Best Igloos Poems
To Daddy, Mama, Billy-Bro, Punky and Massachusetts....
Glazed, deep snow, virgin crunched under my aimless walk
as I idle rambled onward through a vacant, bare-treed park.
Sun was so high that its brightness flashed sparkling pastels.
Fleeting blue spots danced randomly and surrounded me
with images of us until old tears appeared and newly swelled.
In and out, snow to house, young you and me in tender years
of igloos, snowmen, skating, snow ball laughing and fighting,
in animal mittens Mama knitted and snow suits tightly snug.
On some far stage, I feel sure we are still close and at play,
but today I have no smile to curl, just winter’s bleak weight
from tons of missing and reminiscing for my ill, lost brother.
Climbing a hill covered in deep snow reminded me how thick
my own thoughts were sadness bogged, of love now long gone
that was once joyously caught and I swear that hill mocked me.
My legs moved on their own accord as memories of other hills
caught my heart and held it painfully, eloquently still-scored.
Looking up as though Daddy could see me, remember with me
the hand holding and hill rolling he showed me decades ago
as his delight from falling snow created and molded my own.
Years later it was my son’s hand he held, watching icicles melt
while from a distance I watched their silence spill laughter
and their sled fly hills, growing a bond now many winters gone.
At hills peak, I felt my aches that winter etched as pains’ crafter.
Memories where finality marks each season, hurt me most of all.
Categories:
igloos, brother, childhood, dad, death,
Form:
Free verse
MR GREEDY
Mr Greedy could not eat any more
His bulging stomach was swollen and sore
Needed hospital care
But he couldn't get there
Cos he got wedged in the frame of the door...
SPOILT BRAT
A spoilt young daughter was having a moan
Santa didn't bring the latest I phone
Her dad said" hand me that
You ungrateful young brat"
And sent her off to her room to atone...
MA KELLY
Eighty year old Ma Kelly passed away
Her mean family didn't want to pay
So they filled her with concrete
Then put supports on her feet
And sold her as a statue on ebay...
SINBAD
For twelve camels Sinbad purchased a wife
But she gave him lots of grief and much strife
Tried to give her away
All his friends they did say
"A wife's not just for Christmas but for life" ..
CLIMATE CHANGE
Eskimos igloos started to buckle
Global warming for them is big trouble
They got home one day
And to their dismay
Their village had turned into a puddle...
NEW YEAR
If you go out celebrating new year
Do go easy on the whiskey and beer
Make sure you drive slowly
Cos you don't want to be
Stuck in a snow drift right up to your ear...
Written 30th December 2019.
Better still if you're driving DON'T DRINK.
Happy New Year to all.
Categories:
igloos, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Bundled in goose down like their feathered friends;
they plump outside for they've no wish to stay in;
they dive in the snow, the mundane to transcend.
Boys howl and they whistle and the girls defend
igloos of snow bricks with rosy cheeks and chins,
bundled in goose down like their feathered friends.
Small toddlers fall boom, make angels and pretend
that the snowflakes are food, as their silly faces grin;
they dive in the snow the mundane to transcend.
Snow geese honk and a large flock descends,
roaring with laughter the children rush in,
bundled in goose down like their feathered friends.
Mother lights the Christmas tree on the bend
and Father grabs a scarf and joins the din.
They dive in the snow, the mundane to transcend.
Snowballs zoom, as sisters and brothers contend
even the pooch prances (for of course he is kin).
Bundled in goose down like their feathered friends,
they dive in the snow the mundane to transcend.
Categories:
igloos, children,
Form:
Villanelle
If I were an igloos I would be different than the others,
more flamboyant.
Painted in rainbow colors,
I would play hip hop music, and I would wear
a colorful, feathered boa, sprinkled with glitter.
There would be loudness,
And frenzied dancing, possibly screaming,
Especially after the polar bears begin
Stalking my inhabitants
which would be pretty easy to find
in the whiteness of Alaska,
Thanks to the loudness of my songs
And my rainbow colors,
And my enormously wonderful
feathered boa, with the glitter shining.
