Best Shoveling Poems
At the window, palms under my chin,
such beauty I see, out the frosted pane,
I was mesmerized, it showed in my grin,
so picture perfect, the snow covered lane.
My daydream was dashed, Mom called from the door,
"time to brave the cold and clear the sidewalk,"
grabbed my winter coat and boots from the floor,
I hate this chore, but knew not to back-talk.
"Don't slip on the ice, watch out for the plow,"
I hear, as orange shovel meets concrete,
shouldn't the county have this done by now?,
this takes all day, with snow piled up in feet.
Why freeze for allowance, I'll never know,
yet, I still find myself shoveling snow.
November 18th, 2014
Sara Kendrick's contest - "Jobs"
Snow falls softly late one night
In the darkness it does bask
I dread the job tomorrow
Shoveling will be my task
Beauty is in the eyes of the viewer
I see nothing but giant flakes of work
The trees all have snow on this first shower
Dreading the day of a job using torque
The pathways are snowed over
All with a reflective white
I want to get to bed soon
For I know tomorrow’s plight
I’m mesmerized by the beautiful scene
Not a thing is without some wondrous snow
Even though I sure do dread the next day
I will put on a great, wonderful show
This time of year affects me
Seems to rub off some great cheer
I will find a way to smile
Though there’s snow up to my rear
Russell Sivey
Form Quatrain-1st, 3rd, 5th stanzas have 7 syllables, 2nd, 4th stanzas have 10 syllables
What do you do with a fried lemon sandwich
when lavender leaves have messed up its hair
How to you cut it in two equal pieces
while no one is home and you don’t like to share
Why is it sitting alone at the counter
as saucers of milk perform on the stage
Where is the flavor when bland is in fashion
and comic books sing on the very next page
Will you surrender to appetites chanting,
crossing the line where the pickets are white
Shoveling corn flakes when it is not snowing,
flying a kernel instead of a kite
Serving a side that is right down the middle,
leftover vegetables mashed into paste
Like a potato but not very filling,
smothered in ketchup to drown out the taste
Do you like tablecloths made out of vinyl,
just like a record but square when they play
Nothing to spin when you can’t find a needle,
looking through stacks that are covered in hay
Cook books too heavy to fit in your diet,
checking your math while subtracting a pound
Running in place when you’d rather be singing,
wishing the dining room table was round
Can you believe that a poet would write this,
watching a hummingbird outside his door
Smiling from one ear but not to the other
feeling the pinch when his cheeks are too sore
Maybe his mind is a field of distraction
perhaps it is someone that he’s thinking of
It’s a safe bet amid all this confusion
the poet who wrote this has fallen in love
Two teens shoveling snow that February day,
wanting to hurry up so they could play,
quickly shoveling heaping piles of snow,
into an open 1935 NYC manhole,
Seeing something move down in the hole,
both teens thought "holy mole!"
yelling theres a gator down in there,
wanting to help it out they showed little fear,
Getting a clothesline they helped drag it out,
an 8 foot alligator with a toothy snout,
loosening the line the gator snapped,
while the teens were busy watching their backs,
But both boys were taken aback by the attack,
and decided to give the gator some whacks,
both killing it with their work snow shovels,
whereupon the gator didn't give them anymore trouble,
Now in NYC every February 10th,
the people are reminded of how that day was spent,
with a bronze gator pulling a man down in the manhole,
a quirky subway commemoration reminder for one and all.
4-6-17
Whining, it happens when blizzards come calling
Grabbing a jacket I walk down the stairs
Beside the window where winter is lurking
Waiting about as if nobody cares
Coating the trees with a cottony fabric
Not quite as warm as the heater detects
Here in the handbook of problems and answers
Only for masters to come and inspect
Grabbing a scarf from a shelf in the corner
Pouring a cup just to dance in its steam
Maybe some sugar so life can be sweeter
And just a dash of your half and half cream
Kicking the mud from the boots made of rubber
Purchased on sale at a shop on the beach
Next to the flip flops and lotion dispenser
Low to the ground and so easy to reach
Those were the days when the sun wasn’t hidden
Blanketed white like a sheet on a rope
Held up by clothespins of wooden construction
Seeking a breeze with the fresh scent of soap
Shoveling sidewalks and not chasing seashells
Feeling the cold as it bites through your skin
Running a faucet to thaw every finger
When will it be time for all this to end
I guess I will go out and trudge through the weather
Deal with the snowflakes, the slush and the sleet
Before too long I’ll be sweating the summer
Probably whining about all the heat
EATING OUT
Seated uneasily at the edge tables, café males alone, silent -
Focused on eating, heads moving, looking around to defend,
Guarding their plates against enemies and, finished, quickly leaving.
