Read the Bible and the words that are said.
Times of trouble and tribulation are ahead!
All one has to do is read the book of revelation.
To read about this world and this nation!
Days of wickedness and evil that abounds..
Shall very soon. Come
“crashing to the ground!”
For our sin, there’s a price that has been paid!
Many have become sin’s servant and slave!
Many will not escape God’s judgment and wrath!
They’ve chosen the wrong direction and path!
Right now... There’s a path
and a way to “escape!”
Please do it right now! Before it’s too late!
The right path to take, is through Christ alone!
He must be the lord of your heart and home!
Jesus alone, can bring hope to your soul!
He’ll never leave you!
Is what he wants you to know!
Times of trouble and uncertainty
are well on their way!
Christ can help you to overcome!
He can do it TODAY!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton
Clouds garland snow capped mountain peak
Icy snow butterflies melt kisses upon my nose
Puffs of warm, moist breath balloons billow out before me,
quickly chilling, disappearing before my eyes
Crunching snow compacts beneath booted feet
Prints set deep, little more than momentary reminder
of where you have stepped before
Crisp white blanket glints
almost winking it’s Christmas card welcome
as it’s vast white carpet spreads before you beckoning
All of nature along with everything manmade becomes anew
Nothing seems out of place
A bird lands on branch of tree causing cascade of padded canopy
New mound takes position with little noticed effect on perfect landscape
Children laugh and run as they hurl packed balls at one another
Dashing, darting, ducking and returning rogue ammunition
to offending hand and screams of pleasure
Slipping, falling they tumble over repeatedly
Waving arms and legs, when finally still to create snow angels
Then, standing up clothed as abominable snowman
Giving rise to fresh ideas as new creation begins with rolling snow
Bigger and bigger they chase and push, packing tight as they go
Another ball a little smaller to place on top of first for head
Then off they scatter in all directions looking to clothe their model
Returning with woollen hat scarf
carrot and stones to place as eyes nose and mouth with button features
Admiring they know their masterpiece shall be short-lived
For mother nature’s hand will chance to create another slushy muddy puddle
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty
Ice in the Center
Damn what nonsense
Have the License
With cars To
roads of speed
Oh So cold
Ice in the winter
I'm so bold
Out in the Center
Tremble like that
There fall flakes
and I fetch them
I may catch them
So come on everyone
Freeze your blood
To this wintry one
And Snowflake ton
Copyright © Jamshaid Ghani
In the deep of the snow, In the dead of winter,
Under the Aurora Borealis taking our breath away.
The snow turtles jostle, and skittle, and Skim the snow,
All in a beautifully quiet nights, bountiful, wonderful play.
Man has seldom seen this recluse, so gentle and so renowned.
White as the snow packed earth itself, they simply can’t be found.
They sled and slide and scurry to hide before the break of day,
No one knows they’re even there, for they make not even a sound.
Animals respect them for they can’t make them into prey.
Even the polar bears leave them alone, except for to play.
And no matter how much the bears bat them about, I say!
They just close up and go wherever they are conveyed.
Magical, they can swim waters quite cold and really deep.
They eat the little fishes and enjoy whatever they can reap.
A man will never find their den as they dig into the frozen snow,
For like the tundra gophers, they live in the frozen ground below.
I swear they do exist, for a baby once came to me, admiring my fishing pole.
For I had lots of little tasty, yummy, fish that he wanted my son and I to throw.
We obliged him just that once, and then for more nights before we left his land.
But if you're going searching there’s something I should let you know, offhand.
They only show themselves to the pure of heart with a fish offering in your hand.
Copyright © Carol Eastman
In the Winter of 83 they used to tell me stories the snow was over the telephone
lines and they rode horses there and walked them OVER the lines see eh? Oh
ewe beware the stories of men and read only the charlaxfabels over and over
again. The worst one was back in 2005 the snow was four feet deep they took
machetes and tore my roof off my survival tent.
1 Peter 3:9
Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this
you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.
Eye moved my shelter somehow avoiding a fight and learned just to survive
survival is eating food. Men eat and fight and eating becomes the more important
of the two what kind of neighbor would eye be if eye had fought with thee and not
learned the Golden Rule. Eye lived several different lifetimes sack lunches do not
suffice to rule the hunger in one man. Once eye was worried for existence
seeming Death was at my door. Women thought me evil not suited up just for
they love. Fruit is not my forte orange apple even pomegranate found
persimmons rot on vines in trees not meant to live. Eye ate so many meats they
kicked me out of storeage land and chased me from the parking lot with nothing
in my hand. Potatoes is a fruit and not a veggie in my world. Golden throbbing
corn is afforded to the poor ed.note @39 cents a can at most retail outlets.
