Poe-et lurks outside my door, nevermore

making a lie

of the bright blue sky

the ice crept nearer and nearer

now in the street

now on the walk

approaching the house

it came stalking, stalking, stalk...

 By Kay L. Davies, March, 2013

Images from publicdomainimages.net — Alejandro Lizardo (top), and Robert Kraft

Mama Zen has challenged us to become Poe-ets today, to look outside and write about what we see there, but to make our poem frightening in the style of Edgar Allan Poe.

With apologies to the ghost of Poe, which phantom, I'm sure, walks in the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, I drifted into the narrative style of Alfred Noyes in my last line.

However, I did look out the window at the street in front of our house, and patches of ice still lurk there, despite the blue of the sky.