Best Bundle Up Poems
lesson one
i wake up alone
for the first time
the silence is deafening
i want to get up
but every fiber in me
is dead weight
i want to call my mother
and ask her how a widow
gets out of bed in the morning
but i won’t do that to her
i will figure it out
i remember how yesterday
i had to run an errand
and the cool breeze
was a reassuring sensation
against my cheek
it felt much like a caress
so i coax myself to get up
and step out onto my balcony
but my body wants nothing to do with it
and won’t move
finally somehow i am up
yearning for that morning caress
i bundle up
to face the november chill
and there it is
around the corner
a sunkiss meets me
my first of many rendezvous
see you tomorrow sweetheart
i love you
you’re beautiful
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~TODAY I LEARN TO BE A WIDOW~ 2020
Read on air by invitation ~ November 25, 2020 'LATE NIGHT WITH THE MIDNIGHT BOMBER'
AP: 2nd place 2026, 2nd place 2025, 2nd place 2025, 2nd place 2020, 3rd place 2026, 3rd place 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025, Front Page Pick 2021
Submitted on January 6, 2021 for contest BATTLE OF MOST ACCLAIMED 2020 POEMS sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 3RD
A brilliant harvest moon hangs beneath the ebon Colorado sky.
Scudding clouds dare not darken its lustrous glow - tho' they often try!
Silhouetted against the moon are geese winging to warmer destinations,
Mysteriously guided by That Master Compass in perfect V formations!
The moon spreads a coat of silver on lakes and rushing streams below.
Yonder, majestic Pikes Peak gleams with a crown of freshly fallen snow!
White tail deer peer shyly from the shadows of golden aspen groves.
Magnificent elk graze in yon valley 'neath the harvest moon in droves!
Lovers, young and old are spellbound by the harvest moonlight's trance.
Mr. Moon has a special knack for setting the tone for love and romance!
They hold hands strolling along moonlit trails to reminisce and dream,
Their glowing faces brightened by the harvest moon's mellow beam!
Families bundle up against the chill to enjoy hay rides and wiener roasts,
And toast marshmallows over roaring fires, telling tales of scary ghosts!
Wizened "hooty" owls emit their throaty moans adding to the eerie scene!
The moon beams benignly o'er Colorful Colorado giving to all a sheen!
When autumn winds begin to blow and trees stand bare and so austere,
We welcome the warming glow of the harvest moon in our hemisphere!
Alas, tho' the harvest moon graces our skies only in the autumn of the year,
The Creator will delight us again come next October - that you need not fear!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
How I loved it at the Yuletide season -
the winter of my youth so long ago.
A Christmas vacation was the reason!
We’d bundle up and slide down hills of snow.
On Christmas morning, faces all aglow,
we’d run downstairs so gleefully to see
the presents Santa left beneath the tree.
Now on snow I DRIVE, hating it! No thrill
do I have when there’s less of family.
My winter - with each year - grows dimmer still!
Nov. 26, 2017 For the My Winter Contest of Viv Wigley
In fallen snow I see the coming of
the Spring. Through branches bare in Winter's grip
I hear the gentle cooing of the dove
and taste the flowers' nectar that bees sip
On icy roads too slippery to pass
or bridges treacherous to even dare
I spot a blade or two of hardy grass
and stubborn moss for which I say a prayer
In January hope seems frozen stiff
but February sees a spell of rain
Come March the sun can even bring a whiff
of hyacinth or lily in the plain...
So bundle up in Sunshine's latest style
for Spring's now thawing 'neath your frozen smile
Iambic Pentameter
I’m sitting on my lawn chair
Outside the night is cool
I hear the trees swaying
The breeze chills my skin
It knocks on my hippocampus
Am I here or where it blows?
Breeze, you are timeless
From queens to divas, the same
You carry me back to my childhood
You go from high to my lows
You leave me bereft as you leave
You come at my like a windmill
Alone I’m ash on your windy night
It takes a Starry Night like tonight
It takes a Van Gogh to go with you
I would go mad like the wind
I would chase that lonesome boy
I would ride his Sirocco to him
But I am too sane to be a zephyr
Enough wind, it’s time to go in
Make sure the windows are closed
No wind, you can’t get to me
No, you will not breeze through me
The nostalgia you profess is shuddered
The lonesome boy is here within
I wish you would take him with you
But, that would mean we are you
When I’m dust we’ll both join you
We’ll chase the highs to lows
Come and visit me next time
I’ll bundle up and be ready
Just in case you carry me away
I won’t repeat what Vincent did
When he met you on a …
Starry, starry night
A few yellow leaves, diminutive bless.