Hominy both gold and white is my favorites. Eye just decided to detective the
students many behavioral ways and iff eye had three classes in the afternoon
even if they were staggered over SIX hours the eye would not be in the library
more than thirty minutes at a time. Be that as it may or as it were the ending is
the same eye am a student of life. Walk in an endless path with snow up to the
waisted place then dry the socks in bags and tie them to the feet and hope the
dry will stay to un rot the flesh and hope the shoes will work and not develop
sticheing of the holes in the side of doors and tankards full of glass. Coyboy is
the last to understand a memory taken in the hand.
Copyright © charles hice
Take a bite
Of this shinny red apple called life
And tell me what you taste
Is it the sick syrup of genocide
Or the tangy taste of a thousand births to cover it up
Weighing life is a challenge
Yours is worth as much as your country
Generations they scream with severed tongues
We are the same
Yet holy different
So who is to blame
For this indecent exhibition of
This apple is rotten and I choke
Copyright © Tanika Cooks
Last night I saw a dream-
I was in the midst of a brown gleam;
The spot was like a land of cream;
Lakes and ponds were full with it -upto the brim.
Beautiful blossoms were everywhere,
The fragrance were for everyone to share ,
The snow flakes seemed most fair,
It seemed that Nature has created them with great care.
Chocolate creams made up the seesaw,
There was cno one to guide me under law,
There was no signs of fears and flaws,
And there was a cream cat with snow white claws.
What a dream it was just like the beauty of a rose-
But all were shattered when the light of dawn fell on the tip of my nose.
Copyright © Sonnet Mondal World Poet
The snow fell in Dewsbury Moor overnight,
They woke up at lunch to a horrible sight,
The snow had flowed through the broken gates,
And roads were blocked all across the estates,
The giros had still not arrived after ten,
So wailing was general within the crack den.
The bin bags piled up to the lower window,
Obscured by the grime-defying, beautyfying snow.
The wind whistled through the boarded up seams,
Of windows and roused men from opiate dreams,
While weary-eyed women with mascara'd tears,
Tend to their children, three in four years.
But the memories stay as the snow melts away,
How beautiful Dewsbury Moor looked today!
Copyright © Nick Barnsley
My name is Tom Bear Bell. I was born in 1950 in a cold climate far up north. Of
mixed blood (half Eskimo/ half Polar Bear) ; I am proud to say I was the first of my
breed (Innuit Whos clothes don't fit); to enroll in N.A.S.A. (North Arctic Snow
Association). At a very early age I displayed a remarkable talent for ice-water
swimming and snow ball throwing. I'm a graduate of the C.C.C.P. Institute (Cold
Cold Clammy Polarbears). I currently live in Iceland, but to me, it seems a bit too
warm, so I might move back north. My hobbies include grabbing fish from open
ice holes, and sliding on my backside. I also enjoy panic attacks (you should
see their eyes when I attack!!), and being sutured. I'm well respected as a
talented master of the tarraddle (Yet another $10 word!!!) I'm 8 foot, nine inches
tall, (when I'm not too lazy to stand up.), with a white, somewhat hoary
complection. My religion is Histopathology, where I am considered an "elder".
My goal in life is to create the world's first wide bodied twelve blade disposable
razor. I was married once, but during an extended famine, I was forced to devour
my spouse. I have 3 Cubs, but they're currently in Chicago. My email address is;
Wasteland Ice Polar Trade Post- box 12, which is 6 miles north of thw north pole.
I hope to hear from you'se soon, however, no animal rug lovers please!!!.
Copyright © tom bell
The conquered land is eroding.
The driven snow is melting
Because the blue flame is burning,
Probing through the rampart,
Penetrating the fortress
And pillaging the village.
The mighty are falling
And the weaker being ravished
Trying to kick the pricks,
But unguided passions
With shortlived victories
Violently possess! Then dispose.
As the blue flame wanes,
So goes the tyranny...
Rancidness, rancor, degradation
And loneliness remain
After the land is trampled.
After the snow is defiled,
There's a want for nothing,
A need for everything:
Love, hate, forgiveness, revenge.
Then a cry for childhood
Extending for knowledge of this hope
Reaches without taking hold,
So the four remain
Until the four are gained;
And the land still erodes.
The snow still melts
Because the blue flame burns.
It yet probes.
Copyright © Leon Stacey
Crashing salt trucks
A brief reprieve from the cold
But not from the other
Unwanted warmth of
A hundred score burning bodies
Copyright © Jesse Jones