Am I feeling different from these? Or not really believing?
This man, round-shouldered predator over a fresh kill,
Shoveling in untidy dangling heaps on a fork, devours his fill,
Bare arms laid either side of plate, his shaggy hair a lion-mane.
Salty meaty-stuff in great hunks : it’s feeding time at the zoo again.
Elbows-off-table, not for manners, but for speed,
That man’s cutting with edge of fork and filling his need,
Stabbing the meat like it was alive and needed subduing,
Levering huge pieces into his mouth and rapidly chewing.
In rapid action their jaw muscles ripple :
It’s a job of work to be completed as quickly as possible.
The chewing muscles in sync with moving ears :
Must finish it all off - before any enemy appears.
Café-females are nested in the central tables - to chat, to think.
In table-groups of two or three, discussing the food and drink ,
Sweet cakes’ crumbs carefully swept with back of finger,
They eat only incidentally, no purpose for them, they linger -
It is a process, not a product, an experience, an exchange of souls.
Select one from a plate of small sweet rolls,
With small bites chewed slowly, elegantly, with thought,
Sitting up straight the way mother taught.
Hands occasionally touching for spoken emphasis in speech,
Unhurried, they pause over coffee and talk intently each to each.
Heads move neither up nor down nor away to the side.
Over each other’s faces, appraising, their eyes roam wide.
I assess these people closely, and rub my chin-stubble in thought:
With the eyes of a poet I mentally note their features as I ought.
Drink up my coffee quick, and move to the counter for more meat pies
Before any enemy arrives.
The wind chill is 45 below sanity
a snowman has frozen snot
dripping from his 1 carrot nose
but the cold doesn't stop the death toll
in my sweet home Chicago.
27 dead across the Midwest.
Frozen solid in the echoes of their final steps.
A snow-shoveling heart attack took out a vet
who did three tours in Iraq.
My neighbor kept me awake, wielding a leaf blower.
To whisk away little puffs of snow.
He knows I work the graveyard shift.
But tomorrow I'll give him my happy hello.
He's on permanent disability, drives a nicer car than me.
He's the one who rolled a snowman into form despite his bad back.
Clever little mother#%$&*$
He'll never have a heart attack.
There's a variety of starvation and riots.
Thirteen wars going on at present.
But the primetime gossips are obsessing about.
Trump's big orange belly and wispy hair...
Mercifully, they cut to a Kotex commercial.
It's a good time to coffee up and take a piss.
I've got a very serious case of the polar vortex blues.
Eyes of confidence
Naïve and hardened
Advancing on the battlefield
Eyes of anguish
Discovering the horror
Spent upon the blood of war
Eyes of hope
Peace in reprieve
Hold fast to victory’s color
Eyes of benevolence
Engulfed within anguish
Rueful to the melee’s victims
Eyes of regret
A human understanding
Shoveling over another grave
Like scramble eggs wanting over easy
Life bounces
Go with it, Bounce high bounce far
Bounce for bouncing
We are here once at least in this form
Today human
Tomorrow sparrow
Yesterday butterfly
Sitting inside my front screen porch
Mellow is the mood of my neighborhood
The sound of shoveling echos in the distance
I taste the day and savor the calm
Sunny and warm with a giggling breeze
And a lonely cooing of an turtledove
The sound of shoveling mixes into the moment
scraping the sound, spreading gravel
tap tap tap, it ceases
A lazy car moseys down the road as if nowhere to go
And my eyes transfix on the lovely figure
of a young teen girl walking slowly and surely
With no modesty of clothing or vibe
Indeed youth is wasted...
