Amidst the cold climate we enjoyed sled riding.
We also had so much fun building an igloo.
I felt alive in those days, hardly any woes.
Now you may say that this is no sport at all.
Take heed that even the Olympics have these.
Every winter so many do this thing that I bid,
Racing, swaying, these and more we did savor.
Sled riding is easier, though many enjoy to ski.
Pleasant fresh aromas of winter always spread.
Outward and inward like a bitter cold safari.
Riding upon a sled by setting or lying down,
Takes control of our lives in childlike blessing.
My first double acrostic,,,inspired by a contest,,,first letter of each sentence spells out title and the last letter in each sentence spells out the subject..
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
My and mines' next meal awaits
My sons school fees awaits
My youngest daughters' shoes await
My nieces' dress awaits
My mothers' medication awaits
My mud huts' repairs await
The winter blankets await
And so does the winter coal
Rosies' next instalment awaits...
Get me to work, I have to be there by eight.
The pricking needles of cold stars and hoarfrost
hypnotizingly sparkling in the dense crispy air,
a half-sky pearl hallo crowns the dead mercury-liquid Moon;
violent blizzards have been finally superseded by severe frost.
Grasses are peacefully sleeping under the snow whiteness.
Fords, Mercedeses, BMWs, Nissans are moving slowly
groping their way through thick clouds of exhaust mist;
rare chilly passers-by hurrying
towards a hopefully better for existence place.
Here, in the rare air of winter, through the mist
and frost of weariness and apathy,
through the concrete substance of the night wind,
a brightly lit advertising poster screams right into eyes
and minds:"WE WILL WIN! United Russia", and the never
hibernating on his three-color way grizzly-bear
looks as ever strong, resolute and satisfied.
There is no bum soaker, no thief, no whore
under the dead-festive-rosy light of the street lamps.
No single crow or dog or jackdaw in the dead space
of eternal frost. All they have gone.
In winter, conscience seems to be a too abstract matter.
The colored scraps are much more essential.
Nov 25, 2011
a constructive critique is welcome
A Winter Tale
I was going out driving to the shops and buy food, switched off indoors lamps,
only the grey winter light came in, and the living room looked like the depth of
a severe depression, the moment when you check your gun and sigh because it
is not loaded and you will live a day longer.
I left the heater on low switched on a couple of side lights this gave the room
a cosy feeling. The room luxuriating in its own slightly seedy look, used furniture,
settee, chairs and a books shelve that is a picture of literary disorganisation.
It was raining outside I looked into my own room, had not drawn the curtains,
the room looked inviting and thought why should it have the privileges of
slow lifestyles while had to buy firewood and keep the room warm.
I was standing there, a foundling looking into a rich man´s house Christmas Eve,
with only a box of matches that, only paedophiles would buy. I need no newspaper,
joined my room switched on the TV, together we enjoyed a comfy winter evening,
that had the romance of apple strudel and Grimm`s fairytales.
UNSUPPORTED CODE What If… Christmas Never Came???
What if Christmas never happened?
What if Christmas never came?
Things around here would be different!
It wouldn’t be the same!
What if the baby Jesus was never born in a manger?
Mankind would be in serious trouble. We’d all be in danger!
If the baby Jesus wasn’t born. There would be no nativity.
We wouldn’t be able to display this during our “festivity.”
It’s almost like this now!
It’s an “ever increasing business.”
It seems like nearly everyone wants
“Christ out of Christmas!”
Why does it seem like Christmas is
losing it’s true meaning?
The very words; “Merry Christmas,”
seem to be quickly disappearing!
Many say; “Happy Holiday.”
They worry they may “offend.”
Having a “holiday” without Christ….
We need to put Jesus Christ back into
our CHRISTmas season!
He is what Christmas is about! HE is the very reason!
May we all take some time to rejoice in our savior’s birth.
May there be shouts of JOY! From the corners of the earth!
Let’s not take Christ out of our joyous celebration!
We need him so much right now!
All over this great nation!
May we bring to him a heart of love
for everything he’s done.
As we bring honor to Christ. God’s precious son!
May we continually offer to him a heart filled with praise!
Not only at Christmas time… But all of our days!
