Dead Winter Stray~ By: Poet Destroyer
Nearby paces, Combatants lost under the cemetery walls,
“Blessed Men and Heavenly Remedy Women of Ages,”
Feelings of dance at the beginning of nightfall,
Scenery of fire, sadness passing this history page,
In that distant curve, somewhere nears the sundown stream.
Far away from the vision of mortal eyes,
A child plays as beautiful and pale like the sunrise.
She plays on the coast this beautiful but pale, sun raised child.
Pursuing nature, in a hushed angelic lucidity,
“In hushed angelic lucidity!”
Fragile fastened, to those adequate bones.
Profound deepness beneath the snow winder dust,
Below the memoirs of her floating vessel,
Reminisces of water drowning down rivers and streams,
A shattered female kneels in salvation.
An anvil so heavy it troubles the mind.
Lost in profoundness, in what might have been.
What was, for a moment in this period?
The grimness of her weak vessel dwells.
A lifeless winter strays around.
An album so old and dusty,
A christening gown not ever embraced.
Infinite, the woman and pale child of sunrise,
Soften footfalls beating out the torments.
Countless nights seeing the day of unspoken headstones,
Feelings of dance will never rest this heartache.
Eternity, in a dance of unconditional need,
Their hearts unite as one...
A closing of mother and child…
Dead Winter~ By: Catie Lindsey
There walks Warriors in that graveyard,
Holy Men and Medicine Women of ages;
at night you can see their Spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner, up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snow drifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her body afloat
down rivers and streams of Remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight on a burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was, for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers,
in a dead winter of the unborn,
on page forty-nine in the family album,
in a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance,the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance, The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one...
the woman and the child.
~By: Catie Lindsey~
(for Catie's: Re-write contest..)
Here I lie in the solace of my bed
Wrapped up in these sheets of grey
Looking out past the frosted glass
Out into the pitch dark of night
Oh the white puffs falling down
Little cotton balls so fluffy
Blanketing the barren ground
Brightening up the darkened night
Remembering our time together
those little snow ball fights
you putting snow down my back
you're first snow angel
How I want those days back
Here I lie in the solace of my bed
Still be mine
I know it feels right
Only time will tell
if you'll be my snow angel
Back in the woods, lies our cabin retreat
Surrounded by steep hills, streams and hot springs
I hear the hoot of the owl perched high in the spruce
The howl of the wolf, calling out to her mate
Nature is signaling, the moon can't be viewed
Thick clouds are blowing, we'll soon be subdued
Squirrels are seen scurrying, gathering nuts
A feeling of hurry, a snow storm this night
Peer out the window, a magical sight
Nature is shining, draped in pure white
The fire is roaring, I'm holding you tight
The roads are all closed, we're stuck here tonight
A kiss on your cheek, a sip of red wine
No finer feeling, than you and me here
Put down my wine, gaze deep in your soft eyes
You're my spirit, my wisdom, my strength, my skies
My beauty, my vision, my meaning, my heart
Hold me tighter sweet one, let's never depart
With my soul at peace and my thoughts at rest,
standing in this winter wilderness,
I whisper words of heartfelt bliss.
Come with me and walk this path.
Together we tread against the freeze,
and find the warmth of tender grasp.
My devoted being shall forever be,
a place of strength against chilled winds,
a brilliant light only you have seen.
Our lives have met in this quiet space.
Let sky meet land and rivers merge.
Forever, harmony I long to taste.
We have summoned light from darkest days.
Heat returns to melt still ice.
Each day length now brings stronger rays.
The deepest snows cannot hide the facts.
Beneath these layers life holds fast.
Newfound joys spring from bleakest past.
Let's rebuild life from broken dreams,
Where life restarts with each new spring,
the snows will melt to feed fresh streams.
Like this land, my passion runs free.
Walls have come down with earnest words.
My unblinded eyes now see.
I ask for your hand without ounce of gold,
or shiny stones dug from filthy earth.
My eternal love cannot be bought or sold.
