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Narrative Snow Poems | Narrative Poems About Snow

These Narrative Snow poems are examples of Narrative poems about Snow. These are the best examples of Narrative Snow poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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A Most Irish Fairy Tale - Merry Christmas to All

It is not just Santa Claus who we meet in cold December— 
There is “Carolina,” and she’s the beauty of a winter picture perfect 
With luscious long coal black curly hair far down on her back 
As a true fairy princess, Carolina is quite beautiful with beaming

Blue eyes and that certain incandescent glow for all to see and 
Dressed in a sparkling white robe made of polar bear skins 
With a glossy coat sprinkled with pearls and diamonds . . . .

Out of the woods she comes so quiet in the night’s fresh snow 
With a glimpse of two deer and a fox on hunt walking carefully 
Carolina hopes the deer will walk around with angelic guard 
The secret is that beautiful Carolina talks the animals’ languages 
The birds they play in all its splendor fine without sorrows 
They fly while Carolina keeps watch carefully on the horizon 

Falling snow now dazzling Christmas in a ball circle most brilliant 
While there is a frozen frosted sprinkling silver in the mist shining sun
Oh so!! Wonderful to behold as the Spirit of Christmas comes alive . . . .

The Reindeer come alive and begin dancing joyfully together and 
Create such a melodic sound almost like bells ringing aloud
And the all the Reindeer are here in their resplendent glory:
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen,
And Rudolph, with his red nose so beautiful and oh so bright—
And the sounds the Reindeer make stay in the minds of the little
Children just like sweetly wishing little voices wonderful in dreams
With those singing, tunes a dancing light appears so wondrous 
While planes from all over the world begin landing with cargo
And one each day with loads of letters from good little children

And Santa Claus begins calling the elfin troops into action while
The Leprechauns do all the heavy work as they are much tougher
But the old fighting Irish in them showing their softer side all the 
While with a drop of the old fiery dew to keep them warm smiling 
Like the very wee little Devil in them - mischievous and all . . . . 

They do all the heavy work for the elves as they have more of a spring
In their step while almost bouncing on the tip of the their toes like 
Little jumping springs so full of boundless wonder and energy and  
Then day after day the letters keep arriving and landing at the North Pole 
And they begin working like mad and very busily in the North Pole factory

While Santa checks the letters of all boys and girls through a secret window 
And when he shakes it he sees through the mist in a glass bubble of the
Christmas treats while hurriedly calling together all of his Reindeer . . . .
The sound of hooves on the snow saddles up the sleigh he is very slim 
To start off while all his helpers are loading up and he flicks the reins 

And the bells start ringing and - in a flash of magic dust in spirit sings of 
The ground waving he bade Mrs. Claus a very fond and loving farewell
And off he goes in a flash of light Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! echoing in the distance 

Each chimney sliding down he eats the food throwing some to the Reindeer 
Treats left after the night's over he feels so fat eating so much he heads back 
Home to the North Pole while smiling so content at the children’s happiness 
And ringing in his ears filled with golden smiles and wishing everyone a very 
Merry Christmas he falls asleep after Mrs. Claus makes him a hot chocolate
Really tired but easing his weary bones year after year he loves his job very
Much so and all of the sheer delight that his efforts and those of Mrs. Clau
And his elfin helpers and the joy and fun of the Reindeer bring to all children
On this Earth!! 
                     Merry Christmas to All!!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, 

Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 9, 2014) (Free Verse)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2014

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Snow Angels

Imprints of snow angels
Winding their way to heaven..

Copyright © valerie bellefleur | Year Posted 2008

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Children and Snow

Ruddy faced tots
lick ice pellets
off soggy red mittens...

Copyright © valerie bellefleur | Year Posted 2008

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Rescue Squad-16 - Part-3

"Well Captain how we working this one."" umm; so Billy is this your first Winter Rescue?"
"Yep" "All right you're with me" "I thought I was going to be with Tom" " Hey kid your 
better off with Harry. Rick and I have been partners many times before." " Ok guys keep
your spikes on until we hit the top of the avalanch floe. that's a good 5 or 600 feet down
Stay away from uprooted trees, it takes less than 5 pounds to send the whole tree down the mountain, possibly causing the floe to become the base.Rick, Tom there's a goat trail 60 meters to the west follow that and we will meet at Nesting Rocks. Every 2 minutes flick your Amber lamp 3 times each in our direction. Keep your radios on but I'll be the only one talking; unless YOU find a Save. Flash us in 5 minutes when your in position" "See You at the snowline boss."" Harry. Why do they call you captain and boss
 "Senority, I been on the Squad for 18 years. Let me know if you get any numbness in or
tingling feelings in your hands,arms,or legs." What about my ears?" In a couple of hours
your ears will be burning, which is good, they'll help keep your face warm." How, Why?"
"I don't know, I didn't event ears, I just know that they do. There's the signal, Let's get started. Be sure to tug the tether with each movement you make. I signaled them in two minutes I want you to signal them in amber." " Why amber?" Yellow light can be seen farther away than white light."
                                   To be cont.

Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2012

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A snowman in Africa

It fell from a grey sky
That exhibited darker clouds
From the smouldering of the earth
Over the land of the rhino

It covered all with whiteness
And turned the tone of the continent
Into emptiness
The people and the wildlife vacating the landscape
Experienced a mixture of emotions
Confusion ran rampant throughout the villages

Why now, when the weather forecast was...?
What was’s been sunny all our lives!
Who can explain this phenomenon?
Where’s the witchdoctor?
How will our children walk barefoot in the ice?
They’ve never known winter like this,
No one even owns a winter jacket

The snow fell in triangular flakes
Some rectangular, or circular
And even irregular
But none of this was very popular

The elders recall a day in 1981 when it last happened
The youngsters Google search, but the signal is poor
The entire community is looking for answers
The weatherman cannot be seen
It seems someone is deliberately hiding the truth

A prophet came from the neighbouring village
Wielding a cane, and out of the snow
Built a snowman
He came to life and spoke...

These are the sorrows of those who died in vain
In a land that still harbours so much pain
When Ebola and malaria cannot be eradicated
HIV and TB are still in existence

The snow carries nothing but anger
At those remaining who fail to prosper
Because of dictators and corruption
Inequality, and gender violence

The snow smelted overnight
And the sky opened to the grey of the rhino
The black and white of the zebra
To the pride of a lion
And the joy of the people

Copyright © Thabang Ngoma | Year Posted 2014

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Snow and Oil - Oil and Fire

Together we are like crisp morning snow and dry sooty oil poured onto the ground in our different ways. I putter around the home like puppy dog waiting for his next meal and she toils away at her job as an angel looking for her wings yet to be put on. Her words sweet like honey butter and light as a crisp cool spring morning gentle breeze while mine is both gruff and gentle, being abrasive at her lovely unique humor and at times cuddly as a big teddy bear. 
Don’t know why she loves me so, but I am glad to know her loving heart compared to my sometimes dark and light temperament. Luckily for me, the glow of her bright soul of winter’s snow covers up the dry personality of black oil that is mine. We are of two hearts entwined where the heat of my oil in the bright hot sun will melt away the brightness of her snow, so I let her go be the person she is as I slip further into the background to be covered by the green grass. 
I reside still in the ground permanently whilst she has floated to the clouds ready to rain her beautiful light touch on someone else who is easy going as the green grass swaying in the gentle wind. Together they shall hold tight together and she shall nourish him before the cycle begins anew. She will melt into him and him into her as nature’s course was meant to. 
I remain in the ground subdued, anchored where I am by the very nature that gave them a life together.
It’s early spring now, the snow is melted into the green grass, but nothing will grow where the sooty black oil was. He scooped up the oil and dirt that mixed together into a container marked ‘recycle’. Keeping busy with work, he was no longer a puppy waiting on his next meal. Running on automatic though, his heart black like the sooty dried oil, he cleaned up around the small cabin. “Time to make old things new again” he silently told himself. His mind sought an answer for the scorched heart he still had from years of pain. Peace had found him, but the loss of his wife and son still haunted him, like the darkness that closed in around him. 
He sought to drive away the pain as far from the dark house he had hid in. He drove away from his memories stopping at a nicely lit dancehall where he could get lost in the crowd. Sitting in the background, he noticed a spark of light in the dark. Like an owl’s piercing stare, a woman with fire in her eyes held his gaze from across the room. They grew ever so close, until the world seemed to fall away. They danced the nights away like flames on a bonfire reaching for the sky. One bright day, he sought to quench his black heart’s desire to fill his empty soul.
 She came to him and they danced skin to skin. His heart beat with black oil hot as her flaming eyes. A well erupted in him like an oil strike in the desert; she quivered against him and both collapsed in a passionate embrace. As each lay satiated, the night passed in the blink of an eye and night became day. Both stayed together until the winter was upon them decades later. Both clung to each other with the strength of his heat and the fire in her eyes keeping them warm. 
One day, the cabin’s caretaker did stop by to see them. They held each other in a lover’s embrace; the fuel expired and their fire had gone out. He made arrangements, stayed until things were done, and off he went. He drove into the cold winter’s wind to find relief for the vision stained upon his heart. “What makes things come and go?” he asked “Lucky are those that find another and nourishes each like snow melting onto thirsty grass and quenching each other’s needs” he thought. 
The next night, he thanked the brightly burning stars above in the black sky for lighting the way home to his wife in the gently falling snow. “A fire in the dark” he said as he looked up, remembering the couple in the cabin. As he stepped out of his truck, the bright snow glided on the invisible wind, pushing it to fall where it would meet the grass in nature’s seasonal dance. 

*Copyright 3/15/14

Copyright © Brian Cooper | Year Posted 2014

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Teaching an Old Dog

All I remember is going into the garage to get the snow shovel.
I am not even sure how much of the driveway I managed to shovel.  Apparently, I was lying in the snow for several hours before one of the neighbors noticed me.

The next thing I remember is waking up from a deep sleep to the sounds of beeping machines with tubes and wires stuck into and on my body.

As I slowly regained consciousness and my eyes were able to focus, I was aware of a young, bald child looking down on me.

“Hi,” said the smiling, angelic face.  Given the child’s age and complete baldness, I could not tell whether they were a boy or a girl.  And, with the tube inserted in my throat and taped to my mouth, I was in no position to return their salutation.

