Long Ice rink Poems
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So many people rave on about summer
To me this couldn’t be dumber
Winter is the time for me
A time where I feel truly comfortable and free
Winter is great sleeping weather
Either alone or embracing together
There is no season that is better
Some like it dry I like it wetter
My troubles get washed away with the rain
Swept away like the winter leaves down the drain
A time where I feel less pain
A time where I feel slightly less insane
With considerable rain comes a departure of the water restriction
One can bathe without fear of conviction
In summer people smell and sweat
Less likely in winter because it’s cold and wet
Winter starts on the 1st of June
With the darker winter nights comes a brighter moon
The sounds of the rain and wind at night
The pound of thunder accompanied by sparks of light
When it’s cold you can put on a beanie or an extra top
If it’s hot there are only so many layers you can strip before you must stop
Winter is a time for rain, hail and snow
A time when the weeds slowly grow
In winter there are less flies, rodents and ants
In winter I can feel comfortable wearing pants
In winter termites are less active or even dormant
Good for us but for them a bad predicament
Winter is a great time for a hot drink
And an excellent time to head to the ice rink
In winter you can hug without feeling sticky
Being intimate when it is hot can be quite tricky
A drink stays cold so you don’t need to add ice
In winter you can have a hot curry with rice
In winter football is played
Birds migrate and eggs are laid
You lay beside a warm fire
And drink red wine or whatever you desire
There’s nothing finer than a warm home cooked dinner
In winter you are less concerned about being thinner
You may get a little cough or sneeze
And you may see images like these
Children playing in a puddle
A loving couple having a cuddle
Winter colours can be dark but also bright
Like when water turns to snow it appears white
The sparkling of stars at night
The fallen leaves with the wind in flight
Winter is most definitely the best of the four seasons
This has been proven with so many reasons
Season of dream haze and arctic signpost.
Chill and chap brood whose scattered offspring plummet thermal values as welcome mat for “whiskered” chimney guest awash with bounty.
Thief of sun filled days without a twinge but that universal late December rendezvous can’t be thrust off-course.
Primal raw wind howl dissing summer’s distant memory - spotty and erratic though it was.
Deck chair, seat of toil free bliss now cold front recess blob.
Mirage or wishful thinking from a wet weather veteran.
We live in fear of reruns like Ophelia or
2010’s black ice.
Storm Force Brian, Mount Fuji on an airwave shrapnel carrier.
Dormant Loch Ness shadow’s fervent air mass plugging festive tunes.
To fuel dispatch and chimney sweep alike a sacred windfall.
For those who struggle just another inroad on an ever
shrinking pocket.
Yet this annual curtain closer has its grail and saving grace.
Dark art charmer lacing every patch for knee high boot crunch.
Architect of igloo closet ski cap.
Sleigh ride bell upon that maligned feast around our globe (Noel hark the alpine carol)!
Bizarre but only to us frostbite souls aloof from glacial beauty.
Deep freeze spirit canvass may not surface.
Christmas anthems booming over frolic footfall streets adorned by night owls.
Chaser lights that gee up gutted ghost town black spot.
Urban ice rink dome another fantasy or wonderland.
Toy shop stock n trade whose only trade is stock.
Colour coded gadget clutching every cell of window space.
Fashion fodder wizards magic spark a toddler’s glee at every turn.
Boisterous strains of Santa rousing inner reindeers - the sort beloved by children down the ages.
Yuletide decor gift band holly bush spike.
Log tossed on fire, kindling stick incendiary, leaping flame enshrouds smokeless polish.
Punch bowl nasal spice so aptly named rum do!
Skim milk skyline flaunts its snow fleck jewellery aloft.
Stars of astral compass spread their twinkle dash on human garlands.
Winter’s stepwise edging in a whirl plume of slush.
Christmas well and truly has arrived.
NB Polish as in Polish Coal,
The path led to rose bushes cul de sac.
Early in the morning, we sat down to rest.
Dewdrops are still shining on the track.