By Jim Pemberton
My head feels like it has a lava lamp inside
The skull has a long crack going across the front
I think it’s time to rotate the winter Mucha
Slide up the spring beauty with her berries and birds
Tis the season for old fashioned double features
Killer girls and flesh eating zombies rule this year
Sucking the crystal geyser for all it is worth
The pole humping, lap dancing nemesis at play
Think I’ll drop some winter pounds and grow a new tan
Feed my birdies and then the melodies will come
Make my life sound thrilling with my ukulele
While I pour down those Beefeater gin and tonics
I’ll collect pie birds and light incense each day
While praying for a zoftig desperate housewife
Change my religion back to innocent pagan
Shed all this Christian guilt like a well worn condom
I’ll hang Wiccan twig men in the lush green forest
And read about the Peloponnesian war years
Polish my ceramic frogs for the porch display
Then ship my old video tapes to my momma
Install some buckhorns on the hog for back relief
And turn fifty with a big four twenty bong hit
I’ll drop in just to ask question and make one think
Then listen to baseball while hammering fine nails
Grow some fat tomatoes in hanging flower pots
Number my candles with secret hieroglyphics
Yes, my head will crack open like a rotten egg
Then the healing will begin, and the world will turn
I spit the words you made me eat, and then
they land on you as there you stand aghast –
You cringe and stare at what you said; thick phlegm
bedecks your face, a white-hot, slimy blast.
They left a taste, a bitter paste of hate
and painful anger. Tongue to teeth, I fled
the room and slapped the twisted hands of fate
from off my neck as choking life-breath bled.
I tripped, you screamed and tried to grab me back –
Too late for that, and now we fall apart.
The precipice is yawning, grim, deep black
and down I plunge, my ending and my start.
The forge of stellar flame blows hot, then cold
as melting, sculpted frozen wings unfold
It was a winter night so cold,
Fog and mist made it difficult to behold.
Hardly there was anyone to talk,
At a distance I saw a policeman on walk.
With a little swagger, Stomach full of beer,
He was blinded by his vigor I swear.
At a corner there lay a beggar,
Shivering and throbbing with piercing air,
Cop came near, who was
Demented by the churning beer.
For the sake of his ostentatious power,
He got hold of the beggar’s collar.
He gave him mighty blows,
From chin, chest, stomach to toe.
Suddenly from his starved body,
Blood began to flow.
His sniveling cry
Ventilated my pavid mind.
Help! Help! I cried,
But my eyes were dry.
Either it was very cold,
Or my desires were not that bold.
With a deep sigh and chest held tight,
His departed soul took a long flight.
I was still standing there,
Cursing beggar’s fate.
I gathered my courage,
But it was too late.
Local newspapers were flooded
With headings of various types;
“One more gave up to cold”
“Freezing cold, one more dead”
“What is government doing?”
But the last one
Shook me within,
What was I doing?
In that cold winter night.
Each winter the Ladder Backed Woodpecker
taps at the barked notches of apple trees.
The leaves have fallen and frost plasters the
limbs brittle enough to break by wind or weight.
This is when the Ladder Backed attacks.
Digs its beak deep into the trunk and pries
out her secret. This is when the woodpecker
sees itself exposed, the strange chagrin,
a grownups mind, ashamed of knowledge.
This is the same season our sad aged parents
were thrown out of the garden. This is when
the thought of good and evil broke bones,
limbs fell off, birds ripped through to the core,
and a jealous God made us stewards of the world.
Today the beach yeilded giant coccoons and huge mussels
Massive butterfly coccoons made of fairy-floss sea fibre..
Coccoons of fine silk thread like seaweed spun tumbling
The shore breathing in and out with the gentle white noise waves
Huge mussells left gaping open marrooned on the wet sand.
A small playgroup is gathered on a flying kites for morning tea.
The toddlers squealing enthusiastically at the colourful kites
Yellow red and blue kites rose higher circling towards the sun
Seagulls swarmed near the dog bowl drinking its fresh water
A woman pushing a dog in a pram walked towards the beach
A man pushing a pram with a dog on a lead walked by...
Peering out from his pram was a dog too.."too old" said he.
Winter is DIs
Winter is Dis
For the Safeway girl
Winter is discontent
Winter is unrequited love
Winter is in my heart forever
Winter is goes into spring
Winter is my heart
Winter is the dart
You threw at me,Erline
Charles R Hice