I tried to remember who this child might be and why they were here with me.  I guess my eyes displayed my confusion as the child said, “I'm Elizabeth.  They let me walk around the hospital a little.  Sometimes I sneak out of the oncology wing and look for people who have no visitors.  I like to make sure someone is there when they wake up.  I know I always like to see someone when I wake up from my operations.”

She just stood above me smiling.  I then noticed she was holding my hand.

“Sometimes it is hard for family members or friends to come visit.  Some people just really don’t like hospitals.  And, I guess”, she said, “not everybody has someone that close to them.  So, I like to become their visitor for them.  I hope you don’t mind.”

I didn’t mind.  Although it did make me embarrassed to realize that I fit in the latter category; I didn’t have anybody that close to me.

She just smiled at me and petted my hand as the medications worked their magic on me and I started to drift back off to sleep.  I heard a nurse come into the room and say, “There you are, Honey.  You need to get back to your room now and leave this nice man be.”

The next time I regained consciousness, I noticed a hand drawn picture of a house with a Christmas tree out front with a note that said, “I hope you get home before Christmas” and was signed by Elizabeth.

Each new day, I was welcomed by another drawing of Christmas scenes; smiling faces; reindeer; and, starry skies.  All containing a happy note and all signed, ”Love, Elizabeth”.

After ten days of recovery and following the insertion of two stents into my heart, I was well enough to return to my empty home.  On my way out of the hospital, I stopped by the Oncology Wing to say good-bye and thank you to Elizabeth.  When I asked the nurse at the floor station where I could find Elizabeth, she replied, “Oh I'm sorry, Elizabeth is no longer with us.”

I then said, “Well can you tell me her home address or phone number, I would really like to thank her for visiting me in my hospital room this past week.”

The look on the nurse’s face indicated that I misunderstood what she had meant.  Elizabeth was no longer with us.

Sadly, I started walking towards the exit.

Just before I got to the elevator, I noticed an open door with a man lying on his bed, with tubes in his nose and throat and nobody else in the room with him.  I went into his room and sat in the empty chair.

When he opened his eyes two hours later, I said, “Hi, I'm Joe.  I noticed there was nobody here when you were brought back from your operation and I know how nice it is to see a smiling face when you wake up, so I thought I would sit here with you for a while.  I hope you don’t mind.”

He squeezed my hand; gave a slight smile; and, slowly drifted off back to sleep.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2012

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Scarlet Portmanteau

Duke Luke by his bateau
Arrived at his chateau,
Had he travelled through large eau!

His mysterious rendez-vous 
with Henry Thoreau
Yielded him a scarlet portmanteau.

Entering his bureau,
he took off his manteau
and opened the portmanteau:

The Snow Man was inside
And though not well could he sing,
Sang he a song of himself:

Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
He met Annabel Lee on a large shelf,
Frightened he was by the raven
And took the road not taken:

Crossed he the mending wall
And hearing the anecdote of the jar
To noble savage Billy Budd an honest fare he paid

Large and far
Travelled he
From spring to fall

Self-reliance: the idea he hath
The American Scholar guided his path;

He slept a long time
In a clean well-lighted place;

One winter he woke up
In a station of the metro:
He fastened his tender buttons
and found a red wheelbarrow;
'No ideas but in things' -
A lovely image this brings!

To his disappointment and sorrow,
He never saw the snows of Kilimanjaro.

Duke Luke in disbelief
Wiped his eyes
And pinched his ears;

The Snow Man disappeared.

Duke Luke
Took a look 
At his portmanteau
In hopes of seeing something

He found


Copyright © Lukasz Walterowicz | Year Posted 2011

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Once Upon A Time Snow White

~Once Upon A Time Snow White~
 (Narrative / Rhyme poem)

 Once upon a time
 In a far away land
 There was a very beautiful princess,called Snow White
 And she lived in a very big castle so grand

 Her father had always loved her so dear
 But her step-mother was really a very bad witch,
 Snow White's beauty she couldn't at all bear
 And from the first moment she wanted her dead quick, the witch

 Every day asked her magic mirror upon the wall
 Who's today, the fairest of us all?
 "Snow White  is," the mirror always replied to her call,
 And the wicked Queen got so mad, she started to bawl

 So the evil witch decided to get rid of Snow White,
 But the Princess luckily, escaped with her life
 And deep into the forest she ran, filled of fright,
 Trying to hide from the witch and save her own life

 She came upon a little house in the woods
 And there lived seven, seven funny, hard working Dwarfs,
 They liked her and asked her to stay and made her feel so good,
 She was so happy, and took very good care of them the Dwarfs

 Till one day again the evil Queen
 Asked the magic mirror upon the wall,
 Who's today, the fairest of us all?
 Snow White  still is, the Queen got so mad, she turned herself so ugly and mean

 And she found out where Snow White had been hiding
 And she took to her a very red, delicious, but poisonous apple to bite,
 Snow White not knowing this sank into the apple a bite,
 To the witch's greatest and excited delight

 Snow White just dropped like dead on the ground,
 The evil Queen had cast her a most powerful spell
 But no,  Snow White wasn't dead, but she was only  awaiting asleep,
 Till  her Prince came along and with a Love Kiss broke for her that evil spell.