At our feet, a swarm of ladybugs, deft.
Petrichor arose as the July rains left us back.
A strain expressing your clumsy affection.
Tune into your breathing and heartbeat.
This is a dreamy time for such passion.
Flog love is bound to the cul-de-sac part.
It is essential to preserve buried emotion.
This curvy, icy nook is set in a helix maze.
Poetry and syncopation reignite the fire.
Even talking may be risky at night phase.
Shut the door if you wish to quell desire.
Light should be veiled by a smoky haze.
Platonic ties might be a bottomless sack.
Lyricism, zeal, and merit are key factors.
The outcome of love, then, is not a cul-de-sac.
if these are quickly obfuscating actors.
Intending that love is the sweetest shack
A full moon glides through winter dreams.
The cul-de-sac ice rink is nearing its end.
Facing reality while reminiscing streams.
Droplets seize their will to settle and wend.
Twilight moon shines with merry schemes.
Ashen-faced friends slow-motion blast.
In the cul-de-sac, the lovely house fades.
Sleeping flies swirl the remaining cast.
My cup is filled with an autumn shade.
Affinity seems to be a shackle of fact.
Only going out mattered, for a brief time.
Spring equinox has just been drenched.
Paddle a boat through the azure, sublime
The skeletons' soliloquy was quenched.
Without other elements, this is grime.
The lake thawed as the ice started to glow.
for the goal of exposing the ostentatious.
Cut on a slant, with a glimmer of a rainbow,
As my mother would say, you are gracious.
This is not how you wish your child to grow.
That desolate road cul-de-sac of shame.
I imagine the life I'd lead there as a coward.
Swans, a lake house, and a child on tame.
The tourmaline-dazzling wisteria has soured.
Parents were overjoyed to view the game.
1st place contest winner
Written: February 02, 2023
This Or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Meeting a princess
It was, according to the old, the coldest winter
any could remember, the wise said it was because
the war had disturbed the weather pattern
One day, it snowed, then it got mild, after that
it got
very cold, the hilly road turned into an ice rink
to our delight of children
We could sleigh all the way to the lake in the town
the lake, poets wrote about; they were building a hotel on the other side where old houses had been
It was the tallest building in the world, mother said
it would be better to build housing for the poor
What did she know, reading books all day long?
In the afternoon, as the day faded, an old lady was going
home, she slipped and fell on the treacherous road
we helped her up; she had a nosebleed.
She opened her lacquered handbag took out a handkerchief that had borders and was the whitest he had ever seen, dabbing her nose in a delicate manner
So brittle she was, like something rare that could vanish
into thin air, I took it upon myself to take her home
she held onto my arm like a butterfly.
She had a beautiful oval face, and we had round faces
like, farm folks, I concluded she was of royal heritage
was she a princess from a forgotten country?
I opened the front door for her, she gave me a sweet I put in my pocket to savor late and also
to show the other boys sweets were rationed.
We had fine teeth.
When coming home very late, the night was starlit
we boys had a great time showing off sliding on the ice
to impress the timid girls
At home, mother sat reading a book, I think written by
a Russian bloke called Tolstoy looked up and said
if you are hungry, find something in the kitchen.
I told the mother of an old princess I had helped her home
she had fallen on the ice and had nosebleed
Princess! She said there are no royals in this town
what was her name? Marianne, and she spoke posh
Oh, her, she was a big, Nazi during the war
I was annoyed with my mother; why did she go and
spoil it all, what did she know about life, with her nose stuck in a book, and who the hell is Hemingway?
The snow leopard
A snow leopard is walking down snow covered streets.
In these empty streets, she walks alone, a vision to be seen.
With skyscraper buildings on either side,
All the cars are silent,
The apartments only have a few lights on,
As she walks outside in the night-time.
With every stride the snow leopard creeps along,
These empty streets with her eyes fixed upon,
Her destination; the local fountain has become an ice rink.
She needs a place where she can sit and think
And the frozen water is calling.