Under peaks reborn of volcanic scars,
In night's serene and starkest silence,
I pledge love to outlast the multitude of stars.
Solitude I turn from on this ride.
Today and tomorrow let's walk in stride.
Promise to be my utopian bride.
I had waited for you seemingly forever
So long did it take before you were to come into my life
But in so many ways you had always been there
Your hair so white more than once people
Said that you glowed
Your eyes blue gray
Soft but piercing.
In the spring we’d plant flowers and you quite the digger
Would never tire of ‘replanting’ oh the control God blessed
Me with that summer
On the porch we would swing and sing until my throat would be sore
And still Id manage one more
Lavender Blue, You Are My Sunshine, Red River Valley
I can still hear the wee small voice
In the summer under the big maple the front walk
Would flood and we’d run back and forth barefooted and splashing
Your face, pure joy, your eyes animated, your smile so wide
And those cheeks I could tweak them right now
Is there any better sound than giggles and splashes
Autumn we would take long walks and picnics down in the woods
And sit on a fallen tree. We’d find ants and worms and spiders and rescue the most
Precious of treasures. Feathers, milkweed fuzz, acorns, so much
Bounty for the taking. We’d bring them home and glue them
On paper or cardboard or make touch books
Winter oh please let’s have snow for winter. Snowmen
And snow forts, snow balls and mmmm snow cream.
I remember the look on your face at your first bite as
If you had just made magic.
We read books by the fire, books and more books
Then you would touch my lips and ask me to
Read one with my mouth, which meant to make
Up one just for you.
You have been blessed with intelligence
You have an uncanny ability to fix things
You’ve never seen before
Your sense of humor can put me away
Until I beg you to stop
You have a sense of logic beyond your years
You will sit on the floor for hours and build block towers for babies
Most importantly my son
You have been blessed for an unquenchable thirst for God’s own heart
At eighteen our time together will be changing but sitting here
I remember the words from a book we used to sing to each other
“I’ll love you forever
I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living
My baby you’ll be"
My breath becomes visible when I exhale
into the chill of the still, winter air
but, I do not mind the cold.
I hear nothing, but the solemn sound of silence
as I stand in the middle of nowhere, with no one,
looking straight up into a gray sky
and seeing nothing, but a million snowflakes coming toward me.
Tumbling, dancing, drifting, and finding their way to the earth.
No, they are not just frozen raindrops.
Each one is a miniature ice sculpture
intricately carved by the hand of a master artist.
Can it be, within the billions of snowflakes that fall each year,
that no two are ever alike?
While I do not have the answer, I enjoy pondering the question.
I stand perfectly still, as if frozen in time,
as the snow falls down, and sticks onto my hair,
instantly aging me as my golden-brown locks turn white.
Yet, I feel much younger than I am.
I feel like I am inside a snow-globe that has just been shaken.
I can feel them gently landing on my face,
these delicate snowflakes tickle me
as they get caught by my eyelashes.
I just close my eyes and smile.
Melting tears of the moon is snow dust, frozen droplets
Turning into flakes of white icy lace, that cling to the baron
Limbs of the tree tops, for it is winters grace, a frozen
Kiss given unto autumns last sighs of farewell, until
The next seasons change takes place.
Softly floating wisps of thin frozen mists, shifting
Ever lightly, gracefully unto the winds, tenderly
Aloft, free falling paper thin crystals of ice,
Cascading downwards unto the frozen earth below.
Layers of delicate texturing of refineries elegance,
Transforms this landscape of falls color burst, into
A winter wonderland of frost and white icings
A kingdom of flickering diamonds is show cased
Beneath the lunar shine, of the light hanging within
The heavens above, a glittering field of gems
Illuminated by the elliptical sphere, Called the moon.
In this picturesque display, the writer ponders
Humbly, to the wonders of nature’s masterful
Hands of creation, to be able to create such
this frozen canvas, and the poet
Is left in awes wake of hushed expression.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Branches wave naked in the autumn wind,
Leaves being tossed carelessly through the night.
Dark rain clouds are dominating our sky
And my eyes ask where the beauty has gone.