 Dorian Petersen Potter
 aka ladydp2000


Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2015

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Walking To School

I was standing in my dining room, drinking a cup of coffee, staring out the window the other day.  Across the street is the school bus stop, so for a brief time, each morning there stands a collection of young students, mindlessly milling around until the bus arrives.  Of note is that this is winter time in Maine.  Temperatures in the teens and twenties are the norm.  Yet, there stood at least two boys, wearing parkas and, to my surprise and chagrin, shorts.  What is the matter with kids today.

Then I thought about when I was a kid and how my mother would always be concerned that, when in my teens, I never buttoned or zipped up my coat.  Didn't bother me near as much as it did her.

Where I grew up, there were no yellow buses.  We all walked to school.  In the summer, it was fun to jostle with your friends, sharing lies and tall tales with each other.  But in the winter, it was quite something else again.  Mom would dress us in the kitchen.  Padded snow pants over which she would pull on and snap up a pair of rubber boots.  They were called galoshes then.  Next came a scarf over which a frayed but warm coat was buttoned, all the way up to the neck.  Lastly, my prized leather aviator cap with shear-ling lined ear flaps, and of course, the requisite mittens, which when very young, were pinned to our sleeves.

Our books were carried in an old green book bag, cinched at the top and thrown over our shoulder, or more often then not, swung around or dragged during our school ward journey.  Funny how I remember all this , but I don't remember ever being cold, even when my face was apple red.  It was just something you did.  If you weren't going to school, you would be playing outside anyway.  Winter was subjective.

So when you hear the stories from your grandpa about how he used to walk to school in waist high snow and how the trip was uphill, both ways, you may want to think back on the fun you had, and how much those kids across the street are missing.

Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2012

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Once Upon A Time Snow White

~Once Upon A Time Snow White~
 (Narrative / Rhyme poem)

 Once upon a time
 In a far away land
 There was a very beautiful princess,called Snow White
 And she lived in a very big castle so grand

 Her father had always loved her so dear
 But her step-mother was really a very bad witch,
 Snow White's beauty she couldn't at all bear
 And from the first moment she wanted her dead quick, the witch

 Every day asked her magic mirror upon the wall
 Who's today, the fairest of us all?
 "Snow White  is," the mirror always replied to her call,
 And the wicked Queen got so mad, she started to bawl

 So the evil witch decided to get rid of Snow White,
 But the Princess luckily, escaped with her life
 And deep into the forest she ran, filled of fright,
 Trying to hide from the witch and save her own life

 She came upon a little house in the woods
 And there lived seven, seven funny, hard working Dwarfs,
 They liked her and asked her to stay and made her feel so good,
 She was so happy, and took very good care of them the Dwarfs

 Till one day again the evil Queen
 Asked the magic mirror upon the wall,
 Who's today, the fairest of us all?
 Snow White  still is, the Queen got so mad, she turned herself so ugly and mean

 And she found out where Snow White had been hiding
 And she took to her a very red, delicious, but poisonous apple to bite,
 Snow White not knowing this sank into the apple a bite,
 To the witch's greatest and excited delight

 Snow White just dropped like dead on the ground,
 The evil Queen had cast her a most powerful spell
 But no,  Snow White wasn't dead, but she was only  awaiting asleep,
 Till  her Prince came along and with a Love Kiss broke for her that evil spell.

 Dorian Petersen Potter
 aka ladydp2000


Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2016

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In a Field of Snow

Duchess, a brown chestnut Tennessee Walker with a
long flowing ebony mane, frolicked non-stop along the 
fenced pasture bordering the corn field.  She had the 
whole eighty acres to herself, kicking up her heels as if 
she was still a yearling.  Fall was nearing its peak and 
winter was just around the corner; for Duchess, it was 
just another wonderful season like spring or summer.  
The dark gray skies indicated a storm was approaching 
and with the nights changing temperatures, a dusting 
was evident.  Dusk slithered in with the north wind, 
suddenly- whirling fallen leaves and whipping cold- 
needle- like rain pierced her huge brown eyes.  Duchess 
bolts – and like the wind, wheels her slender muscular 
body in a joyous dance.  Hoofs thunder intensely on 
hardened cold soil, uprooting clumps of grass, sending 
them flying along with her splaying tail.  Oxygen 
saturated nostrils swell as she canters poetically in a field 
of crystals.  The snow now picks up pace as does her 
slow stride; turning into a gallop.  Steam pours from 
swollen lungs through her soft muzzle, she feels alive 
but exhausted from the sudden burst.  She gazes across 
the open field and watches the tiny crystals collect on 
evergreen along the hillside, gradually transforming into 
puffy white flakes.  She knows winter is here.

Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey

Second Place Winner ~ "Horses or Snowflakes or Horses 
and Snowflakes” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance~A Rambling Poet~
Nov. 8, 2010

Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2010

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Midnight's Miracle

Moonlight glistened like stars on the snowy mountain lane
   Ascending to a mesa above the timberline
Horses from the valley ranch often grazed with free rein
   More than once fillies had climbed up the steep incline

One morning after the mare Midnight had disappeared
   Ranch hands formed a posse and set out to search the hills
The raven-black horse was loved; for her safety they feared
   A winter storm set in; hands faced heavy snow and chills

As night approached, dejected posse members returned
   The ranch owner consoled them and offered his deep thanks
All felt their rescue mission failed, hung their heads concerned
   As snow piled high, blowing, drifting into heavy banks

Three days of frigid weather kept horses inside their stalls
   Passing Midnight’s empty booth made rugged cowboys sad
It was on the fourth day they witnessed an end to snow squalls
   A sight on the mountain trail turned many faces glad

Midnight slowly plodded down the hill, nudging her foal
   A painted pony, black with vivid spots of white
The colt looked like her mother, covered with flakes of snow
   Hoof prints down the mountainside shone in morning light 

Midnight had taken shelter inside a tiny cave
   Just large enough for a determined equine mother
To rest a few days after birthing a stunning babe
   A miracle, ranch hands said, unlike any other

Theme: Horses and Snowflakes
For Constance, a Rambling Poet's "Horses or Snowflakes or Horses and Snowflakes" contest
by Carolyn Devonshire

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

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Downhill Racer

The day was brilliant--Sol spreading diamonds in the sky-- 
When Kathleen and her father faced the slope, 
He with trepidation, she with hope.

They scanned the rise and watched like country rubes
As sliders paused atop the run,
Then hurtled down on sleds and tubes,
Jinking, jerking, shouting, screaming;
It promised so much fun.

“Let’s go,” Dad said, and led the way uphill,
Both eager at the crest to test their skill.
One time, then two, they shot down icy trails
And raced like yachts with open-ocean sails.

And then it happened!
On Father’s third and final try
His sled upended—not down low, but high!
The lookers gasped, their mouths and eyes gaped wide.
Newtonian physics could not be denied,
So Daddy (in slow motion, thus it seemed
To Kathleen, like a nightmare being dreamed)
Oofed softly as he tumbled down the grade
And came to rest a jumble, limbs all splayed.

They left the field soon after, heads held high;
Drove home in silence ‘neath the dark’ning sky;
Ate supper, talked, and do what people do on wintry eves.

Much later in the night as Kathleen slept the sleep of youth,
Dad rose and hobbled to the tub.
And while he soaked he weighed a truth,
The nub:
At 48 it’s all downhill; ‘nough said;
Just don’t complete the journey on your head.

Copyright © Steve Grammatico | Year Posted 2016

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Vail Colorado

I've ran the vail several times over 20yrs. But this night is different. This night,I would get 
the experience of my life. Some call me crazy. Well,I must be because I sure wasn't 
expecting what I got. I've ran it before with salt on road with little snow fallen. I've never 
had touch a chain out 20yrs but this night I choose not to also. Boy what a ride. I'm at the 
bottom now ofcorse cause I'm sitting here telling you this story. But there for awhile, even I 
had second thoughts as my hands grip tight. Couldn't even flunt an ash from my cig this 
night. The left hand gripping the wheel tight and the other on trailer back. There it was,an 8 
mile drop twice off this hill with flat in middle. My trailer skidding one way and the truck the 
other. The climb up wasn't that bad until I started spinning at the top. The ride down scarier 
then hell. My feet shuck light I was standing in ice. Because there it was no releasing that 
brake cause you knew you would fly as well as die unless you wasn't lucky to make it 
through this ride. My ass hole draw as if I need to drop a load. My mind thinks of my angel if 
it be the last time I get to speak at all. Cars flying by as I drop off at 20 mph. Some even 
sliding here and there as I pass one being cleaned up on my side. Done flip the car and 
camper,what a ride. It was the longest 2hrs I ever had other then the night I ran the devils 
highway with twin peak in New Mexico. That was a 3hr ride to worrying about not dropping 
off the cliff, where you could reach out and touch the top of the trees. It was my first 
experience this snow pack ride. Oh sure,I've drove snow before at 70 mph. But this moutain 
about beat the dog do out of me as I need to pee something bad. Because I knew when I 
drop off with no chains,it was my ass that was in for a drive. And even at the bottom the 
roads lay cover. But now I'm bumper 70 playing in the snow. God,I love this job. Because 
there's always new experience to come with this outlaw ride. As he defines all.That's why 
they call him the outlaw. Because that's one hell of a man to top when it comes to cops. That 
not even them can catch the man of the ride. Because really,I was suppose to have chains 
on this ride. To all a God Bless! And remember, someone's watching over you. So be careful 
out there but watch your backs. Cause the outlaw might be coming through a town near you.

