Best Snowshoes Poems
prints of our snowshoes
ending where the trail is crossed
by a cougar's tracks
Jan. 16, 2022
For Tania Kitchin's
Winter Haiku Poetry Contest
checked by howmanysyllables.com
Ah Frontiera, here we are at your last, you've thrown a rod, your life lies black
on oily ground - all this snow and you're a mobile no longer; so I must walk.
It's cold, and now I think of it, that cold that exists in enormous reservoirs
at the poles of our world, seemingly to pass back and forth between,
as if through a secret conduit as the seasons are unfurled.
I will relax, I tell myself, "become one with the cold" as if it can't hurt me,
because sometimes you have to tell yourself things in order to survive.
My soliloquy proceeds as I gather thin paper birch branches and fashion them
into snowshoes with rawhide strings from my pack, a woefully empty pack
considering where I must go - the Brooks Range, even in October, is no joke -
and I can make it to a trapper's cabin, south south-west near Lake Chandalar.
Like the Inupiat Eskimos, I will sing my song, make up my tale, and live on.
Garlock, lord of this valley, seven feet of branch-breaking, tree-scarring,
log-rolling, stump-pulling black bear might, looks up, for the wind was behind me
and his nose is ever aware; my prayer - "You've eaten well, for your
winter sleep comes soon, you are not hungry enough for me" - I repeat it with
calm confidence; Praise God - noble king Garlock, this time, gives me a pass.
Two hundred miles, "Can I make it in three weeks, can I stay alive for four,"
I wonder as I walk, as I fish - pike, char; hard-fought with my hook, still the grayling
cooks on my fire - with a few remaining blueberries I find for spice; over mountain pass,
near the gorge's bottom, a rocky ledge, a rare stumbled caribou with broken legs,
my knife finishes it, oh how warm and rich the liver.
Over the blue cold of a nameless glacier - half the planet's glaciers are in Alaska,
that blue in summer melting is half of all water flowing into all the seas; I exist
with the cold, I'm only a part-day's travel from the trapper's cabin now.
Click-thunk! I hear it before my leg is alive with pain; I've stepped on a trap.
The evening's grim descent doubles and redoubles - I laugh or cry.
Will I bleed, will I freeze, or will my life just vanish into shock,
tucked into the ever-colder onset of night.
Trapper, when will you next check your traps?
December 21, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton's contest - 'Epic'
Continued from Pt 1
In the living room I could hear my parrot. I reached in the refrigerator to grab a
carrot. In the living room I found momma's sewing kit. I grabbed lots of buttons for Mr.
Snowmans outfit.
Back outside I looked at your snowman. "Something is missing for you." I made a face
and I knew. Back inside I grabbed my Yankee's hat - it will have to do. I walked over to
grandpa's chair, "A pipe for him too!"
I returned to Mr. Snowman. He was beginning to look cool as a fan. My Yankee's hat
on his head would be his only clothes. A carrot for his nose. It would be uncivilized if I did
not have two buttons for his eyes. Too bad I did not have a wig for some kind of hairstyle.
So I added several buttons to make him smile. He was beginning to look his best. I placed
the remaining buttons down his chest. He was the perfect snowman prototype. I finally
added his pipe!
I snapped lots of pictures playing in the snow; So you would know how much fun it is
from my personal view. As if on cue, I pressed send. Hoping these pic's would convince you
to visit me for a weekend.
You receive text messages from Jimmy Matthew, and you see several cute pic's of me
in snowshoes. You notice my lips are cold and blue. Finally you see several pic's of a
snowman for you!!!
Note: Here's Pt 2 of your snowman poem Charma:)
Nearby are we to a beautiful lake,
the deepest one in the whole USA.
A trek to its rim we’re ready to take
on this wonderful snowy winter’s day.
Wearing our snowshoes, by sunlight’s first ray,
we go round Rim Drive; we’re well on our way!
At Windy Ridge, we can feel a light breeze
as we breathe in the air so crisp and clean.
Then onward we go, surrounded by trees.
