Long Mittens Poems
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Of what use are gloves to fingers
that only understand mittens?
This quizzical query lingers
in my thoughts, applied to kittens.
These tiny balls of fluffy joy
roam unleashed, exploring their world.
And like an adorable toy,
each looks gorgeous, with its tail curled.
Yet, trying to teach them a trick
is a waste of time; that's so true.
And it is not because they're thick,
they just don't perform as dogs do.
Oblivious to my commands,
they both come and go as they wish.
And tend to ignore my demands
unless I'm refilling their dish.
They're accustomed to living free,
born strong-willed, and independent.
Yet, they choose to snuggle with me,
sharing a love; that's transcendent.
(Quatrain)
01/08/2023
Of what use are gloves to fingers
that only understand mittens, contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
Mommy, don't be upset
When they say how you should stand, sit and eat
While I munch on your blood and meat.
Just don't be upset
When they advise you on when I should be fed.
You alone know when my tummy needs bread
Mommy, don't be upset
When they say I was born lean or bulky, dark or fair
And force home remedies and weird aftercare
Just don't be upset
When they judge you for the cuts on your belly
Or the amount of milk generated by your body.
Don't be upset
When they rebuke you for keeping me on diapers
Or nag about your choices right from mittens to rompers.
I know how you guarded me for nine months
Every time I kicked from inside, your heart went nuts
When my poor latching has hurt your nipples,
I felt the wetness of your tears on my nerves.
We ate and slept together
We screamed and sang together
I was in your belly and you were in my blood
To meet each other, we worked as a team and laboured.
Now, who are they to make you feel low?
No, whatever they say doesn't help us grow.
Just don't be upset, Mommy.
We'll do only that, what is best for us!
To Daddy, Mama, Billy-Bro, Punky and Massachusetts....
Glazed, deep snow, virgin crunched under my aimless walk
as I idle rambled onward through a vacant, bare-treed park.
Sun was so high that its brightness flashed sparkling pastels.
Fleeting blue spots danced randomly and surrounded me
with images of us until old tears appeared and newly swelled.
In and out, snow to house, young you and me in tender years
of igloos, snowmen, skating, snow ball laughing and fighting,
in animal mittens Mama knitted and snow suits tightly snug.
On some far stage, I feel sure we are still close and at play,
but today I have no smile to curl, just winter’s bleak weight
from tons of missing and reminiscing for my ill, lost brother.
Climbing a hill covered in deep snow reminded me how thick
my own thoughts were sadness bogged, of love now long gone
that was once joyously caught and I swear that hill mocked me.
My legs moved on their own accord as memories of other hills
caught my heart and held it painfully, eloquently still-scored.
Looking up as though Daddy could see me, remember with me
the hand holding and hill rolling he showed me decades ago
as his delight from falling snow created and molded my own.
Years later it was my son’s hand he held, watching icicles melt
while from a distance I watched their silence spill laughter
and their sled fly hills, growing a bond now many winters gone.
At hills peak, I felt my aches that winter etched as pains’ crafter.
Memories where finality marks each season, hurt me most of all.
It seems some are smitten
with long-fingered gloves,
while others have love
for warm woolen mittens.
Like puppies and kittens,
cute gifts from above,
you’ll give ‘em a shove
when fingers get bitten.
A gloved finger’s fat,
not very precise.
Ungloved? Bad advice ~
frost bites like a cat!
But a mitten’s a club,
a stump of a hand,
a digit remand,
a prehensile nub.
No, I say what’s finer,
much better than both,
A techno-outgrowth:
thermal silk glove liners!
The gloves can get peeled;
those mittens can too.
Fingers don’t turn blue
with liners as shields.
----------
for the Of What Use Are Gloves Poetry Contest
sponsored by John Lawless
written on 12/19/22
Did you ever see a cow with a green eyebrow
Wow! Hope you sought some help
Did you ever see a llama, wearing pink pyjamas
Something more serious has developed
Did you ever see a fly with a polka dot tie
You're really need to visit a shrink
How about a turtle wearing a form fitting girdle
That would certainly make you blink
Did you ever see a bee with a sunburned knee
Should have used more suntan lotion
How about a bear with pink and green underwear
Surely that would cause a commotion
Did you ever see a spider drinking apple cider
How about a bear combing his hair
Or how about a kitten wearing woollen mittens
Or a horse fast asleep on a chair
You may think I've been smoking some funny stuff
But believe me that isn't the case
Actually I see many things that others don't see
Think I might be from outer space
© Jack Ellison 2014
I stand with my café- surveying my living room clutter.
