Best Snowmelt Poems
Yosemite’s Ephemeral Autumn Falls
Bald giants of swift water smoothed pale granite
Mark deep clefts for tumbling summer snowmelt
Rush released from frozen streams once frostbit
Silver swells - Ribbon Falls in pure ice melt -
Ephemeral streams slowed beneath Orion’s belt.
Thin tulle mist from autumn’s gossamer Bridal Veil
Flutters, bathing stony arms embrace of Royal Arch,
Quaking Aspen in Alder Creek covers Misty Trails
Witness near the Staircase wildflowers parched -
Golden leaves on steep slopes from the western larch.
Sheer barren faces only seep crystalline tears
As rivers flow to shallow autumnal rivulets
And Fire Falls wait for wintery floods to reappear
When somber quartz welcomes new Cascades reset
Catching torrent tides, flashing in a fiery sunset.
Wild Cat eyes the Sentinel in thirsting, dried up rills
That thinly coat plutonic rock in a glacial train
Only a trickle floats lazy scarlet sent over these hills
No tumbling drops tickle Waterwheel to turn with rain
While Snow Creek laments in narrow runnels refrain.
No gushing rivers plunge in roaring thunder veils
Nor scramble down Yosemite’s plainly marbled face
Scant silvered dews spill over on Nevada’s trails
For soon the breathing winter storms many falls erase
Till joyful spring redeems autumn in this magic place.
A tribute to the magnificence of Yosemite during autumn.
Aspen, ponderosa pine, blue spruce
pink glacier-cut rock, scree, ravens
gray jay, peregrine falcon, hawk.
We climb to 11,000 feet in three days,
camp at Lawn Lake for three days. Alpine
tundra. Elk, bighorn sheep, marmot.
Tileston Meadows, ticks in grass,
rock face of Mummy Mountain.
Binoculars show pink cracks in gray rock.
Stoke gas stoves, play cards.
Boil water, set up tarps, lay out
sleeping bags, hang bear bag.
Watch crescent moon slice into
Fairchild Mountain. Moonlight
makes a mosque of the rocks.
Yellow aspen splash in dark green
spruce and pine. Gullies where streams
slash during spring snowmelt.
One rock, feather or flower worth
more than money. Need no wallet,
keys. Just clothes for fur.
All day climb toward saddle to see
what's on other side. One hawk floating
among bare peaks and over valleys.
Wind at 13,000 feet
turns to sleet. Turn back from peak,
take boulders two at a time down.
Winter moves into mountains.
Then we fly from Denver to New York
where it's still summer.
ODE TO SUMMER
There is a green
Beyond all green
That peeks around the wintry white.
a green so sweet
that tears slip from the eyes
and turn to dew upon the ground.
the green so sweet
that from the grave
beloved dead burst into flowers
before the snowmelt sings in high summer.
Bird song
Dances
with warbling sweetness of the green---
'Til green tumble-slides down mountains
with a slam into the frigid sea---
Taunting
Iceberg Blue to sing reply.
V Anderson-Throop 2013
Although I hardly gave it a thought
I didn't really doubt
our miniature juniper, a bonsai,
would survive our desert vacation.
It likes the dry
air of our home, needs water
once a week at most and seems
meditative and active, both. While away
I rediscovered my love of agaves -
sotol and century
plant - met Mortonia and became
reacquainted with squawbush, its citrus
drupe which makes traveling the long horizon
of the desert uplands endurable.
Live oaks - emory,
wavyleaf - dominant and regally spaced
giving ground to mesquite only on the sere
sand flats. I counted and drew inflorescenses,
spikelets, florets, awns but grasses
remain a mystery
their microscopic parts. This year
I'll study, give them serious thought before
our Spring starts. The cactus wren was the one
bird I could be certain about. Sunsets
made me sorry
the desert is not my home. But the ocotilloes
flowered before we left and that made up
for the vicious attack of a hedgehog cactus.
Impressive, ponderosa pine and Arizona cypress
the canyon canopy
watered with snowmelt and along the high cliffs
limestone formations predating our arrival by
ten million years of weather. Newspapers
kept us aware humanity had not accomplished yet
the end of history
and that was fair. The planes were full of citizens
who no longer applaud upon landing. Snow flew,
not a pinyon pine or manzanita within two moons
walking. On the dining room sideboard, waiting,
our miniature juniper.
