Best Snowfield Poems
Like a thunderbolt through the heart,
She was beauty, a work of art,
A snowfield on a summer's day,
She was an angel here to stay.
Such loving eyes to gaze upon,
How could I ever do her wrong,
The moment of truth did come then,
As I wrote with paper and pen.
Was she truly the love for me?
This is something that I must see,
Plainly my love for her was torn,
To walk in two worlds I was sworn.
One of love the other duty,
Neither shall wane but one must be.
(Eight syllables per line)
12~7~2016
footprints carved on a crystalline carpet
the winding traces of morning skaters
on teal and ivory rugged snowfield
lead me to his quiet hometown
the bare trees that surround me
are like dancing old willows by the brooks
freezing as they witness the old folks
faded in the misty blue
the silver charm of the clouds above me
enchant me like the way you thrill me
when you look at me
without a word or two
1 March 2022
A Brian Strand Visual Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Briand Strand
1st place
Notes: Snow at Argenteuil is an oil-on-canvas landscape painting from the Impressionist artist Claude Monet. It is the largest of no fewer than eighteen works Monet painted of his home commune of Argenteuil while it was under a blanket of snow during the winter of 1874–1875. (Info and phot credits to Wikipedia).
Ottawa, Ontario
once a desolate snowfield
now, a city of Gothic
and Victorian buildings downtown
with stunning glassed towers
a mingling of architecture's
copper-roofed Victorian homes
and just vintage old
stained-glass windows
mixed with the modern
and huge wrapped porch homes
on quiet, peaceful tree-lined streets
like stepping back in time
parks of solitude, inspiring
streams where swans and ducks
float and glide
neighbourhood's of new homes
just one beautiful city in
Canada
Twas the night before Christmas that was freezing cold
As a seven year old I couldn’t keep excitement on the hold
For I knew for me all the lovely gifts Santa would bring
Wished the hours of night fly away quickly on their wing.
I had heard that Santa would come through the chimney
If there was one on our house roof, I wanted myself to see
I had rushed to the roof-top terrace, but didn’t find one
but Mom told me he’d come through the window for fun.
At bed time I didn’t let Mom close the window of my room
Outside the chilled wind from the snowfield I heard zoom
In the morn saw the gifts by my side, I tried to shout in delight
But couldn’t as the voice was choked by cold I caught at night.
In my childhood scrapbook is indelibly written that night’s tale
I fondly recall at Christmas time for the memory is not yet stale.
_________________
November 27, 2022
Contest : The Night Before 3
Sponsored by : Joseph May
Spokes of winter
freeze the soul
and wake the mind
Diamante snowfield
that the North Wind
hath designed
Smokes of cold breath
curl the sky
then dissipate
Air forged into steel
The outer darkness
helped create
Strokes of frostburn
fill my boots
as they crackle
Hurrying along the trek
Another mile
they must tackle
The night before last year’s Christmas was freezing cold,
my little granddaughter couldn’t keep excitement in hold,
for she knew all the lovely gifts for her Santa would bring,
wanted the nightly hours to fly away quickly on wings.
She’d heard that Santa would come through the chimney,
if there was one in its place, she wanted herself to see.
So, she rushed to the roof-top terrace, but didn’t find one,
but I assured he would come through the window for fun.
At night she didn’t let us close the wide window of her room,
outside the chilled wind from the snowfield we felt zoom.
In sunburst morn seeing the gifts by her side she cried in joy,
voice choked, her delight the spell of cold couldn’t destroy.
December 21, 2020
Rhyme checked at RhymeZone.com
Contest : Christmas Rhyme Only 8-12 Lines-Premium Prize
Sponsor : Tania Kitchin
Death’s Less Than Nothing!
Death’s less than nothing, a frail, not one welcomes or offers a cold one /
a glass of fine wine. Death is nobody’s friend one might meet on this plane.
Death is tasteless and dull as a weather-stripped billboard. Its smell incon-
clusive and vapid at best, or a snowfield past freeze-dried. Death’s poem
whose meter sports seventeen syllables, flip-flopping logic, ghost fish
rot on boundaries, shadows ignored (with but little / no consequence).
Death’s less than nothing and wrapped in conundrum, its glacier’s penguin
that’s desert these days, and fine grit of a dust storm deluded it’s rain!
Death is stingless, can’t win, for no victim feels loss, life’s pain’s touch, long gone,
starlight’s blurred shadows eye’s rods can’t detect, Death’s the blush of a blossom
whose pistil wants pollen, a virgin whose daydreams fall short of a wish.
Death’s the fool of tomorrow (it loathes doors), a pauper to eloquence.
Long Tooth
May 7th in 2021
‘Twas the night before Christmas,
my small granddaughter, excited over the party gorgeous,
and for the gifts Santa would bring for her,
wanted the nightly hours of wait to be soon over.