Troubles or pleasures life goes on
The night will shade
The day will shine
Life bounces either way
back and forth
high or low
Bounces
Things ain't that good
mankind tells me just
where is the Brotherhood
I know that your policies your politics are not anything like the Republic
It's all about understood not bet your ways
are not to be subjected not caught running away
ain't going to help me no
Things ain't that good
keeping it to yourself just won't work out yo
we all know that shoveling once a day won't get rid of the snow oh no
things ain't that good
what we need brother is National Brotherhood I know
that things ain't that good
it's not quite what it should
and seems to be in the ghetto
things ain't that good
and they're not going to get any better
I know that things ain't that good for you or me brother
tell me people why all the wars
pimps out on the corners of the streets at night
why all the whores
I know at your policies are not and that you rather not be subjected or caught running away ain't going to help none of us
know keeping it to yourself just won't work out no
we all know that somebody wants to hate
you won't get rid of the snow oh
things ain't that good brother what do we need is National Brotherhood Universal love I know
that things ain't that good
Deep depression
detention
Things ain't that good
hatred
not to mention poverty
Things ain't that good
Dispension
contention
Things ain't that good
unemployment
War deployment
Things ain't that good
it's not quite what it seems to be
in the ghetto
things ain't that good
I know that for you and
for me brother
things ain't that good
3/27/74
Written words by James Edward Lee
Arranged music by Alton Adkins
a glimpse before shoveling
newly fallen snow crystals
dazzling sparkling magic
in the glare of back-alley lights
almost enough to make him
fall in love again
with snow
almost
Time moves on and the water drips
January is the new year and new oaths
A promise to be better and to lose a few
Wind,cold and the back aches with shoveling
February promises lurking and hope he sees his shadow
Minutes pass as the Sun sets
Windshield wipers frozen
March and the first bud
Birds are busy and start building
Wish I knew what they were saying
April and clocks spring forward
Lose another hour and the faucet still drips
Rain and rain and more rain
Will it end
May I look in the mirror
More lines and the face sagging
Getting warm and the flowers
June and the Sun
Nothing can hold me
Walk a little less and eat a bit more
July I become independent
The face doesn't listen and the spots grow darker
That Sun and burn
Can I catch a breeze
August I'm getting used to it
The back has a new ache and the hole begins
Dig a little now ,I'm going to need it
September and a fresh breeze and the boys are back
Every Sunday I watch with a new hope
Can't wait for next week
October and the trees remember
Turn from green to red and the drip
I need to fix that leak
Has it been that long, seems like just yesterday
November and it's colder now
Feel a new pain and the clock
That clock that never mattered when I was young
December and the music
Shop with the people and the back sings along
Has it been another year
I promise to do better but can I sleep a little more
I make the appointment all excited
for my feet look like my dads, uninviting.
I anxiously wait until the day of my arrival,
expecting...who-ha’s...claps...and grins.
None of this sort grabs me, instead it is
pick out color...pick out color...and then she turns with chagrin.
That is okay...I am still excited...I try to crawl into the big chair,
but I am only five feet, and she’s practically shoveling me in.
I have on a dress you know...hello...can I have towel?
Oh my gosh, the sky is falling...I did not pick out my color!
And, so we begin, she really is my friend.
This is my favorite place to be, and I love her best of all.
But, she turns on the water, and oh...I want to smack her.
My feet are going to ignite from the heat!
I just want to sit here; I do not want the chair to go off like a rocket,
massaging every ounce of my being, things falling out of my pocket.
I came here to relax, my feet are burning, and my voice is quivering.
Good gosh woman, turn this thing off!
Things finally settle down...we begin to talk around.
How’s your daughter...How is your mother?...Can I have some rice from the kitchen?
She laughs at me...I smile at her...
Oh, no, I forgot to pick out my color!
Her husband comes by.
I say...sure, I will give it a try!
I admire my jellybean toes and pay her the dough.
We hug, she laughs at me, and tells me luv ya!
"Humor Me" Contest
©Holly P. Moore
October 2012
SnowFlake
Unique, Frozen
Falling, drifting, Shoveling
Catching one on your tongue
CRYSTAL
The Ice Fairy Princess came roaring in from the Polar North.
She rode a fierce some Vortex, the likes would freeze a stalwart heart.
The penguins wanted out to play, but we had to bring them right back in.
We couldn’t find them in the snow, so deep, cold, and wild, was its spin.
Dragon found them with his fire, which quickly turned into puffs of snow.
Hamster flakes swirled all around, so a rope we used to bring him in, just so.
The temperatures fell, oh so cold, that they set, mighty records everywhere.
How do the Eskimos do it, or those brave souls called Canadians, up there?
How do they gaze upon the Ice Fairy Princess, and, still live to tell the tale?
Even Santa Jack, at the North Pole burrowed in, oh, so very deeply, they do tell.
If only she would borrow and ride his sleigh, next time, her visit might be nice.
As it is, it’ll take a month of digging to find our own front door, amongst the ice.
It’s so cold, that even Dragon can’t help, until his fire, stops coming out snow.
Birds that never migrate, flew South before this blistering storm… they did go.
I have lots of time, to get to know my family again, as they fuss about the snow.
As the roof makes creaky noises, so Trolls are shoveling up there, fast, not slow.
I hate to be unfriendly, but as guests do go, I wish she would stop, all this woe.
No one wants a guest, whose home warming gift, can lay you, this, so very low.
We’ve decided to hide deep within our houses, until her visit is finally done…
At least until the Ice Fairy Princess, has found her way back, where she belongs.