This winter wonderland glistens – pristine,
and being a part of this perfect scene,
we cannot help feeling simply serene.
Beyond us on the horizon we see
the ridges of mountains outlined in blue.
White frosting adorns each tree prettily
when the best part of all comes into view!
It matches the sky’s most beautiful hue.
To gaze at this lake is all we can do!
A rose dusk turns into a sapphire night.
We camp underneath the brilliant starlight.
Dec. 29, 2018 for the Winter Wonderland Contest
and for Eve Roper's Sleeping Volcano Poetry Contest;
the Crater Lake was my inspiration.
82571 lima echo alfa juliet please respond.82571 lima echo alfa juliet are you there?
This is Harry who's this? Its Tom Mansfield. Tom you realize its 11:30 P.M. Sorry we have 5 climbers missing on the north side of Mooseluck and there has been an avalanche in
that area. Yea I thought I heard it earlier. I'm on my way up to Your place now Tom do you have an extra battery pack for the lamp mine's pretty low. Yep. I have
Billy Williams with me, You have extra gear for him. Yep. I'll put the coffee on What's your ETA? 20 minutes. This is 82571 lima echo alfa juliet signing off.
I'll never understand why these Dartmouth students have to mountain climb on the coldest day of the year, in a storm. Ok snowshoes, therma wraps, lamps, goggles and a map.Waiting for what seems like Hours I hear the bronco finally.
Tom, Billy I was just going to bed when YOU called, What do we have? Four men and a women Headed up Demon's Bluff 10 a.m. this morning. A women they're usually more level headed than men. According to the Information we have they are all seasoned vets at rock climbing In the winter time?? They were suppose to be back by 4P.M. 4pm why are we just hearing about it now. Gregg Tilman was the co-ordinator of a college dance, when he didn't show up to MC the dance we got called. It gets worst the only other name we have is his girlfriend, Elizabeth Townsend. I think it's going to be a long night Tom. Absorb the heat from the wood stove finish your coffee and dress warm
To be Cont.
Living on a mountain top in Vermont "Spring Showers" are very dangerous
With several feet of snow still covering the rocky terrain above the tree line
a recue unit is always prepared for the fools that climb the cliffs; unprepared
They pay no heed to the weather report: Spring Showers today and tomorrow
on top of a mountain the rain falls and creates tiny rivers under the snowdrifts
A slow rain tears the bottom layer of snow away with a sheet of ice at its base
The potential now for an Avalanche just rose 80%.Are there fools climbing today?
every fifteen minutes, the rescue squad check their gear. The thermo body raps,
Snowshoes, Snow spikes, heat sensored depth poles,helmets with red, yellow,
and green push on lights, two way radios;checked batteries,Coffee and Whiskey
When one lives up here long enough; You can hear the snowdrifts : drifting
It has been raining for almost 48 hours,as raindrops keep falling my fears rise
Down in the Valleys, they cherish the April Showers,looking forward to May Flowers
I have to go now and call on my ham operator radio for assistance.The alarm is
ringing, the Snow is rumbling down the side of the Mountain.You asked to tell why
we do or do not like Spring Showers. I will tell YOU when and if I Return.
April 15, 2013 for the Contest : "Spring Showers" Sponsored by "Russell Sivey"
glittering snow falls
covering the earth in white
making her bridal
Gently yet persistently the snow falls cloaking all in a
white veil. Monstrous drifts block roads and paths.
How can people get to the church? The pastor waits wringing
his hands in despair. Soon the people arrive in sledges and
snowshoes. The bride no longer sparkling white, her gown is
torn and dirty from the journey. Today only one bride is
glistening and shining as more flakes fall clothing earth
in pristine white, yet she has no groom to wed.
icicles are forming
growing in all shapes and sizes
dangling sparkle
With time they grow longer and thicker. Forming many weird
shapes. At last a man of ice is born and quickly the pastor
says the vows ice and snow are joined and forever united.