Daybreak shows sleepily its weary head
Just to return to bed, early again.
Cold and wet invading our daily walks
And my eyes search for signs of a blue sky.
Alas, the first of many snowflakes fall
Bringing the beginning of brighter days.
Grey disappears under a white blanket
And my eyes applaud November’s beauty.
The white snow has brought pureness in its wake
And nights are brighter from shimmering snow.
We light a fire, and it brings us such warmth
And my eyes feel the sun shine once again.
Poet Destroyer A's Contest
Impress Me with a Poem
Snowy splendor of white fluffy freshly fallen snow blanketing everything that
Gets in its way, sparkling like glitter from the illumination descending light
Of the stars, moon, and lights of the street lamp.
Snowman all a glitter in the front yard, with its black top hat, a scarf around its neck,
An orange carrot nose, greeting all visitors.
Snow settled on the spindly tree branches glisten like arms with finger
The homes lit up with different colored Christmas lights on eaves for the holiday spirit,
A candle lit in the window a beacon for those that are traveling,
A warm welcoming to friends to come in and enjoy a cup of hot chocolate,
Wrapped in a warm quilt, enjoying Christmas stories
And sit around the inviting fireplace.
A fresh cut blue spruce sits by the window decorated with delicate old glass
Ornaments handed down, candy canes, toys, children’s handmade ornaments,
an a star to light up the top of the tree, wrapped with strings of popcorn and
cranberry garland, homemade cookies and cakes scenting the air
Carolers out in the chill of the winter night, all warm in stocking hats, wool
Mittens, snow boots, and warm coats singing,
Deck The Halls with boughs of holly, Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Warming people’s hearts
It’s the most wonderful time of the year
By Eve Roper 12/09/2014
I like to sit and watch the snowfall as I’ve done in my memory.
Falling upon the deck, falling where my toys used to be.
Where as a child I’d sit and watch the woods turn from brown to white.
I had so many dreams back then, as I do here tonight.
The smell of ginger bread cookies and cider filled the house.
Where there was good cheer for all including the visiting mouse.
The sweet taste of maple syrup from Teatown I recall.
As the snow fell on the ice where we used to slip, slide and fall.
The snow is coming down here hard.
The ground is thick with white.
The air is cold and the wind is blowing hard.
The pond is frozen the ducks are a party.
Winter comes and I am warm.
The fire is going and the eggnog is good. With a touch of booze.
Cat is asleep all in a ball. The game has gone in to over time what a joy.
Winter is here and I don't care I'm warm and nothing can change that.
Angel of mourning soup
Angel of mourning
Who gives birth to fresh morning dew who
helped me pursue who showed me the light
when I was lost for clues in times of blues
Angel of assistance
From were did you fall
From where did you fall
From where did you
hear my call
I wanted to say thank you
You are the fairest of
them all and you don't
need to ask the damn
mirror on the wall.
You helped me build the ladder of saul but the others
couldn't help because they couldn't speak our language
at all and so if I ever fall I know you will be there to
pick me up like a pen like a friend I wish I can give
you the sun but I am young enough to be your son
so I give to you the stars of friendship ,I can feel your
breeze its it make me want to fall to my knees and never
cease to rain my gratification on your being because what
I have been seeing is a lending hand when many ran I
guess that's what separates a rock from a grain of sand
size of heart so were should I start.
Let me fill your shopping cart with the immensity
of this poem so when you get to the cash register
of heavens doorway you can show em your appreciated
hearts receipt you have given more than I can take
you have dotted my I's and crossed my t's you are the
rain to my tree the beautiful shells in my sea the form
of my key the correction and assistance of me the blue jay
at dawn singing to me the heat to my tea the caps for my
knee you are the back up stinger of this bee so tell me
honey what you see because I see the better half of me
may our friendship never cease catie please you are the
cat and I am the flea don't you ever scratch me because
friends tolerate the most annoying things of each other so
let the itch be any way I don't think the vet's can separate
you and me there's just to much chemistry.