The scratches on the surface from skaters earlier in the eve,
Are sliced crisscross by fur-covered shoes;
Her claws dig in deep.
With perfect balance she moves along;
Tail flat, she is relaxed, no pressure is on.
No need to flee, no-one to be seen.
The snow leopard lies down to relax; her cub inside is heavy.
Before dawn has arisen, the snow leopard has awoken.
Her ears pointed skyward to listen to distant sirens.
From early risers, phone calls have been made;
The zoo keeper is on his way…
But with a flash of her silhouette, the snow leopard is gone;
She was only seen close up for a second,
Before she disappeared into the thick winter’s fog.
Never to be seen again, but the lights in the skyscrapers remember.
The snow leopard stood here, on this cold night mid-December.
From where she came, nobody ever truly knew;
Some people say she was here simply looking for food.
She had been hiding a long time in a snow cave;
Her footprints were filled by the snow and her tracks began to fade.
She never was found and never again did she return.
The snow leopard was just passing through, her image just a blur.
Like a wind through a narrow street,
A piece of ice falling through a cloud;
A memory of a snowflake that disappears as soon as it is found.
There was no sign that the snow leopard had ever been around
And there was no way to know why,
The snow leopard ever came walking through this town.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
(alternately titled ringleader Harris hooligan,
Hence, any resemblance
between characters port
rayed, and living persons
purely coincidental.)
Claim to fame creating
an overnight sensational
boom town explained
by lodestone of zinc
while the town
crier fast asleep
(until next to last 21st sentry
caught up on
much needed
protracted wink),
his dreams informed
him of a getaway,
whereat just
with mental power to think,
could render forth pour
favor riches aplenty
appearing once
one did awake
meanwhile oblivious
to encroaching hoodlums,
whom didst blithely slink,
(analogous to a
waltzing skater on a smooth
as glass ice rink,
whereat razor sharp blades
noiselessly sliced cold air
with an imaginary plink),
thus while one man guard
zonked out, sans steeped
in a glistening escapade
cuddling, nestling, and snuggling
with his pet mink
Hun dread scandalous vandals
(Atilla among them)
word less lee
located weakest linkedin chink
coalescing, comprising,
and constituting,
an otherwise excel lent access
duff fence sieve link
iron wrought chained
formerly mistakenly invincible
against a Trojan
Horse, now even
vulnerable to a dolled up,
decked out disguised rat fink,
slithering snake like afore
the zoned out patrol
did awaken and blink
only after invasion of swiftly
styled, harried tailored,
foo fighting beastie boys
ex post facto, when steely
dan sing motley crue
made discernible noise
far to late for the
"FAKE" Don to trumpet
successful "Stormy Daniels"
counter attacking ploys.
They stood inches apart
Both having a racing heart
Gazing into the eyes
With absolutely no reason for lies
They met weeks ago
Very busy and on the go
A date with a drink
In front of a romantic slippery frozen ice rink
Now they were inches apart
With a beating heart
Mature tasks
Challenged them to wear symbolic masks
Putting aside this reality façade
For a moment worthy of a cry
Choosing a setting filled with floral arrangements
The two enjoyed the lunchtime flowerlike engagement
Having no words
Listening to the chirping from the birds
‘I do’ she said
“I guess now we can wed”
Was the remark he did say
Knowing soon there be a wedding day
Bonded together
Realizing life’s weather was getting better
He put a ring on her finger
While in the background an audio played words breathed by a singer
Nervously she shook
While he was on his knees she proudly stood
Inches apart
Remembering the honest that beat in the heart
She returned to the collegiate academic look
Freeing him to return to the business suit to manipulate the investment books
But when the moon light glowed
Honesty returned to the young girl’s beau
Who she met during an innocent supportive act
That changed his pinstripe tact
It was a lucky chance
Choreographed as a lifelong dance
When she bumped into the well-grounded gold
Making her emotional guard fold
Inches apart
A church audience listened to the romance in the beating heart
Watching them commit to this start
He in black she in white
A decision based on true love that was right
Another Christmas season has arrived, at last
and like so many others from Yuletides past,
I'm glad some things have remained unchanged
Although the furniture has been rearranged.
