I still recall those days of smog,
When the hand in front of your face
Quite literally disappeared.
A billion chimneys, belching smoke,
Filling our lungs with noxious fumes.
A girl and boy passed in the street,
Each quite perfect for the other.
But only footsteps in the fog
Sponsor Netta Onclaud
Eight x Eight poetry contest
31st July 2026
Quickly we had our breakfasts
Then we both gazed
At the station clock
The morning train is late
Everything is wet
At night, the rain poured heavy
I listened to it
Hitting the bricks on the roof.
So tasty is this coffee, you said
The smell of bread, the flame of the oven
And the two bags
You didn’t wear your trench coat, I asked
You didn’t reply
You doubted
Whether we could reach the airport before noon
The plane won’t wait for us, you said
What if the train never arrives
We have no time
The hands of the clock are not moving
And those waiting before us
Took their bags and disappeared
What are we waiting for?
I was lost in the cumulus clouds
Over the chimneys of country houses
Yet, the village was still sleeping
The station guard switched off the lights
And left, humming a song
Tell me
When will we leave too?
No one is here
Even you
You are not here
The rain has dried up
Your dreams became pale
And very far is the airport.
With white beard and red suit
Santa looks so cute.
In sleigh pulled by reindeer he roams;
Via chimneys he enters all homes.
On Christmas Eve, presents he delivers;
He is one of the world’s best givers.
Deer on the run, Deer on the run
And dear Santa Claus
and Rudolph too
Searching for them
Deer on the run, Deer on the run
Deer on the run, Deer on the run
Oh the strain on holiday knees and red nose
As they searched through chilly woods
And the old man’s sleigh is balancing on roof
With gifts of gold and coal
“Good to be running free
Get Santa off his ride
Hilarious to break Rudolph’s pride
Don’t rest Blitzen!
Rest, Blitzen…
Rest”
Deer on the run, Deer on the run
And dear Santa Claus
and Rudolph too
Searching for them
Deer on the run, Deer on the run
Deer on the run, Deer on the run
“When I catch those reindeer
They’ll get kick in the rear!
Those dirty paws will get no applause.
Stop there, Blitzen!
Stop, Blitzen!
Stop!”
The old man wants his milk and cookies pronto
The chimneys are growing cold
And look, children not dreaming, and waking up
With nothing fun at all
Deer on the run, Deer on the run
And dear Santa Claus
and Rudolph too
Searching for them
Deer on the run, Deer on the run
Deer on the run, Deer on the run
Santa Claus is a lot of fun
He's full of joy and is a ton
In chimneys he gets stuck
And emerges full of muck
Fresh snow shimmering
Soft and of white
Like tiny diamonds
On a moonlit night
Icicles dangling
Like glassy eaves
Winking and swaying
In the midnight breeze
Jack Frost tiptoes, waiting
In a frozen pose
Giggling softly, eager
To nip another nose
Chimneys puff stories
From rooftops high,
Curling like secrets
In the chilly sky
Snow owl hooting
In pine-dusty boughs,
Winking at stars
Peeking over the clouds
Snowflakes conspire
With moonbeams and frost,
To tickle the night
Till all sense is lost.
Rooftops stitched with snow
Lean against a sky of cobalt and ash
Alleys fold into themselves
Cobblestones polished by countless steps
Windows shuttered holding stories like quiet breath
Smoke drifts from chimneys
And lingers in the crisp mountain air
Curling around timbered walls
That lean close protective patient
Gingerbread scents rise from small cafés
Mixing with the scent of pine and frost
Mountains cradle the town
Their shadowed shoulders pressing close
Time stretching around rooftops and river bends
Slow crooked and still alive
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
my small hands cradle the glass,
the world outside our home
muffled~
inside our home,
a warm, soft glow
illuminates
the delicate
glass snow globe.
inside the lantern of glass,
a tiny village sleeps~
chimneys hold their breath
frozen mid-curl~
a single railroad track
vanishes
into powdered streets~
a church steeple
tilts slightly whispering
to the
snow drifts.
I bend closer,
the world outside~
now forgotten.
tiny windows glow
with
borrowed yellow~
plastic flames radiate
in miniature
hearths.
a tiny pine tree stands
sentinel
near the town square,
its tinsel
hung by
invisible hands.
Shake it! Dad exclaims.
I squeal with delight.
the miniature world blurs white~.
each flake suspended,
mid-fall, mid-flight,
caught between
the weight of sky
and earth.
Nothing melts here, he said, not even time.
Sixty-four years later,
something stirs
when I
shake
that lantern-shaped
snow globe~
the faint ghost
of a winter
I will always
remember.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We step outside,
our breath mingling with the cold, crisp air~
a brisk murmur dances through bare branches,
while clouds fling shadows on the ground,
dragging the golden sun behind a cold veil.
It’s chili weather! they say
wrapping us in layers of warmth—
hats pulled low, scarves coiled like whispers
around our necks, as we scuttle
from doorways to the promise of heat.
Smoke curls from chimneys,
the smell drawing us together
where we dip our spoons into bowls~
the spices igniting memories
and softening beans under the weight of the world.
Chilly weather is magical,
nudging us to gather together
under the warmth of fleece blankets,
our dreams bubbling away on the stove~
those moments are memories in the making
in the heart of chili weather.
biting frosty spells
cloud chimneys pouring snow down
shaggy bear cares not
Place: 4th
One couple of days, calm storms came by
and fires quenched rain neath the blue sky.
Black smoke whirled down to join the clouds,
and scenes were filled with empty crowds.
The arsonist called the town PD,
but what showed up was the FD.
They saw some chimneys sucking smoke.
The fire chief cried, “Is this a joke?”
Oh, October, you fickle feline
A silenced garden holds its breath
Rose petals tremble in your chill
Maples bedecked in hoar frost white
Soft clouds rise from long idle chimneys
Cold worms wriggle ‘neath softening leaves
Squirrels draw maps of hidden treasure
Sparrows skate on the ice crusted bird bath
Oh, October, you stealthy creeper
Your shadows book flights for the geese
Scar-faced pumpkins snarl as you pass
Knowing your demons will soon arrive
Yet still you quietly purr
A harvest scented song upon cool winds
I rarely think of roofs at home,
But when I am abroad,
I notice many little things
That strike a different chord.
The hotel window gives a view
Of houses ‘cross the street
With many chimneys sticking up
Like soldiers on their feet.
They might have other uses
And I don’t care what they are.
For me, they’re a reminder
That I’ve traveled someplace far.
It’s a privilege to explore
The unfamiliar while you can,
Since you never know when circumstance
May have another plan.
First fires...
Smoking chimneys...
Leaf mold and pumpkin spice...
Spiced cider and hot chocolate...
S'mores, mmmmm!
The sparrows are like us
fell from the dry, hot sky, first the male
sparrows, be because he was older than her
and had developed a habit of hunting near
the large chimneys at the chemical factory
and it was up to the young widow
she had been a fledgling the year before
to feed and bring up five hungry chicks
and if the weather was not cooling
she to would fold her wings and fall on
the bonnet of a passing car, snakes
and ugly beings would move in for the kill
The famous actor Omar Sharif has passed
he will be remembered, but no the demise
of a family of sparrows are forgotten not
be missed in the lottery of life
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