Copyright © Steve Harvell | Year Posted 2010

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Snow White, sort of

Long ago, in Fairy Tale Land, there lived a beautiful young girl
named Snow White. She lived with her wicked stepmother , the queen. The queen 
was jealous of S.W., and when her faithful mirror began to tell her that she was no 
longer the fairest in the land, ( the honor now went to S.W.), she had the young 
woman taken into the woods and killed.
        The kind woodsman couldn't do the deed however..and S.W. ended up in a 
cottage with a bunch of unhappy Little People. The were, in no particular order-Vain, 
Ungrateful, Grouchy, Stupid, Flatulant, Nasty and Petulant.
They were supposed to work in the mines..but rarely went there..instead the played 
a lot of Texas Hold'em and sang.. " Whistle While you Malinger".
      To cut to the chase..the queen found out and had Nasty feed S.W. a poison 
apple. She fell into a deep sleep. Thinking she was dead, they put her in a glass 
coffin in the deepest part of the wood. Well, who should come riding by but a biker 
named Larry..he kissed her , as he would never pass up a chance like that. She 
awoke, and they rode off ..never to be seen again .... was whispered that 
she had formed a group with 7 little guys and was performing on the strip in Vegas...
    And they all lived happily every after...(except for the queen, who became an old 
hag and in a rage took a hammer to her poor mirror).
The End

For John's contest

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2010

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The Magic Of Snow

She loves the snow more than cheerios, more than froo froo cookies with 
vanilla cream during mamma's tea dunk time.  Her nose is  pasted on the
living room window.  She hollers to her brother, "It's snowing, come see!
 Big fat snowflakes are falling from the sky" He groggily makes his way to the 
window and rubs a patch of condensation off the window.  They are both 
hiding behind yards and yards of lace, separating them from the world 
behind. He uses the sleeve of his pajama and in circular motion he wipes
out a small section off the cold glass.  He smells of flannel and left over 
toothpaste from the night before. His encrusted half moon eyes take on
the scene with a sleepy look. Suddenly he pirouettes and says,  
"Na na na na na, mom says I can have the first pancake" 
he leaves like the wind, and enters the kitchen leaving Venucia at the 
window by herself. She places a warm finger on the glass and makes a
perfect square inside the square she traces out a slow heart. The smell
of pancakes is wafting through the air making it's way to her senses and
her hungry stomach. She follows Tonino into the kitchen. There is a clanking 
of dishes and an aroma of motherhood she can't deny.     

To Be Continued...

Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2016

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Winter Fantasia

Winter Fantasia.

Snowman, his coat a trillion frosty threads...crotched by Jack,
the naughty mischief maker. 
Each crystal cast perfect by Boreas.                          #
Blizzard bullies, bustling, jig-sawed sleet,
crystallized in my mindscape of imagery.
Winter Sun dares to melt you down, pasty white.
Your peculiar perfume, suggests ice cubes soaked in lemon-crush.
Shiver, quiver. As goose-bumps frazzle your Arctic world 
the moon shines crazy, diamond flames hang in the lonely sky.
I materialise you...the absent person,
I colour the scene with my paintbrush and bucket.

Bold, stiff... blow a bon-bon kiss,
you sentry on snow-laden ice,
under heaven-hung, bunting stars...
a diamante necklace, swanked by Nyx, Greek Goddess of the Night.
Platted rainbows twist, entwine hues, illuminate
a fibre-glassed squirrel who morphs into a swirl of peppermint puffs
and whirls round in muffled silence.
Rouge-crested Robin rests on cold shoulder, then
alights on umber wings...
Ruby stained Snowman chuckles like river ripples,
egg-white flakes dying to pirouette,
airborne ballerinas, swivelling, spinning...
from knitted, silken clouds, finer than a Fuschia’s blush. 
Come Spring sprinkles of Lime grass and creamed Crocus
blanket my view where you once stood.

Reality or imagination, I am the speaker of this poem,
so Jack, draw fern-like patterns on my windows, then
run away with Nymph shadows...
Even the wind dies happy.

# Boreas...Greek God of Winter.

Copyright © Geraldine Douglas | Year Posted 2016

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snow rain

White gown flows like wind blown snow
Even with delicate features, she rides magnificent creatures
Her attributes, heavenly shaped curves, delicious smile
Divine jewel green eyes like set emeralds
With powerful and fine hands she steers her steed
Dynamic cloven hooves pound the passing earth
Snow capped mountains swell with each gait
Toward the towering castle of her dwelling

for the contest "Rain the story"
Nick Faber

Copyright © nick faber | Year Posted 2011

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Its going to be a wonderful Christmas

Its Going To Be A Wonderful Christmas

I watch you across the room and I get a feeling inside
It is a feeling of being a part of a most wonderful ride
As we ride down a snowy lane in a one horse driven sleigh 
You snuggle close to me and bells ring out as if to say

It's going to be a wonderful Christmas
Everybody seems to be in great Spirit this year
Its going to be a very merry Christmas
A Christmas when couples fall in love
And I know how they feel down inside
Like stealing a kiss on a snowy sleigh ride

I take the reins while you snuggle close to me
While we watch the snow falling all around us
And I lean your way to steal a quick kiss 	
You do not for one moment, resist

Oh what a wonderful ride we share
While the children throw snow balls our way
Laughs and giggles fill our voices
We kiss again and we sing songs of our choices

AH Ha Ha, there is joy all around us
The world is a place of fun and glee
Especially when you lean in 
To steal a kiss from me

Yeeesss! It's going to be a wonderful Christmas
Everybody seems to be in great Spirit this year
Its going to be a very merry Christmas
A Christmas when couples fall in love
And I know how they feel down inside
Like stealing a kiss on a snowy sleigh ride

Copyright © David Pennington | Year Posted 2010

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Burning in the Snow

-To a Pianist who does not believe emotion and soul 

You are sitting in front of your White piano, 
Shutter fingers are on the keys.
Your voice penetrated through the air, 
Gone with charm and beauty.