As for the other bride she also said her vows and lived happily
soon forgetting it had not been perfect.
ice and snow are wed
together they form glistening gems
emitting pure white
We got really dumped on yesterday
Was hoping we would miss out on this one
But must remember, this is Canada!
The land of ice and snow and parkas and snow shoes
At least that's the general perception
We have electricity and runny water and even indoor toilets
And not only that, we have radio
However, the powers that be are promising TV before 2020
Okay okay, I'm exaggerating a wee bit
We just recently got indoor plumbing
Hmmm, strangely my tongue seems to be stuck firmly in my cheek
But we are a hearty bunch
On January 1st every year, some of our real hearty dudes
Take a dip in the Ottawa River
They're called the “Polar Bear Club”
I have a different name for them!!!!!
I call them the “Those That Have A Screw Loose Club”
They urgently need to seek psychiatric help
As backward as we are, we DO have medicare... yee haw!
So we can take all kinds of risks we wouldn't normally take
Like clomping down the middle of our major thoroughfares
Making sure we watch out for the occasional snowmobile
And wearing our stylish snowshoes and parkas
A hearty bunch we are!!!
© Jack Ellison 2014
I took my periodic stroll through the local antique store today.
I stumbled over things and stepped 'round clutter to make my way!
I looked for clocks - found none, but saw many things I could do without,
And those are the things that I propose to tell you all about!
There was an old buggy wheel - I could see no use for that!
I saw horse collars, washboards and someone's stuffed Angora cat.
Hanging on the wall was an austere Victorian guy glaring back at me.
Prominently displayed was a chamber pot and scraggly Christmas tree!
What use have I for a manure fork or hubcaps for a '47 Dodge,
Or a shaggy buffalo robe or shriveled scalps from an Indian lodge!
Displayed were empty cigar boxes and empty Prince Albert cans,
A portrait of Napoleon and hood ornament for a '27 Mercedes Benz!
I saw a set of 1920 Brittanica Encyclopedias and a Corona typewriter,
Well-worn snowshoes, a tuning fork and strangely, a bishop's mitre!
Hanging on a clothes rack was an old soldier's moth-eaten uniform.
What on earth would I do with a hornet's nest once hosting an angry swarm!
Leaning against a wall was a hood and bumper for a '37 Ford Tudor.
On a shelf was a gas mask and tin helmet from the First World War!
Though I found many things I could do without, not so with my spouse!
She bought a cart full of gimcracks and trumpery to clutter up the house!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
It was supposed to be
A simple snowshoe expedition
Nothing glamorous or too exciting
But the day started out magnificent
Gloriously sunny and mild
Ideal for newbies and amateurs
It felt like a girl guide outing
Average age was ten
The trail was awesome
Breathtaking on either side
Snow covered bushes as far as you could see
Glistening sprinkling of fairy dust
And here we were single file
A line up of colored tuques and snowsuits
Getting acquainted with our snowshoes
Making our imprints with every step
What a surprise awaiting around the corner
A huge bonfire
Who would have guessed
Roasting wieners on a branch
Best lunch we ever had
A most magical marvelous memory
When all was done and said
Nothing left but light fluffy snowflakes
Caressing the last few remaining embers
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
My blimp is on the fritz again
The hovercraft just popped
I surely cannot take the car
That’s jacked up in the shop
The bus won’t come out to my house
There’s no train tracks nearby
But I must make it to your home
And then you will know why
I thought about our preowned drone
With three brand new rotors
Although after its first flight
It needs three new motors
The pogo stick’s got a bad boing
The scooter won’t stay up
Our chariot’s as useful as
A two wheeled cracked teacup
I’m not allowed an Army Jeep
All due to my low rank
Since camouflage is so improved
I’ve yet to find the tank
The last time that I rode a horse
I hollered giddy-up
But wedged it in an alleyway
And couldn’t back it up
Nobody wants to ride by mule
Or jump aboard the ox
It’s hard enough to find it shoes
Or buy it matching sox
The rocket has a busted tip
And they won’t make a shuttle
Since NASA landed its last ship
Directly in a puddle
I’ll try the trolley, tram, or T
The Metro, or subway
But come to think not one of those
Will lead to your driveway
I can’t take the snowmobile
Nor snowshoes without snow
But I’d consider my new skies
If there was a rope tow
Our plane still has a crooked wing
The golf cart needs a tire
My bike is broke, and the kid’s quad
Was melted in a fire
I think I parked the motorbike
Inside the motor home
But then my son lent both of them
To someone named Jerome
The ocean yacht’s still wrapped up tight
Next to the new kayak
But since we always get seasick
We’d like to bring them back
As you can see I’m in a bind
Almost out of my wits
Which all began when I learned that
My blimp was on the fritz
So if I make it to your house
Promise you will not skimp
On buying the right parts next time
You’re asked to fix my blimp
From Talkeetna by bush plane to a frozen bog
under the white gaze of Denali.