She’d heard Santa would come through the chimney,
so, if there was one in place, she wanted to see,
rushed to the roof-top, but didn’t find one.
In tears she said Santa’s visit was undone.
I assured he would come through the window for sure,
and give her the gifts that would certainly allure.
At night the window she didn’t let us close,
though outside the chilled wind from snowfield arose.
The morn sun flooded her room through the window wide,
she cried out in joy seeing the gifts lying by her side,
but her voice was choked in a bout of cold.
That night before Christmas she won’t forget even when she’s old.
December 1, 2019
Contest : The Night Before 2
Sponsor : Joseph May
'Twas the night before Christmas that was freezing cold,
my 5-year old granddaughter couldn't keep elation on hold,
for she knew, for her Santa would bring at night nice gift.
So, she wanted the long hours of waiting to soon drift.
She had known Santa'd come through chimney with glee,
so, if there was one in the new house she wanted to see.
She ran upstairs to look at the roof, but couldn't find one.
In tears, she said Santa's visit her fate had surely undone.
I assured her, he would come through the window for sure,
give her the beautiful gifts that would definitely allure.
At night the window of her room she didn't let us close,
although outside the chilly wind from the snowfield rose.
Morn sun flooded her room through window open wide.
She tried to shout in joy seeing the gifts lying by her side,
but her voice was choked, gripped by a bout of cold.
That night before Christmas she never forgot, even when old.
The night of one Christmas a long time ago was icy cold,
as a seven year old I couldn’t keep excitement in hold,
for I knew all the lovely gifts for me Santa would bring,
wanted the hours of night to fly away quickly on wing.
I heard that Santa would come through the chimney,
if there was one on our roof, I wanted myself to see.
I rushed to the roof-top terrace, but didn’t find one,
but I was told he’d come through the window for fun.
At night I didn’t let mother close the window of my room,
outside the chilled wind from the snowfield I heard zoom.
In the morn seeing gifts by my side I tried to shout in joy,
voice choked, my delight the spell of cold couldn’t destroy.
In my childhood notebook is inscribed that night’s story
as an indelible gift I fondly preserve in Christmas memory.
______________
December 8, 2021
Contest : A Chrismas Gift Memory
Sponsor : BJ Legros Kelley
a snowfield yonder
retina stabbing brilliance
a million eyes gazed
White crystals glitter, a snowfield of light.
The silence fallen, a spirit's delight.
The pointing fingers, deep in delusion.
The ends, not the means, make the decision.
The challenge is known, to fight this hard place.
We are honor-bound, the saving of face.
Yet the world gives, to those who deserve.
Living as did kings, on private reserve.
The design of love, how it becomes true.
Here on a planet, shimmering and blue.
Then when the times change, for the rule of law.
Except for one thing, our fate to a flaw.
The shine from behind grows ever stronger.
That comes from goodness and lasts much longer.
There is a fine line, between good and bad.
Same as the joy, that's born of the sad.
When to Earth one fell, as a lion roared.
To show us the way, as a soul restored.
Comes in the distance, deaths silhouette.
Dance with the devil, the pain of regret.
The teller's fortune, written in the hand.
The empires of man, turn back into sand.
The secret is told, in a coded sign.
That the power flows, from the great divine.
There is no way out, to die here we must.
Like the hallowed Earth, we settle like dust.
The end comes to all, fashioned from the clay.
Who live and who love, this beautiful day!
My Confession and Request
to Someone
A sin is circulating over me, hanging our life, gallows
Someone needed love, only some dust of and from love
A touch from you is just a hoped kindness from your heart
… where is that? Mine is single and can’t recognize your heart
I am walking on a snowfield without your arms, no embrace
that’s why I am a walker, looking, looking, and searching for love
I needed to drop my bloody heart in front of your legs to love life
Dig a hole for… and put in the deep this stone heart, and forget that
This unmarked grave is the seal on our non-existent infinite love
The Christmas night a long time ago was freezing cold,
a six year old he couldn’t keep the excitement on hold,
for the lovely gifts for him Santa would bring,
wanted the night to fly away quickly on wing.
He heard Santa would come through the chimney,
if there was one on house roof, he wanted to see.
He went up to the roof-top veranda, but couldn’t find one,
he was told Santa would come through the window for fun.
At night he didn’t let mom close the window of his room,
the chilled wind in the snowfield outside he heard zoom.
In the morn saw the gifts by bed side, to shout in joy he tried,
voice choked for he caught cold, but on delight he took a ride.
On the wings of the fleeting time, far he has flown,
but within him the nostalgic child hasn’t yet grown.
He fondly preserves the indelible Christmas gift memory
inscribed in childhood mental notebook that night’s story.