The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Ice Axe

Deep within the frozen vista 
of blue-grey reticence
Where fractured stillness plays
in dull prismatic echoes.

The axe lies in a mossy cavern
unwielded, forgotten, rusting
The chilled warmth of hibernation
turns upon waking droplet's fall.

Lifted by moments of imagination
and cradled in hands' grasping,
The sun breaks through winter's grim
as wooden shaft tightens.

Far from the shore of rippling waters
of blue-green consciousness
where awakened stirrings spiral
in devilish colored dance.

The axe stands heavenward,
elevated, poised, and sharp
The warm chill on the air
beckons to spring's new breath.

Struck in a fierce moment of fire
upon the frozen, wasted expanse
Will's weight rends stagnation,
wounds afresh the water's flow.

And there came in the days to follow
a new earth and a new heaven of
soul-filled sunlight, glittering
upon the deep waters unleashed,
freed with a word 
to course the land,
to rain and then return,
to fall back
to the 
Deep.
■





©2009 Mark Daniel Milbocker  All rights reserved.