I would have rapid changeover,
trading family after family,
Possibly switching to jazz or bluegrass,
but keeping the boa until it finally blows away on its own.
Categories:
igloos, 2nd grade, 3rd grade,
Form:
Personification
A long-time memory that hugs my heart, so many years ago. When I was nearing ten years old, I was playing in the snow. It was me and my two sisters, my brother and his gal. And there was also my dog "Snoopy" whom I've always called- "MY Pal." The snow had fallen for two days long, and it was bitter cold. But that didn't stop a child from playing in the snow, when their nearing ten years old. I remember throwing snowballs and constructing igloos too! We'd play all day in the snow, until our lips turned blue. But lastly, I remember, 'twas one of my favourite things. In the snow, we'd lay on our backs, and make "Snow Angel Wings."
Playing in the snow
Memories that hug my heart
Featherless angels
Categories:
igloos, snow,
Form:
Haibun
I am ready for some violets, the sun,
Dewdrops, wet grass, tulips, and daffodils
Marigolds, geraniums and warm, sultry weather.
My socks are cold and wet, soggy even.
I slipped on the ice twice yesterday.
My grandchildren live in this tundra.
We can make igloos out of what winter is delivering.
What about moving south? Sure, where none of my grandchildren are.
Or are ever going to be living. No thanks.
I will wait until the violets and the chrysanthemums are ready.
In their own time, delighting me greatly when they arrive at last.
Delighting in the grass, springing back into pretty greenness.
Categories:
igloos, flower, spring,
Form:
Blank verse
The world spins kaleidoscopic, a whorl of color in revolt.
Oceans quake malleable, molding into fissures of tectonic hunger,
ravaging the deep, stirring the primal need depressing
populations’ unseen to the denizens of land, disregarded in man’s wake.
From the diatom, to the whale, from the single cell to the open hand
from the sun, to the stars, to the mushroom bomb, we’ve light.
Within the orb of eye, retinal flares of light,
an inside-out, upside-down, yin and yang revolution
juxtaposing wealth with poverty, as throngs rise asking for hand
outs, aching with a human need to know, hungering.
Childhood has ended, the tell-tale snake does wake.
Death’s rattle will subside, as the head eats the tail of depression.
Communication will become the global antidepressant.
Natives in aboriginal huts and Inuit in igloos will see the light.
There will be no holding back the tide for hand in hand, each cell wakes.
No longer can knowledge be withheld. “Phone home,” a revolutionary
cry, the tit will not be ripped from the lips of hungering
humanity, the tyrant and the saint juxtaposed, their time at hand.
Instant communication, shall scrape the barnacles of blight handily.
The stroke of finger tip to key shall depress
and ignorance will flee, freeing the hungry
for the way out ,the way up, the key, light-heartedly
heads bowed in prayer, we shall revolt.
Let tyranny be eaten, and righteousness wake.
On the egg of earth, we float in celestial wakes.
Solar tides stir the shards of glass raising death’s hand.
Round and round the top spins each revolution
forced by the pumping thump of rods depressed
rods magnetized and charged with lightening
for we all hunger.
Each evolution a revolution, each thirst quenched brings new hunger.
Repression will never depress the desire to wake,
nor, will the fisted hand ever bring the light.
Categories:
igloos, allegory, childhood, computer-internet, history,
Form:
Sestina
The Wakening World
A new world spins kaleidoscopic, a whorl of color in revolt.
Oceans quake, molding into fissures of tectonic hunger,
ravaging the deep, stirring the primal need depressing
populations unseen to the denizens of land, left in man’s wake.
From diatom, to whale, from single cell, to open hand
from sun, to star, to mushroom bomb, we have light.
Within the orb of eye, retinal flares of light
an inside-out, upside-down, yin and yang revolution;
juxtaposing wealth with poverty, throngs rise asking for hand-
outs, aching with a human need to know, hungering.