Angel of assistance
From were did you fall
From where did you fall
from where did you
hear my call
I wanted to say thank you
You are the fairest
of them all and you
don't need to ask the
damn mirror on the wall.
I will take the poison apple out
of your hand and take the fall
You are the fairest
of them all and you
don't need to ask the
damn mirror on the wall.
Heart's memory of sun grows fainter,
What now? Darkness?
Perhaps! This very night unfolds
-- Anna Akhmatova
I remember the summer
of yesterdays, folded neatly
like little leaves just waking up to life.
Ours were colored, all the days
hanging together on one twig,
glistening amidst the morning dew
like love's own eyes waking
beneath the passion of dawn.
The redness, so we thought,
could never fade to colder days,
nor leave us chafed from winter's wind.
We were the only breath of air
shared within the expansion of dreams.
We never dreamt of sunset skies,
yet, we watch it now, fading slowly
across the horizon of night's rise,
questioning eye's own darkness,
wondering, what does the truth behold?
poet destroyer's any poem contest
Cool winds turn cold as the winds stir from the north
The sun, the life giving star, heats the tropics so far to the south
Its warmth a distant memory to the lands that it deserted
Long forgotten greens of summer turn into the color of a raging fire
The fire dies and leafs that lived in the summer sun die and fall to the ground
The white silky clouds turn black and heavy carrying moisture from the open waters
The mighty lakes of the north turn violent under the fading yellow sun
Fighting the winds and the certainty of the fingers of the north freezing them
Rain turns to ice storm and them into the snow that children love
Mother Nature makes her changes as the speed of life slows
Baby animals, now grown, leave their family to explore their new world
Some settle down for a sleep that will protect for the three months of bitter cold
Others travel to the lands of their ancestors where the climate never changes
No one tells them to make such a journey
It is just the cycle of life that protects them and their young
But all the ice, the snow and the suffering will end
For it is November and November is a month of change
The changes will last until the spring when live starts anew
The ice and snow will melt and food will be plentiful
Green with once again color the trees, grass and shrubs
The animals who were babies in the fall return with babies of their own
The lakes thaw and calm in the spring’s gentle breezes
Life will return to normal at least until the winds of November return
But, at least for now, that is a world away in another time
And it is no longer remembered
Snow sprinkles the ground
as delicate as sugar
crystallizing the exterior with a romantic heritage
only found in the heart of a child's imagination.
Like happiness it can melt in your hands,
and like happiness it can grow bitter like the ice you slip on
Forming miraculously to the curves of the earth
hugging till the land soaks in it's providence
white like the pages I battle with
Falling so passionately you'd think it was falling in love with the ground
And when it lands,
A blanket of perfection
glistening the season to a crisp
gently the sun arises
"there's no where to go today,
I'm just going to sit and enjoy the magic."
She bounced right off the inkling
. . . . . . . . . golden rings and tinker bells winking
on tiny toes zzzzzzzzinging
through the galaxies spinning
. . . . . . . . . aglitter aflicker ~ her heart
atwist amidst anticipating ...
on Halley’s comet tail she flew
. . . . . . . . . in the genius of a snowflake parade
in search ... in search
. . . . . of something he once said
to the atmosphere on a cloudy
. . . . . . . . . day
over rooftops flurried in December snow
in a glance of her cosmic smile,
. . . . . . . . . she ... perched on the cusp of an eighth of a moon
sang songs of fields of poppies soon
budding beneath the snow,
. . . . . . . . . and she opened her tiny fists and let go her angel dust
upon the world
and the earth shimmered in many colors
and gave praise
. . . . . . . . . and the angels came and fetched her up ~
and He smiled.
There is nothing with so much life as a Christmas snow
The crisp air is still as little dancing stars float to the earth
Strong old trees become burdened with drifts of white upon their bows
But seem honored to be dressed in such finery and appear almost to move
In fact, everything has come to life to watch the snowfall.