“Snow’ll be too soft to land this afternoon,”
our pilot says. “See you in the morning.”
He points to a wrinkle in the field of snow.
“Kroto Creek.” And then he’s gone.
Check topo map, take compass reading.
Strap on snowshoes. East to Kroto;
follow the creekbed north. Smaller drainage
from the west. Map-check. Drainage
runs the wrong direction. Keep walking.
Landmarks don’t match map.
Study USGS quad-sheet top to bottom.
Find a stretch of creek that fits.
Six miles from where we ought to be.
No longer lost – we now know
where we are. But does our pilot?
Will he find us in the morning?
Follow our tracks back to frozen bog
and packs, survival gear,
honey and granola to feed us
for at least a day. End of March, dark
comes early. Night thoughts, taloned, fly.
The closest road’s a world away.
A Springtime Weather Forecast
A springtime weather forecast.
Snowfall, blizzard, whiteout!
Snow drifting so deep,
Warrants snowshoes,
Sunglasses.
Don't go
Blind!
____________________________________
Telling of Truths
A brown horse galloped across a snowy field at the end
of the pasture a fence, it jumped over and continued its
crazy gallop into the woods only came to a shuddering
halt when it saw a moose. Steaming nostrils, the moose
charged, horse fled deeper into the woods. Where it met
a forest troll who took it into his cave and gave the horse
a bucket of hot chocolate to drink. Since the snow deep
and tiring to sink into when walking, the troll also fitted
the horse with snow shoes; also, the troll had no need of
a horse led it back to its field. When the farmer came to
fetch his horse and saw the snowshoes, he had a nervous
breakdown and sent away to an asylum, where doctors
tried to convince him it was all in his mind. But the farmer
would have none of it. So he is still there and they will not
release him until he agrees with them that a horse wears
iron shoes and not snowshoes.
Les C. More back from the vay-cay holidays,
giving my poetry peeps
a look-see at an odd Klondike meet
He ain’t nothing but
small potatoes
Trying to live
big-talk lettuce large
His backsliding snowshoes
walk so holey
That short con grifter grin
spin tall tales —
Green giant beanstalk
talk guacamole-y
Mucho moneybag dreams
full of empty air,
that don’t ever avocado amount to nothing
Small-time schemes
of simple-minded plans,
which never pan out ... sub zero foul headed south
Always bringing in less than nothing
He ain’t never gon bandito be nothing
but a small fry —
Small-time peso, catphish criminal
on an asphalt pond coin hustle
Pennywise pygmy putting on froggy airs,
croaking a tough guy cry ... squirting big croc tear lies
Acting like dollar store muscle
But his big, bad Canadian woofs
be a poodle scare farce,
French barks full of nothing ...
giving him kennel plenty caged time
to have more polarizing, petty cell thoughts —
Little gray matter blowing
big bluster got busted ... Arctic cop caught
Leprechaun brain freeze melting grandiose dreams
into Yukon fools gold, iron bar moonbeams
Solitary mote musings eyeing elephantine endings:
more get-rich angles, poach-the-poor fantasies
Tiny-hearted man with big swindle hands,
always got a large lung bag of con
for holding paper vapors less than nothing