Childhood ends as the predestined ouroboros wakes.
Death’s rattle subsides, as head eats the tail of depression.
Communication becomes the global antidepressant.
Aborigines in Australian huts and Inuit in igloos see the light.
There will be no holding back the tide, for hand in hand, cells wake.
No longer can knowledge be held. “Phone home,” a revolutionary
cry, the breast will not be ripped from the lips of hungering
humanity, tyrant and saint will be juxtaposed, their time at hand.
Instant contact scrapes the barnacles of blight handily.
The stroke of fingertip to keyboard or keypad depressed
sends ignorance fleeing, freeing the knowledge hungry;
showing the way out, the way up, the key. Light-heartedly
heads bow in prayer, the we will rock you will revolt.
Let tyranny be eaten, and righteousness wake.
On the egg of earth, we float in celestial wakes.
Solar tides stir the shards of glass raising death’s hand.
Round and round the top spins each revolution
forced by the pumping thump of nuclear rods depressed,
rods magnetized or charged with lightening
will energize the populous for we all hunger.
Evolution brings revolution, each thirst quenched brings new hunger.
Repression will never depress the desire to wake,
nor, will the fisted hand ever bring the light.
Categories:
igloos, devotion, education, hope, mystery,
Form:
Sestina
HEBRIDES
Big waves crash on a Hebrides shore,
Horizontal rain slashes the rocks.
There’s no shelter here, not even a crack,
There’s no wood here, and nothing to burn:
Frost giants hurl slivers of ice.
The sun will rise twelve hours from now,
But by then, they say, the snow will be
Knee deep, and nearly slush.
I’m dry enough, but stranded atop
A granite pinnacle miles from shore.
Yesterday I clambered up
To say farewell and then to leap;
But now I can’t, and the coward man
Whimpers and lives for no good reason.
They’d rule a fall from here an accident,
Insurance claims would pay my bills
And spare my family funeral costs.
The fall, I think, a moment of terror,
But actually, not much pain.
And as for the afterlife –
Rosicrucians say
I’d repeat the same act over and over and over
Falling into a self-created hell.
But escape,
That’s not an option.
Friends look at me and say:
“Better choices you need to make:
You’re not paralyzed from the neck down,
Retching from intestinal cancer,
Helpless in bed with chemical burns,
You haven’t lost a wife or a child
To a tsunami or a terrorist attack,
You’re not foaming with addictions
Or exposed in shame on national TV,
So what’s your problem?”
TRAPPED! I tell you, I’m trapped
Inside the same old wretched self,
In a prison too small for the animal life
The monkey and the otter praying to play
In sunflower fields abounding in streams
Where fountains sparkle joyously
And rainbows lift the sky to the sun –
Away from the hamster chained to a log,
Away from the failures and toxic romances,
Away from the husbands choking their wives,
Away from the igloos buried in ash,
Away from
Away from
Away from
Away from the hollow men
Pulling the strings.
Categories:
igloos, depression,
Form:
Blank verse
Equality revolution
Oh he raised 5 thousand million,
The anquidated poor,
The estimated 5 billion,
The persecuted sure,
In passive revolution,
Equality of state,
All equal under the sod,
The equalizer fate,
(Death)
Superich reduced to naught,
The wealth regenerates,
The robber barons'greed, owed ought,
No pennies on their plate,
South island of New Zealand,
A penal place 2 hold ,
The greedy rich of criminals and,
Igloos for the cold.
Drop from 2o thousand feet,
Cold blooded murderers, without soul,
To shatter on their impact, sweet,
Aim 4 the old south pole?
Don Johnson
Categories:
igloos, adventure, , cute,
Form:
Ballad
The world has changed, everything covered in white,
reflecting every beam of sunlight.
What lies beneath is for now sleeping tight.
Winter brings back old childhood memories.
The whole world turned into a giant playground.
Red cheeks, frozen fingers and sleds and skis,
and igloos where we could never be found.
The cold, howling wind was the only sound,
as we rolled a big snowball round and round.