The creek is running swollen from the snowmelt.
The nights are getting shorter day by day.
The crocus pose like dancers in recital;
A portrait of the garden’s first bouquet.
Forsythia bloom golden by the pathway.
Azaleas wait their turn along the fence.
And all of it together tells the story
Of nature living in the present tense.
The squirrels are acting frisky in the treetops
And rustle through the canopy above,
Emerging from a season’s hibernation
As patient and enduring as your love.
Today I’ll take my axe and split some cordwood,
Replace the stacks I’ve burned the winter through,
And when I have my second cup of coffee,
I’ll dedicate my resting thoughts to you.
BEYOND ALL GREEN
There is a green
Beyond all green
That peeks around the wintry white.
tender green so daunting
that tears slip from the eyes
and turn to dew upon the ground.
the green so sweet
that from the grave
beloved dead burst into flowers
before the snowmelt sings the last breath of high summer.
Bird song
Dances
with warbling sweetness of the green---
'Til green tumble-slides down mountains
with a slam into the frigid sea---
Taunting
Enticing
Iceberg Blue to sing reply.
V Anderson-Throop 2013
searing shining sun
bedazzling snowmelt season ~
a sight for sore eyes
(March Full Moon – Dakota, Lakota, Assiniboine)
Tigris, Idigna, Idiqual,
watering parched desert lands
of Mesopotamia.
Swift it flows on the East
toward the sea, from
the once fertile Garden of Eden.
Arterial blood of arid lands,
of transportation,
of trade and commerce.
In spring, mountain snowmelt
tumbles and rushes downward,
flooding alluvial plains for farming,
sharing its life-giving waters
from time immemorial to villages,
towns, and great cities.
cold winter's pale dream
whistle wordless melodies -
snowmelt spring's birth
10.02.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
I know that springtime
Is out there. The smell of snow
melt is in the air
deer grazing on slope
snowmelt streaming down mountain
mirrors daffodils
This summer is not so common the heat will be intence harsh and merciless the metrology departments warned. The usual air of novel summers will not come this year .Due to global warming the earth average temperature has risen significantly not seems to decrease causing more rain snowmelt and floods .
This summer not
Easy to bear because
They are not merciful
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March cometh upon Ukraine
Missiles blacken snowmelt plains
Morning birdsong tweets distain
Metamorphosis, cocoons from pain
MARCH IN Poetry Contest
LIND30NR Form 7/7/7/9
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
06/03/22
Guilded light
tangers lost in flight
over lavender meadows
whistling like our rooster kettle
Hot...summer days violets grew
where crystal light filters through
picture windows
The wind soughs and whispers slow
stirring gentle leaves
turning gold in late summer's eve
Crystal light paled
I nestled in verdant orchard veil
silent rain nourished verdant plains
Beneath deadgrass and muddy soil
new seeds nourished by snowmelt...unspoiled
Walking across cool beach claysand
gazing at the horizon on OUR LAND
We planned for cycling in Northern Montana
Me, Marvin, Louis, and Anna
I had doubts about them, though they were healthy
For Anna could never resist a selfie
Marvin couldn't plan, Louis attracted disaster
Mainly because he always had to go faster.
Me, my only problem was I'm slightly bats
and guiding these guys was like herding cats.
We flew in with our bikes to Glacier Park
Started our day while it was still dark
Marvin wore a T-shirt, the fool didn’t care,
Sweating up the switchbacks, in the frosty air.
Then snowmelt got him soaked, and the road took a dive
Cold wind froze him; more ice than alive
Anna asked me to take a photo with a bear
I turned around, but she was no longer there.
Just a fatter grizzly, and a titanium frame
Maybe I can sell it, waste is such a shame.
Louis blasted past a "Road Closed" sign,
Rockfall twisted his bike like an old clothesline.
(Chorus)
Don’t be like us, leave the park for the bears
From my vantage point, I can say no-one cares
What starts as a dream can get very stark
And end under a tombstone mentioning Glacier Park.
Then I headed out on 'going to the sun'
the scenery was a heartache, the riding so much fun
The slope got steep, I had to zig zag wide
A fast cyclist came down; I veered off the side
I survived, don't know how or why
But my friends had joined that bike shop in the sky.
So I'll hang up my helmet, think of each friend
and how a dream of Montana drove them round their last bend.