Across the room, a fire crackles and burns
Jenny has grown; for love, her heart yearns
I recall when all she wanted was a baby doll
and skates for the new ice rink in the mall
I've been unpacked in just enough time to see
my family hanging ornaments upon their fir tree.
Garlands of holly berries and popcorn strung
The green velvet stockings beneath me are hung
There's gingerbread scent and carols on the radio
Dad sneaked a kiss from Mom under the mistletoe
The angel nods to me as she's lifted into place
atop the tree. She once told me her name is Grace.
There's old Kaci, the collie, fast asleep on his rug
Grandpa looks sad. I wish I could give him a hug
Mom is headed for the mantle to give me a shake
She's always gentle, taking care I don't break.
I was a gift from her Mom on Christmas, long ago
when she had asked Santa to please bring her snow,
but snow didn't fall in the South where she resided.
I was the closest thing Santa had lovingly provided
Tears fill Mom's eyes as my snow starts to flurry
I've become a bit cloudy and that makes her worry,
but I'll see her smile again Christmas Eve night
when she puts me in Jenny's stocking by fire light.
December 15, 2020
Christmas Poems ~ Old or New
Sponsored by ~ Constance La France
I look to the sky and ask,
Can he help find my way?
I've been wondering through this darkness
And still haven't found the light of day.
Struggle after struggle
I'm trying to find my way.
Time after time
I'm clinging to that little bit of faith.
Physically, spiritually, and emotionally drained
Venturing through this storm
But I can stand the rain.
No angels on my shoulders,
It's just demons now.
Fighting for first,
Never know which one is leaking out.
I try to stay positive,
Be optimistic about things.
Then turn to a pessimist,
That's a depressing change.
My mind goes insane,
I can't stay in one lane.
Veering off-road,
So my paths are never the same.
Many things I've seen,
Every memory is a movie scene.
Many are great, but has a fuzzy screen,
Bad shows up clear as day, it will make you scream.
Nightmares keep taking my breath away,
I can feel it in my chest.
Dying multiple times,
But wake up with cold sweats.
I lay here and look up,
I ask why me?
Why put me through the fire,
But have me cold as an ice rink?
Many things inside that I want to question,
Hard to pour out,
I have introverted aggression.
They say send your prayers to god,
Sometimes I feel like I have to leave him a message.
I ask again,
can he help find my way?
I'm fighting for my dreams,
I'm going through wars to be king some day.
Even though this road I'm taking,
May not get me there right away.
I still cling to that little of hope,
That I won't let my faith die away.
Form:
Voices from another galaxy
drop hints about this blissful daydream dwelling I’m
obsessed with.
They douse the strident yelping from an unrestrained stray pup in my neighbourhood,
when it breaks clear of its tan leather muzzle with a consummate fiendish elan.
This happens when I stroll with abandon round a limp pale green grass lawn,
the type whose rabid cry for spumes of hydrant benefice is cruelly silenced.
Hedgerow choral bird chirps goad supple feats of trailing mental reverie for a wander lust psyche.
They grant behemoth powers, nether world cachet to float invisibly beneath rust sodden eaves,
a torch felt tar macadam chimney sneak peak when belching smokeless coal.
Cherry blossom panel tree house vision,
a tie cable mesh on creaky branch is quite the place,
refuge from an ancient era moss clad node awaiting blue jay flap.
To some this sturdy shoe box cartoon template reeks of animation stuck with maple syrup.
Mere desperado flight beyond an ice rink winter twilight in Ontario,
the makeshift skinflint bramble fire that barely thawed a frozen
infant trauma.
Childhood shriek and shiver may arouse inchoate recall of artic reindeer chariot adventure.
Mourning cloak butterfly aplomb, wing blown flit to deep freeze hibernation.
But alas this starstruck drifter seldom roams despite a far too frequent fictional encounter with earthbound migrant status.