Thin clouds dancing over a blue canvas,
We have just started a wild snowball fight,
No one was ever happier than us,
Those times were just so wonderful and right.
Mom is calling us now to get inside.
The sun is sending its very last light.
When the snow goes the memories remain.
Next winter we will do it all again.
Categories:
igloos, childhood, christmas, memory, winter,
Form:
Sonnet
A snowflake falls on pristine bare ground
Leaves a coat without a heard sound
Filling every crack and every seam
A blanket of white snow for a dream
Watery vapor that turned solid from cold
A ball made from the hand to have and hold
With a spade you linger and it takes its toll
A man created with eyes of coal
With sled and ski you easily glide
Igloos built for a home or to hide
Angels made every time we play
Just the sun needed for it all to melt away
Categories:
igloos, snow,
Form:
Rhyme
Eskimo Dream
Eskimos know 68 shades of snow
They count every flake
Green blue ones fill children with delight
Parents frozen like the dim light of day
Wait with edges of a knife for prey
They dare not move during the hunt for food
Faces etched like leather on fierce weather
In calmer times they sing
Pound igloos into shape before the pending storm
Mukluks on their children’s feet are old and worn
But keeps them warm on moonless nights
Against all odds for life
They hold together chanting on the wind
Stretching across all time and land
Singing about their past and colder weather
And yes, about the color white
Sentry huskies sway left to right in fear
And think of caribou
Soon the ice will cover everything
Settled in the deep
The people sleep
And dream of whale bones by the glacier sea
Categories:
igloos, age, culture, dream, history,
Form:
Free verse
She wakes from a dream, dripping with tears of sweat pouring down her face. Her long blonde hair is pasted to her forehead as she sits up in her bed. The clock reads 3:03am. Her heart is pounding rhythmically to the ticking of her wrist watch. Her long legs that are wrapped in her white down comforter are extremely cold, and she realizes that a harsh draft is seeping through the window sill beside her bed. As she pulls back the curtains to check the window for cracks in the ledge, her eyes grow wide with amazement. The street lights reveal swirls of frosted confetti which overwhelm the pitch blackness of the night. It has not snowed this hard since she was a little girl and suddenly the terror of her dream dissipates. She jumps out of bed, slips on her purple fuzzy slippers, along with her matching robe and runs down the stairs.
The stars glisten
Illuminating shadows-
Icicles hang still
Her front door swings open from the harsh embrace of the wind and she manages to drift on to her porch. Her foot prints smear the freshly painted deck but they are quickly filled up again by the urgency of heavens winter release. Her eyes begin to spill like water falls and her rosy face along with the rest of her body goes numb. However, the arctic chill was worth it to her. The last time she had seen her father was on a night like this. He loved the snow and every part of its splendor reminded her of him. The howling in the air, the cold that cut through her pajama pants like a knife, the snowflakes the size of marshmallows and the cars that look like giant igloos. Even the smell of the wood burning across the street in her neighbor’s fireplace all made her feel like her father was near. It was like heaven had stopped by to visit her this night.
By: Sabina Nicole
Contest: winter
Categories:
igloos, childhood, january, life, nature,
Form:
Verse
Thought today was going to be pretty good
But it's cold and snow again
What a nasty winter we're having this year
As bad as I can't remember when
It takes all my strength and intestinal fortitude
Not to crack under these conditions
I'm not at all pleased but I say to myself
Not long before spring's transition
This year seems to be particularly difficult
Used to say, “hey, I'm a Canadian!”
I'm a hardy old soul, been through this before
But this year hurts my cranium
Is this what we now call “Global Colding”
“Global Warming” was yesterday's news
Better start building those igloos real soon
You'll need mukluks instead of shoes
The prognosticator's predictions were off the mark
Though they'll probably have an excuse
Like the “thingamabob” on their “dohickey” thingy
Gave a wrong prognosis they deduce
© Jack Ellison 2014
Categories:
igloos, humorous,
Form:
Quatrain