The subtle birth of Fall— my eyes impress.
Verdant green—deep visual for my dreams.
The season’s frisk—Jack Frost snips at the seams.
Soon the froth of frisky leaves, everywhere.
The flamboyant tango, showering flair.
And oh…the burning Autumnal passion—
the sizes and shapes, bittersweet fashion.
I forget my bathing suit, bundle up,
vigorously jump into loving cup
of apple cider, pumpkin pie and leaves.
Season’s change, cheeky-warm, with knitted sleeves.
10/6/2021
"The essence of art is to recapture the fantasy and the imagination of a child again, but without the innocence of a child."
~Romare Bearden
she had been reaching for all the wrong stars
and told a dream would not take her far
she never allowed her imagination to let go of her hand
fear keeping her near on safe, familiar land
do not let your reverie off of the sidewalk
bundle up any whimsy and keep an eye on the clock
point your eyes straight ahead, keep your feet on the ground
there will be no fantasy visualization, nor glittering pink melodic sound
all of which she tried to obey, with self-discipline her fanciful tenancies allay
but her mind rebelled and took control of the wheel
steering her into a hallucination until she lost the real
one can be controlled, the other cannot
those who forced discipline, conveniently forgot
all art, great and small, comes from a mind
that's recklessly daydreaming most of the time
living in a fantasy land with magic, fairies, and such
creating the poetry, art ,and music we all love so much
the stars she had been reaching for were all wrong
for the light that she needed was inside all along
It snowed last night.
Sometime after the New Year arrived
And left everything pristine
Covered in a thick gesso
Applied by Mother Nature
For just such an occasion
As I looked upon this glory
I realized it was a gift
A new beginning.
The palate has been wiped clean
It was a new world.
I took my snow ski’s from their resting place
And bundle up for a cross country ski.
It would be brilliant to be among that which made me
And appreciate the quiet that only new snow fall brings
And of course to give me time to reflect upon my life.
Where was I?
Where had I been?
Where was I going?
All valid points on this the first day of a new year.
I grinned ear to ear as I slipped into the morning light
It was going to be a good year.
Over the meadow and through the woods
my sweet li'l grandma's got the goods!
But Daddy says I'll have to wait
until that certain December date.
Maybe I'll spot Santa's sleigh
somewhere near the Milky Way
being led by Rudolph's nose
so bright and shiny that it glows.
These were my thoughts as a kid;
now the presents are all hid
or sitting underneath the tree
for all my family and friends to see.
Twinkling lights and wreaths all hung
while Christmas tunes are beautifully sung.
Hot mugs of cocoa are passed around
while distantly a church bell sounds.
I gaze at all the faces dear
of loved ones come from far and near
to spend this wondrous Christmas together
inside safe from the snowy weather.
Or perhaps we'll take a fun sled ride
as we bundle up and race outside.
No matter what we do it's true
Christmas is magical through and through.
written by Deb Wilson
November21st, 2013
for contest "Christmas Magic" sponsored by Gail Angel Doyle
The pipes are froze up
and my car won't start.
The husband's sick,
Lord bless his heart.
I slipped on the ice
and I'm in a lot of pain.
Hubby's got the trots
and the potty won't drain.
Snow's piled up
to the windowsill.
Couldn't get to town
to pay the electric bill.
Got blisters on my hands
chopping all the wood.
Checked out the chimney.
Got a face full of soot.
Fire was dying down
so I gave it a poke.
The flue fell shut,
now, a house full of smoke.
Opened up the window
and the pane fell out.
Snow's coming in
and I'm plumb Tuckered out.
Hubby's got his fever
to keep him warm.
Guess I better bundle up.
Here's another snow storm.
I can hardly believe
we survived the night.
A few icicles on our butts
and a little frost bite.