Then everything is quiet
There is a whisper in the air
It ripples through the trees
See the birds, they are the first to recognize the whisper
As the Masters of Chorus, the birds know it is a song
They sit as true musicians memorizing the lyrics and rhythm
So, the snow speaks, the voice is old, like it has sung this song many times
As the squirrels could tell you this is a lullaby, and they begin to search from their
perches in the trees for the newborn
And life and love has never felt as strong as now
A horse in its pastures stomps his foot disturbed
Though he hears the song the birds do and the lullaby the squirrels hear, he,
along with all of the worlds creatures, could swear he just heard a cry
The squirrels chatter with laughter, knowing they where right and the birds take
up the snow-song to welcome the child they heard cry
And then they stop and the world is silent
The snow has stopped falling
The cry was only a memory from Christmas long past
The child, a child of time whose
Voice comes with the Christmas snows,
To give every soul the chance to hear
The song of joy and love and beginning,
So it is never forgotten;
The song of the Christmas Snow
Contn'd from Pg 1
So she called out to the stranger and asked for a ride
Snow had fallen heavily and already piled three feet high
When she climbed into the four-wheel truck never giving it another thought
Before he headed down the highway, he went into a crowded bar
Intuition nudged her, ‘get out now, turn back!’ But pride urged her, 'stay'
He returned with a brown bag; appearing harmless as he turned to her
‘Say, you’re trembling!’ He said and flashed a breathless smile
‘Here, have a slug, of this, it’ll warm you up, pretty girl!’
Hesitation loomed for a minute then she accepted the bag from his hand
Young Rachel, was now treading a path beyond thin, cracking ice
As tears stung her beautiful eyes, she'd never had a drink this strong
How her vacant tummy rebelled against the searing burn
Nausea arose from deep within, and she began to have regrets
Registering strong protest, her regurgitation would later accuse her killer
Her faith was sealed as there were no open doors left for escape
And before she realized he had made a reckless wide left turn
Down the snow covered dirt path through tall pines and fir
No longer were there sightings of sparsely lit farm houses
Interspersed along the desolate, picturesque landscape
The four-wheeler tackled with ease, snow drifts of fresh fallen snow
Where the following spring young Rachel's body would be discovered
That night Rachel laid buried under a few feet of snow
She was at rest now to awaken to eternity in sunny fields
Beautiful as daisies growing in heaven, carefree and endlessly in bloom!
Inside it is nice and warm,
cuddled up alone in my warm bed,
sheets and covers smother me,
as soft pillows rest my heavy head.
Outside the white, soft snow comes falling down hard,
blowing in from the north, south, east and west
and the wind picks up, as it makes a high pitch howl,
as a ghost would do when trying to strike fear into someone.
Inside so warm,
outside it is so cold,
Inside filled with sweet dreams,
and outside filled with cold, soft, white nightmares.
Soon, the alarm goes off and wakes me from a cozy slumber,
as I hit the "SNOOZE" button and straighten myself from bed;
I walk over to my window and rub my eyes and can't believe my eyes.
Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow- and more snow!
White pillows of snow everywhere,
on the leafless trees, the branches covered with snow and ice.
I open my window for some fresh air,
and the air is too thin to breath, and the wind hits me in the face
and cold burns my face with a chilling sting!
I shut my window- as I look at my bed,
temptations of jumping back in and warming back up
all cross my mind,
but sadly it was only Wednesday and no call-off for school,
so I guess I'll go shovel the snow out of the driveway,
warm the car up and get ready to go learn.
Winter arrives and God's sculpture is seen everywhere,
Snow as white as cotton, on the rooftops of the houses.
Trees brushed with snow along their delicate branches,
Spruce and pine trees and boughs, God's Christmas Card.
Snowman white and round with eyes and mouth made of coal,
And a carrot nose, topped with a black hat and winter scarf.
The sounds of the sculpture are silent and reverent,
Only the sounds of the wind can be heard.
Parents and children creating these snow scenes,
Sounds of laughter, enjoying God's sculptures.
Mountains of snow, tall and small,
With smooth and rugged angles.
God's winter sculpture, his portrait of excellence,
To be appreciated by humanity.
Winter weather is a friend and not a foe,
And whereever you go God's beauty reigns.
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
Hand in hand they meander through the deserted lane,
freshly fallen snow crumpling under foot
Littering the sky, Bright stars, glittering like coins on a belly dancers belt,
slowly surrender to the coming dawn
Inch by measured inch the glory of Ra overpowers the starlight.
In a pale blue sky, a pale golden disc, the colour of ripe oats at harvest time,
looking close enough, and cool enough, to reach out and touch.
Brilliant rays, arrows of liquid gold, capture the pristine landscape,
splintering like a million shards of shattered glass.
No sound, only silence, profound, in the clear crystal air.
In the distance, a cock crows.
Long morning shadows cast by tall pines,
revealing a lone stoat, resplendent in his ermine coat.
Emerging from shade, merging with sunlight,
loping across the virgin snow with bounding grace.
White on white,
only the black tip of his tail and tiny footprints betraying his presence.
In the distance, a dog barks,
A small cottage, a stone chimney, a whisper of smoke announcing a new day,
A hardy little robin pecking with determination to uncover water under ice.
A door slams, the robin takes flight.
Snow slides from the roof to gather in piles like miniature Himalayas.
Icicles drop pearls as the thaw sets in. The world is awakening.
In the distance, a train whistles.
Still holding hands they walk on.
The tangling forest was bitterly cold
And we were endlessly lost.
But, I followed his big foot prints
without speaking out of fear.
“Just pick up twigs kid. OK Dad”-
While he collected timber.
I knew he was good at providing, building
while not speaking.
A hammer made a much more profound sound
in my ears than anything he said to me.
So I followed.
But, the snow and ice were to thick and
the twigs and timber were frozen.
I fell behind and lost his footprints
until I fell asleep and the snow and
bitter wind blew over me.
Unforunateely, he never looked behind.
R. Biffany '09
I have walked through the seasons of the year,
Summer brings us the warm sunlight,
The beautiful nature portrayed by the calm lake and tall trees,
A swim in the recreational swimming pool.
The exquisite blue jay perched in an evergreen tree,
The flutter of a monarch butterfly.
Sending summer's song to nature,
The cool days of autumn come.
Tall green maple trees,
Tinted by God's sunlight .
Walks by the conservation area,
Squirrels scampering about.
Discovers of the enhanced nature,
The winter's snow ascending slowly.
Each snowflake an intricate pattern,
Blanketing the earth.
All purified by the whiteness of the snow,
Spring comes and the snow melts.
The warm weather arrives,
Cheers us and befriends us.
The blossoming of the buds on the trees,
To welcome us.
God's garden come to life.
What a blessing from the Lord.
Copyright Gwen Schutz
One by one,
From the pane of autumn’s stare
Where they gather
In mute reflections,
Like moths to a flame
Blustering into chaotic rhythm
White upon light,
Frozen in free
Falling eddies now
Gathering upon a wind,
In violent whiteout
As a fire stares
Back from beyond the hearth
Of warmth bearing
Witness to fair warning
From an army of
Serene and silent the head caresses pillow
Landing soft and slowly with a sigh
Quiet sounds of silken quilt
In covered warmth
Receives the fragile woman worn of age
Contentment on her face
As she finds comfort and companion with relief
In design and form beneath
As she slips between the sheets
A slower moving body
In the cozy bedroom for some tranquil sleep
Outside, snowflakes count down the hours
Blanketing the relaxed house near heaven
In penetrating peace
Mounting are the flowing mounds of white
Building moments upon other open moments
Smiles take the woman on a cloud
To drift as well
Composed and calm
Upon her pillow down
8/21/14 Seasonal Bliss poetry contest
I awoke this morning to find a foot and half of snow all around covering the ground. I
quickly got dressed wearing several layers of clothes. Plus a winter mask to protect my ears
and nose. Snow equals very cold weather. I thought about you, wishing you were here with
me - us together. Yes us together to act silly in this snow so white, and to run from each
other having a snow ball fight. I made sure I grabbed my I-phone and then slipped my
So bright was the pure white snow. I'm just glad the wind didn't blow. I was ready to
begin. I would keep my promise to Charma and build her a snowman.