You say that you play only with patterns, 
I see that feelings in your heart burn,
Kissing the charming tunes of the music, 
Such as flame, 
In White snow, 
Melting the cold, 
Feeling the pure.

You say that you do not believe spirit,
I see that a free spirit flying like an angle, 
Dancing with the sexy sound of your singing, 
Such as snow lotus,
On the snow-capped mountain,
In the clod, 

The change of the seasons,
With the greatness of your thoughts, 
Changing the world,
Embracing the abundance of your destiny,
Opening to the universe. 

Somewhere deep within you, 
On the perfect centre of your soul,
Desiring to reach a place, 
With peace, love and beauty.
Touching your heart, 
It is the secret tenderness, 
Inside of you. 

You need to ask, 
And it should be given,
Like the amazing sound of musics, 
Naturally grow, 
With unconditional love.

Written by Yunyan (Anita) GU 

Copyright © Yunyan GU | Year Posted 2015

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Once Upon a Christmas 1954 Part 2

.          We worked it out on paper and realized if we saved our ten cents a week allowance, 
it would take years to pay for them, so we decided we needed to get a job.  So began our 
first enterprise ‘Hal and Elaine’s snow Removal.’

	Each day after school we would go door to door offering to shovel the snow from 
sidewalks and driveways for a fee of twenty- five cents.  Each day we would return home 
with our frozen hands clutching a quarter and our minds clutching the visions of those 
bicycles as we prayed for snow once again.

	Mom had taken a job working from home.  Each night she would soak piles of 
leather pieces to soften and stretch over balls of twine to stitch together the next day 
making a baseball.  She was paid five cents for each one that met their standards.  Mom 
stitched hour after hour, day after day until her fingers bled.

	Dad would come home from Camp Borden after many hours of hard labor and 
army maneuvers to have supper and make us giggle and laugh with his outrageous stories of 
the day’s events.  After supper he would leave again returning much later with red and blue 
paint stains on his hands and a tired smile on his face.

	The days flew by in a blur as we shoveled up and down the streets dreaming of 
those bicycles that grew more solid with every quarter we put in our piggy banks.  I would go 
to sleep each night and ride through towns and cities and over hills and through valleys until 
I heard the sound of buoy bells ringing in the harbor.

	I would pedal faster and faster, knowing I was almost there.  I could see my old 
home just down the road.  As the bells got louder, I would slowly awake to the truth as the 
alarm clock wound down on the night stand.  Once again I would head off for school and 
stand daydreaming, peering at that gleaming bicycle in the window of the bicycle shop.

	Suddenly – Christmas was almost upon us and we needed to buy mom and dad a 
present, so we pulled the plug on the piggy bank and tool our loot, a total of four dollars each 
to Woolworth’s

                                               continued in part 3.....

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2008

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Once upon a time,
A long time ago,
A little boy stood by a window,
Wishing for snow.

Somehow the snow, soft and silent,
Makes everything seem new again.
Snow covers not only the ground,
Sometimes it can cover your pain.

But that day there was no snow,
Just pounding, incessant rain.
No snow to cover the ground,
No snow to cover the pain.

That boy is now a man,
And just as years ago,
He is looking out a window,
Hoping it will snow.

You can can make a man out of a boy,
But there's still a boy within,
A boy who feels like things are new,
When snow covers everything again.

Houses and cars and yards and streets,
The mountains and the plains,
Still it's true though he doesn't know why,
Snows somehow covers the pain.

Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/27/09
Written 9/17/08

Copyright © CHARLES GILLIHAN | Year Posted 2009

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Winter Nocturne Dream

                                                           On this winter's night
                                                         beneath sallow skylight
                                                       amidst prismic snow mist
                               wading snow banks that sank like shallow quicksand
                                                     beneath it deadened land
                                Falling snow gleaning grows taller than my height
                    stretching into snowfields,glowing bright as summer daylight

                                           Yearning winter days photographed
                                              when snow painted cedars cast
                                       black shadows against incandescent snow
                Timidly crossing glassen iced paths over frozen flowered meadows
                                       snowflakes falling like flower tree pedals
                                        windblown snow crystals pelt and prickle
                                                    Apparition whirlwinds whisper 
                                            glowing snow dust stirs and glisters
                                                   shattering ice crystals melting
                                                     glimmering streams pelting 
                                            celebrative seasonal window scenes
                                                reflect and filter pearl moonbeams
                                          through this winter's placid past is seen
                                                        winter nocturne dream

Copyright © Troy Tinsley | Year Posted 2005

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Winter Contempt

Stepping outside the bakery, sparse trees danced in the late autumn breeze.
She set her cupcakes on the bench to don her gloves and snug her scarf tightly around her face and neck.
Jack Frost is certainly in the air this evening, she complained to herself.

Walking briskly to her home, she spotted workers making ready the outdoor skating pond, soon to be bustling with lovers of winter.
She noticed dark skies threatening an icy rain, though it was probably cold enough to snow.
Shivering, she finally scurried up her walkway to her porch, glad she was home to thaw out.