Oh sigh! All the beautifull wrappings and boxes just garbage-
I go get a huge green bag and soon all of it is gone.
All the anticipation is gone,
this Christmas is but a memory,
the decorations once lovely,
look just a little forlorn,
time to put them away.
Frosty and Santa sure look sad,
or is that me!
Outside it is snowing- big fat snowflakes are drifting down,
and suddenly I feel like going for a winter walk and put on my coat,
and my boots, hat, scarf, mittens and step outside. Oh delight!
I am lost in a sea of flakes
I feel renewed and tranquil,
peace is music to this soul,
and the clock of time rolls on,
time to put this year away.
And I am distant as a remote island,
lost in my thoughts!
___________________________
December 24, 2016
Poetry/Free Verse/The Next Day
Copyright Protected, ID 16-860-602-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, The Day After Christmas
sponsor, Anthony Slausen
Sixth Place
November 11th, 1938. winter, Sweden
neighbor's pond water is not frozen yet
bucket spilled drops are chilly
grandma Sven's crocheted mittens are not warm enough
younger brother Finn tells me to hurry
family waits for these precious drops of water
cannot fire up cast iron cook stove without stew juice
Chester, our broken down farm pony waits patiently
sky spells out snowstorm
I am shivering now, my feet feel frostbitten
I wish that we were closer to the home
Christmas Krampus is coming, my brother teases me
When I laugh I see my breath, it travels up in weather puffs
if we do not move soon, there will be frosty icicles on our noses
I am grateful for Finn
he knows how to keep my mind off my discomfort
~
Born on this rock with a diaper and mittens,
hard to the touch but so soft in its feel
Crawling along like a dragon with kittens,
purring out fire, if that could be real
Laid in the sun under cloud cover sharing,
offering thoughts in a dark shade of gray
Promising rain, during drought, oh so daring,
maybe at night but not during the day
Boy, how I laugh when the feathers are flying,
birds in the trees with a song out of tune
I shouldn't talk as I know they are trying,
lyrics of April when really, it's June
Quite the young dudes, hear the juke box, its blasting,
Bowie and Hoople and all of them guys
Burgers and milkshakes, the day everlasting,
teenage delinquents, come on, pass the fries
Racing our cars next to girls even faster,
after the prom there are beers, we can drink
Maybe some gin, if the taste we can master,
let's have a kiss, tell me, what do you think
Walked down the aisle, said I do, made a baby,
started a job, in a manager role
Asked for a raise, heard the boss offer, maybe,
can't make ends meet, it's beyond my control
Buying a house with a fence and a garden,
dinner at five and a two-car garage
Late with the bills, begging off for a pardon,
getting ahead, no, that's just a mirage
Elderly comes with a cane or a walker,
wrinkles amass where my skin was once smooth
Age lurks around like a lost, homeless stalker,
always, it seems. its got something to prove
Bent over, tired and cranky, just yelling,
"Get off the lawn!" oh, I hate those damn kids
They look so young, now the tear drops are swelling,
missing those days, now I've fallen the skids
Confined to bed, an old invalid writing,
pushing a pen with his last ounce of fear
"Here lies a man who is constantly fighting,
barely can talk and now hardly can hear"
That's when I see it, the medicine table,
next to the pills sits a leather-bound book
Reaching and stretching, I hope I am able,
nearing the end, I must give it a look
Then I recall, as I flip through the pages
line after line, seems like some kind of curse
Life always comes in a few different stages,
starts with a title and ends with a verse
~
Ms Calico, who comes to me
only on her terms~ obstinately not
at my beck-and-call. Ms Calico
arrives demanding her tuna, fresh from
the can...purrs like an angel
dreaming, her glossy coat licked
proper and gleaming.
No, is never my option when tending
to her needs, myself feeling quite under review
when performing orderly deeds; seen her torture
mice and birds appearing for no other reason
than sadistic fun, affectless leaving their limp
carcasses when her gross pastime done – though,
next to my own, there is no more caring a mother,
nearly died protecting her kittens, my fondest
the runt I named Mittens.
I have found with dogs it is all about
love...and with cats it is more awe and
respect. I became frantic when she
went missing 3 days, my heart
was an abysmal wreck.
When I threw the wee unhandy gloves away,
The smiling little cold hands watched the display,
And the clock struck ‘high five’ and chimed ‘hooray’
Putting gloves on small hands can cause much dismay,
No more small fingers to get stuck or go astray,
When I threw the wee unhandy gloves away
Mitts slide gracefully upon small hands without delay,
Grown-ups - think of the precious time saved in a day,
And the clock struck ‘high five’ and chimed ