Winter’s beautiful season is like frozen pearls in white
Tree branches coated in frozen sleet glow at night
Some have the courage to embrace the storms of life
While some are fearful of traveling during winter’s plight
Rivers appear as beautiful frozen mirrors of glass
A sight to admire but best to try to not try to pass
Red cardinals perched on frozen tree branches
Singing the mating calls waiting for their chances
The sun warms and melts the ice-covered streets
Some embrace it as they walk outside in cleats
The bitter winter wind sometimes howls and sings
As the snow blizzard brings a white purity to things
Midwinter is an adventure for many who love to be
Out in the fresh air ice fishing or learning to ski
Snowmobilers pray for a nice huge snowstorm
To ride the trails for fun while still staying warm
Poetry Wheel Challenge:
Theme: Adventure
Emotion: Courage
Color: Pearl
Season: Midwinter
Form: Ode
Object: Mirror
Verb: Sing
Created using the PoetrySoup Poetry Wheel.
Sailing far beyond the fading shore,
Dusk till dawn, laboring at the oar,
Ears acquainted with the ropes and cleats,
While the mind races where the ocean meets.
Wounds of the heart evade the brush,
Loneliness weeping in the evening hush,
Smiles are buried deep and out of sight,
As hands grow frozen in the dead of night.
Dream the restless waters bloom in rows,
Where ocean winds wrap like a warm embrace,
Drift on the vessel, letting worries go,
And find your harbor in this quiet place.
Dust flies as cleats dig into the chalk line.
The crowd roars under the harsh stadium lights.
We love this game because it slows down time.
Every pitch is a fresh chance to rewrite the story.
It is the smell of fresh cut grass and hot dogs.
It is the radio broadcasting on a warm summer night.
It is fathers and kids sharing the same worn glove.
We stay through the heartbreaking losses just for this.
There is no clock ticking down to force the end.
Just nine innings of pure hope and second chances.
A perfect swing sends the ball deep into the bleachers.
At this time, everyone forgets their troubles and cheers.
after "Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down today.
Nothing gold can stay.
after poem: A Pulse Is Bound To Wane
A pulse is bound to wane,
red rhythm vibes in vein.
A stream-bed’s liquid power
still stirs when mood turns dour.
But beats do follow beats,
like cleats on city streets,
‘til red sun siphons west
throb beneath my breast.
Dominating both sides from Week One,
there’s a single goal and that’s February.
A tunnel full of men chasing big fame,
top accolades, and a world of adoration.
Nothing like being the big dog in the fight,
let every other opponent come for them.
Every tailgate dish you can imagine,
indulged as you watch with eyes dancing.
Cleats on fire they are blazing a trail,
breaking records a new standard is set.
Smoking a Bowl at the Halftime show,
three score game at the end of the second.
With a flame someone’s gonna get burned,
winning a Lombardi my team’s good at it.
The grandkids are heading to sleepaway camp,
Their clothing all labeled and packed,
Plus all of the extras they may or not need -
Way too much, as a matter of fact.
They bring pillows and blankets and flashlights and fans
And shin guards and sandals and cleats
And towels and bug spray and sunscreen and stamps
And shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste and sheets.
They need rain gear and sleeping bags, books and canteens,
A laundry bag, backpack and socks,
Plus sweatshirts and jackets and underwear (lots!)
And their sneakers and rain boots and Crocs.
Of course there are bathing suits, t-shirts and shorts
And sweatpants and PJ’s and fleece,
But there are no iPads or Switches or phones
So some wonders, I guess, never cease.
The days spent at camp will fly quickly until
All that stuff gets repacked to go home,
With some missing or ruined or filthy, but that
Is a topic for some future poem.
Wow, another Super Bowl Sunday is upon us here,
While it's treated like a national holiday.
Yet consumption can be measured by all the beer,
As the gallons are poured while they play.
No matter the victor, there's a residue of pain,
As the long off-season is cause for withdrawl.
Even though touchdowns may set records to gain,
They're soon forgotten as the sports world is a crawl.
Now fans do their best to show interest elsewhere,
However basketball and golf just don't fill the void.
This is where the withdrawl is thick in the air,
Only to desperately begin searching their I-phone or android.
We mustn't forget another creation in the wake,
When millions of football widows then flood the streets.
Looking diligently for another interest they can take,
That won't remind them of shoulder pads or cleats.
So as the build-up to the game slowly comes to pass,
We should mention the epic commercials that are placed.
As they attempt to ease the pain from fumbles on the grass,
To all those that lost their bets...and have that bad aftertaste.
I hear the boots of Krystallnacht
marching in our streets
Heil, Hitler… Heil, Sinwar…
Heil, Hitler… Heil, Sinwar…
I hear the glass of Krystallnacht
clinking 'neath their cleats
Dirty Jews… Jew pigs
Free Palestine… Intifada lives
I see 'our leaders’ cower
turning backsides to the fray
like Harvard's President, Claudine Gay
POTUS Biden asked a question, walks away
I see my fellow Jews betray our cause
shouting, 'Intifada Revolution'... 'No More Genocide'...
seeming not to understand
disunited, we perish by suicide...
Have we forgotten, do we not recall
His covenantal promise we'd never fall
One place to turn, one Name to call
~ God of Israel, save us all
Diving for the ball,
Balling into a dust-
Orange roll,
The catcher tossed it back to the pitcher
After a ball three, and walked up to him.
The descent of the night's sky
Made the ballfield lights a sudden relevance.
The catcher's cleats hit the ascending tip
of the diamond. He threw back his mask:
"You got this."
"I know I got this."
"Just throw how you normally throw."
"I know. I will. I know."
"You know what to do. Let's do this."
"I got this. I got this."
Then something was said
From the catcher to the pitcher
Not even the poet's ears were privy to.
Anyway,
Catcher ran back
Behind the diamond
And squatted, throwing out
His target glove with a deft pause
So not to tip the batter off.
The next pitch was a swinging strike
High up in the zone.
The pitch after that was a home run
Caught by a nun
Out on Yawkey Way.
Oh well, there's always the next day.
By the way,
She blessed the ball
And gave it away.
War weary wayward wanderer walking westerly
Sadly slowly striding shadowy suburban streets
Barely behaving bravely but blindly bound
Coldly click-clacking cumbersome calloused cleats
Tormented tattered tired thus temper tampered
Following faltering footsteps from frigid feet
Deeply determined denying darkened deadly deeds
Recalls rankled ridiculous rituals readily repeat
Loosely lackadaisically lumbering like lost lamb
Ghastly giant gradually greets grieving ghost
Posturing politely promising placid provincial palace
Hell's haven happily hinders Heaven's host
At eighty-seven well past my prime
Can you believe it no long can rhyme
Even Shelly and Keats
Have hung up their cleats
Each had hoped for a life more sublime
No one predicted snow yesterday
but it came down heavy anyway.
Backyard birds sheltered
under any shelter they could.
Later that day
I put cleats on my boots
and duck-walked out
across the deep crisp and even.
I needed bread for my jam,
I needed to breathe-in
the deep freeze
because only sky and Ice
can unclog
the kind of brain-blockage
writers get
when they are constipated
by too warm a mind fog.
Chicken Chuck Chiggers chose chances of Chow
Changing curly curd curiosities that happened now
Clamping clogging cleats, classifying clones of mad cow
Colorado’s colorful colonists commanding condos of wow
Crusty cramped crullers creeping in craggy crevasses so
Crispy cartooned crestfallen consonants following below
Caroling cartons carefully consternating as catfish grow
Christmas card carolers confusing craggy-topped snow.
Confusing collars commanding colorized classification
Creating confident compact colonel’s consternation
Colliding converse comparisons in curious colorization
Commanding calendars corduroy in cellophane colonization
Have fun playing baseball, hint number one
finish the season though you’ve never won.
Can’t win if you don’t play, work on point two
find the skills you need, then practice them too.
The count’s at three, try to pick the right clothes
Not too tight pants and zippers that will close.
Moving on to cleats with thought number four
be sure they fit, that’s what sizes are for.
And rule five: no cussing, use your tongue's brake,
backtalk, name-calling are habits to break.
Watch your temper, ideal number six -
you’re not that feisty cat which your dog sic’s.
As for step seven, it’s long overdue
learn from your mistakes, know what NOT to do.
Keep the dugout clean, we’ll call this clue eight
squelch farts, don’t throw up cause you over ate.
Tip nine; learn when to bunt and when to steal
It makes for more fun, but takes nerves of steel.
One more then done with these suggestions ten -
if you chew gum, spit your wad in the tin.
World Series fades, into new pastimes we buy
...Roll on, past baseball to a creed we can live by,
...Respect for others grants our ego fond goodbye.
October 22, 2022
January will slide up the drive soon;
New cleats for old boots.
Neighbors have cut down the Maple tree
it will be missed come Autumn.
Winter has its dull days
when the weather turns itself off,
but then there are the bone-cracking gales
and the few bright days
when the sun runs in the snow.
Slowly from the ice and darkness
long hours will shuffle out of their daydreams,
critters will stumble out of hedgerows,
goose-grey skies will learn to fly again,
ugly boots will become homely crocs.
With any luck, tell-tale breezes
will flirt with summer skirts.
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