Sitting alone, she entertained a chocolate cupcake and cup of hot cocoa while watching the gloomy weather report on the news.
As the short day turned into a long night, she groaned at the sound of sleet pelting the home’s aluminum siding.
The local news ended, as did the last of her hot cocoa.
She crawled into bed, pulling the covers over her flannel clad body up to her chin.

Rising up in the predawn morning, she made ready for work.
As the wind howled without mercy, she noticed icy crystals had coated the outside of her home’s every window.
Her breath was taken as she stepped out on her porch. 
Icy flakes of snow raged horizontally in the blustery wind.
The weather report had been accurate; the blizzard pounded the city landscape.
She trudged the half mile to work at the bakery, longing for spring.

August 26, 2016

Copyright © Randy Steele | Year Posted 2016

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Beneath the Snow

I saw a twig from beneath the snow
Yet, nothing from this image proved
That life survived or life let go
The will or jewel or soul less moved
To be described or cherished, no?
What bright sunlight once regaled
The splendor of its name to know
Or girth of shade less height narrated
By friend or foe.
Beneath its benevolence survived
The warring tide of greed and pride
In selfish arrogance revived
The fate of many to provide.
Long ago, days less renowned
Witnessed steadily nature’s tide
When forests grew tall and sound
On healthy unpolluted ground.
Those days were numbered by God alone
Who created everything known
That one day this tree would die
In corruption lie.
No longer proud beneath the snow
Only memories would we know
To place in mind that like our kind
We share this fate to find.




Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2012

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Black In The Snow

It was a picture - perfect  cold winter day,
     bathed in white and still snowflakes swirled;
like gauzy curtains crystalline and sparkling, 
          I  put on my boots, jacket, scarf and gloves.

And stepped out into a winter wonderland,
     the barn was a soft golden haze of smells;
and my horse, Black, snorted hello from his stall,
          I kissed his muzzle, his neck and soft mane.

Murmuring words of love- oh he would love this,
     I could see us galloping across the powdery snow;
putting on the saddle his withers quivered excitement,
          he nudged me with his head and I laughed at him.

I was walking him out of the barn when I noticed,
     he was limping on his left back leg somewhat;
I put my hand on him, sliding it down his body, 
     and legs, he shifted when I reached his knees.

I was worried and continued my slow inspection,
     touching gently his lower leg and his ankle, 
Black, tossed his head when I lifted up his hoof,
           oh something is there-   no riding for Black!

                        I go backside to call the vet . . . .

October 15, 2016


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

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Wake Up Now

The wind howled,
 in an animal way,
as the snow piled high,
on this winter's day.
(christy hardy)

The erie noise,
chilled to the bone,
or was it the temperature.
I felt so alone.
(laurie ginn)

Treading along dead tired,
the blood in my veins had dried,
in the white snow I started to see only grey,
would I live to see the sun brighten another day.
(manoi kumar)

A strange warm feeling,
suddenly came over me,
and as I looked up a familiar radiant figure,
spoke secrets silently.
(sharon weimer)

The voice was telling me,
you are not alone,
wake up now, 
you've been dreaming all along.
(christy hardy)

Please, help me finish this poem.
and we need a title......

Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2009

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A Memory of Snow

It's the first snowfall of the year
And it takes me back....

I remember the first time I rode her in the snow,
So afraid she'd slip.
She didn't want to go out
But we both needed some fresh air and exercise.
Her ears laid flat when she saw the saddle.
She was not impressed.
I think she had hoped I was just bringing a treat.

The snow wasn't deep.
A few wayward snowflakes, stragglers,
Were still falling.
So I saddled her and off we went.
Avoiding paved roads
Where she would be more likely to slip.
We stayed to the dirt road running past the house
And a few familiar trails.

I believe she aimed for low hanging boughs.
I was covered in snow in the first twenty minutes.
My punishment for this silly idea, I guess.
Soon her ears picked up and her step became more sprightly.
She, too, was getting into the spirit of it.

Only an hour, then back to the barn.
No falls, a couple minor slides in footing
Which she handled like a pro.

There I brushed her down
And she attacked apples with a renewed appetite.
The next day the rain washed it all away,
Except for the memory.....
                 it remains.

Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2010

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Out in the snow

Story-Telling -- "Out in the snow"

I've seen and heard this advice many times -- "write from the heart" or "follow your heart".
I think, at times, I've probably thrown 'my heart' out of the window, especially when words that came out from my mouth sounded terribly wrong. I often wondered if that was really me talking nonsense based on all the input I received from my surroundings. Nothing seems to be 'real' and 'true' these days with fake compliments and false stories passing around unfiltered.
If lies and excuses are all there is to hear, 'my heart' is better left outside in the snow. At least the falling snowflakes from the sky are pure and true in its creation. You can always trust the snow to be icy cold and white in nature, untouched by the darkness in humanity.
I would rather throw 'my heart' out of the window and into the falling snow. Even if it's cold out there, it'll probably rejoice in the purity and cleanliness of the snowflakes before it reaches the ground.
I leave 'my heart' out there in the snow, knowing that it is safer with nature than with humans.

Copyright © Angeline Haikutwinkle | Year Posted 2016