My friends watched the two-man bobsled,
but I was filled with foreboding and dread,
and troubles weighed heavily on my mind.
My TV premiums were way behind.
So, the only thing I could see, instead
was a snowman skiing without a head.
Sheblanka had a way with a cauldron that was serious to see
She is a distant conjuring cousin to both my step Daddy and me
We watched her bring forth monsters that were happy and red
She also brought out green ones that had been freshly dead
What that woman can do with a cauldron! My mother often said
Dancing skeletons were next, they shoved off on a bobsled.
Then Dracula’s sister and a Frankenstein who said “please call me Ned.”
She is really something! Grandma said with eyes rolling in her head.
Shh! Babies are sleeping Dorie said.
Slumbering in dreamland with her Uncle Fred
Tummies full of dolly potatoes, they are amply fed
Especially after gulping down cinnamon bread
Two dreaming of a trip on an African bobsled
Cozily cuddled up in a rocking chair bed.
One baby dolly in a nightshirt made by Grandpa Ed.
All three in dreamland where only angels tread.
The hills that once were gold and red
Are now a deep gray and barren instead,
Awaiting the first drape of winter’s white
Snow, or ice crystals sparkling in the light,
When they become a fairyland of fantasy
A sleigh ride through the bowered canopy,
Headlining the holiday season’s pageantry
Like on Christmas cards a frequent sight
A walk in the frosty hills is such a delight
Or bundled tight for a ride on a bobsled,
Steaming chocolate, and a warm cozy bed.
Written November 10, 2022
[Verso Rhyme Scheme
a/a/b/b/c/c/c/b/b/a/a]
TENTH PLACE WINNER
submitted to "2022 Marathon Lap 20" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mark Toney
Winter Carnival is here
The best time of year
The statue this year is a classic
An Ice-thyosauras - era, Jurassic
So many activities to choose from
Ice skate, double-date, be a ski bum
For those with stout hearts
Climb Mt. Moosilauke for a start
Then bobsled all the way down
Back to Hanover Town
Just make sure the goggles you wear
Ensure your eyes survive the wintry white glare
Take me to Madagascar, I said.
The time travel machine turned a brilliant red.
Pushed down hard on the acceleration ped,
We were soon at Archipelago’s head.
I thought these animals were all dead.
Said Cousin Pete, who is totally unread.
Did not know where to start, where to first tread.
Madagascar is an adventure, better than bread.
Saw a strange creature very well-fed,
It began to chase our chief engineer, Zed.
Never did like him, said first mate named Fred.
We heard screams coming from office of Ed.
I bedded down with Joe, of whom I am wed.
Others were screaming; we were quiet instead.
Next morning Ed said he would take over job of Ned.
We decided that night to sleep in the shed.
Tracked animals wherever they led.
Monkey-like beings had created a bobsled.
Photographer greeted them, his name was Ted.
That night we heard more screams – was it Fred?
They’ve got Zed, Ned, and Ted, said the bobsled.
A talking bobsled? And one when cut also bled?
We ran to the spaceship, whose lights were blinking red.
And never spoke of Madagascar again; a sad sorry thread.
Run! Head for the hills they said in streams
We ran for our lives amid little ones’ screams
My heart was thumping as if we were in bobsled teams
I woke up down river in my nightmare’s silliest dreams
Funeral of a street boy from Lawrence Kansas.
Handsome lad, bi-polar, twenty-six and a half.
Dressed like a bobsled team with fake heads some days.
His mother refused to renew his motorcycle license.
This led to his death.
He feared the police would ticket him
Worse yet, confiscate his motorcycle
Because the license was expired.
There was a police chase.
His mother is the blonde headed lady wailing in grief.
Street boy’s friends speak a bit about him.
Take turns, and sometimes interrupt each other.
Some talk more about themselves than him.
Some mention his mother’s refusal to renew his license.
Others talk about being honorary members of his bobsled team.
A bobsled team in Lawrence, Kansas. A sad funeral of misfits.
A hat is passed to collect money to help his mother bury him.
There is enough to renew that license now.
Picture this.
Two bobsleds.
Six reckless daredevil cousins
Each one of them hotheaded and determined.
Two giant dead-man-curve ski hills
That meet at the bottom two hundred feet down.
Loudest craziest, most fun family video ever taken
Grandma’s shouting can be heard over all of their laughter.
bob
bobsled
bobblehead
bobbing bouncing
bawl
AP: Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2021
Perhaps too fearful to love or be loved?
Perhaps there's that special one to cry with?
Perhaps like a Bobsled I need be shoved?
Perhaps there's that special one to laugh with?
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