12/20/14
Contest: Winter Poems #1
Sponsor: PD
He cannot soar as eagles do
Singing is not for him tis true
So this tale is told in black and white
in places where cold winds blow
So bundle up and take this flight
On a journey to the floe
It's summertime but freezing still
And his mate passes him her new laid egg
And then she's off to feed on fish and krill
As he balances the egg on his feet with skill
He must incubate the egg till hatched
As he awaits her return
She will come back and feed baby bird with her catch
And he will go to sea for which he yearns
He will dive beneath the churning waves
And glide beneath the ocean blue
Catching fish for which he craves
He will do an underwater ballet too
He calls Antarctica home
And is the only creature to winter there
It's much too cold for others to roam
He is attired well, a 'tuxedo' he wears
7-9-2020
Windy today so hold on to your hair.
Easter is on it's way with snow in the air.
Air filled with pollen so hide for a few hours.
Thunderstorms will bring May flowers.
Hail for tonight so bundle up tight.
Everyday the weather will change to our delight.
Rays of hot sun are very bright.
Date Written: 3/9/2022
Note: Acrostic Rhyme
Not sure but I have been told, I am the first writer to start this type of poem.
I have been writing them for years.
As we slept, in the depths of winter
in the dead of the night,
cold temperatures and icy wind
moved in with howling sounds.
Piling up snow drifts over the ground,
we wake up at dawn to a magically gifted playground
of a sparkling crystalline carpet of snow.
Taking away the sun's warm glow
silver icicles hung bonded to the peaked
shingle roofs as dripping water froze.
Dressing warmly, running outside to play
delicate feathery ice flakes,
dusting our faces, making our cheeks rosy red.
Snow spades are dug out of the shed
to clear driveways and sidewalks.
Pushing and shoveling,
spreading the snow aside.
Chattering teeth, tingling fingertips,
feeling the bite of cold—
it is time to go in.
The warm fireplace draws us near its charm.
Around its cozy, gold ember crackling fire,
away from the cold
It's a welcoming bathing warmth of comfort.
Snow is calling,
"Come and chase my snowflakes around,
or turn me into a snowman,
or ride that thrill on the sled down the snowy hill."
We bundle up and run outside to have some fun.
Even snow angels join in the fun.
We would love to be out all day,
but the sun is running out.
Time to put aside the chores and fun.
Our spirits need to slumber.
To do it all again tomorrow.
12/1/2016
The man who lived with only clothes
was rich enough to reason.
His pants were long and tops were short
that jackets chose the season.
His underwear were never white
for fear they wouldn't clean.
His socks not so that they could mix
and time be saved between.
A belt would mean his weight could change
for clothing large in size.
His shoes were white to cool his feet
that summer heat could rise.
His hat was grey for winter use
made dark enough to warm;
Still bright enough to cross the street
and keep him safe from harm.
His winter boots were rugged black
to heat him in the snow.
Their laces taunt to bundle up
brought strength to up and go.
His jackets numbered three in all.
From cool, warm to hot.
Preparing him for changing weather.
Whatever nature brought.
To see him in his many clothes
might just not mean a thing.
But know that what he's dressing for
his life can only bring.
Grandpa's famous venison beer chili the night before
He's no longer with us but was a man everyone would adore
Like other holidays filled with family traditions for so many so is deer hunting season
Everyone is welcome so take a stop by camp for a visit, you don't need a reason
Everyone is prepared and has sighted in their gun
Even that in itself with safety in mind can be loads of fun
Blinds are all ready,everyone's been baiting in advance
The woods are so beautiful at first glance
Wake up to grandpa saying "top of the morning to ya,daylight in the swamp" music to our ears
Time to start getting ready for our chance at taking down a deer
Quick breakfast and coffee as we get ready
Hopefully you don't get buck fever and hold your gun steady
Bundle up in all our warm gear to head out into the crisp morning air
Anticipating what will come and the stories we'll have to share
Take a brief break for lunch before heading back out
Over the walkie talkie "I shot a 7 pointer" you hear grandpa shout
No need to track it, dropped dead in its tracks
Go lend a hand to help haul it back
That night we share stories,venison jerky and a celebratory drink
Dad's watching from heaven with a smile and a wink
This season is about so much more then just shooting a deer
Giving thanks honoring your kill and traditions surrounded by great food and company, it's one of the best times of the year