First you start with a single snowball. The size of a big softball. Not too small. Then
you place it on the ground rolling it around; rolling it end over end. I was determined to
build this snowman for my friend. Round and around on the ground, bigger picking up more
and more snow. Building snowmen you can never out grow. Bigger and bigger it gets until it
is as round and high as a tree. Three giant snowballs for his body you have to admire. I
stacked his giant round snowballs on top of the other which were quite heavy. I managed by
myself which wasn't easy.
Your snowman wasn't complete. I wanted to make him so real like he had a "heart
beat." I went around to my back yard to find a fallen tree limb. I had to have arms for him!
After I put both stick-arms on either side; I returned back inside because there were other
things that must be applied.
Continued in Pt 2
Note: Here's Pt 1 of your snowman poem Charma:)
Author Note: I wrote this after the Address last night as my take on the transparency of our
Where does the white go
when the snow melts?
It becomes transparent,
for all to witness its passage
from one form
It will never again have substance
or be recognized as what
was its original state.
doomed to mix with
no longer a brilliant white,
Covered by dirty slush
to be stomped throughout
the halls of government,
to be spread around
under the guise of openness.
will become invisible,
no longer a nuisance,
transparent, to forever
by power and corruption
hiding behind closed doors,
where transparency is not allowed,
where truth becomes lies,
where is hidden....
where the white goes
when the snow melts
Cupped-hands blessed the first winter snow –
That tasted like peppermint wind
The pines and aspens share secrets,
As they whispers what they know
Then, they giggled like schoolchildren
In the snowy playground – with the red
Brick schoolhouse off in the distance
Their cold faces blinked and blushed
Like a basket full of wild freckled strawberries
Suddenly, fresh pine cones fall to the ground;
They chuckle, laugh and then roll over,
Exposing their innocent souls to fresh blue sky,
This all appeared in the first winter snow
This, I am sure and still are
Ah, the glorious damned winter
and the inviting
gray chill in the air.
with a cluttered array
of pagan snow zombies -
as I obliterate pint-sized
failing to don halos
that could have easily been
brush stroked with
da Vinci's golden teardrops.
"I suggest you peruse Alighieri’s 'Inferno' –
it may, at least, promote heat - if not hope!"
Frost continues to cloud my spectacles -
thick and relentless
eagerly permeating the glass -
endeavoring to dance
a feverish Fantasia foxtrot
upon the skins of my pupils.
My heavy feet scuffle
past these endearing peasants.
forgotten Mt. Everest tombstones.
Disgraced outcasts of embarrassment -
smashed against a stark white canvas
hands cut off –
sticking out their parched tongues
begging for alms.
Click and count.
Their fragile bodies so much alive
their dark, hallowed eyes
(So be it)
They stealthily huddle alone -
(Hah! I’ve created my own personal oxymoron!)
These gruesome street urchin waifs -
Dumber than a sackful of hammers and
frostier than a Maine Christmas morn,
convulsing and shivering ‘neath lampposts
without snow shoes or socks,
bawling and boo-hooing...
“Clutching weather-worn copies
of James Hilton’s 'Lost Horizon'
and littering the virgin snow
with salty saline discharge –
igniting street corner bonfires
without the faintest hint of smoke."
Ah, the glorious damned winter
and that magnificent gray chill in the air.
My arctic thighs carry me home now
where I am safe.
Where I can slam my door
and shut my eyes.
My cavernous domicile
whereas I can privately converse
with Mr. Dickens and Mr. O’Neill
and read “A Christmas Carol”
or “The Iceman Cometh” -
without a snaggle-toothed interruption...
Listen to the haunting strains of L’Inverno
from Vivaldi’s “Le Quattro Staggioni”
and cackle wildly as I burn first editions
of Clement Clark Moore’s
most infamous penning -
pour myself a
tall glass of ice cubes -
devour a heaping bowl
of vichyssoise -
scarf down a fudgcicle
turn the air conditioner
. . . the only sound is snow beautifully cascading on tangled fragile trees
December 3, 2013
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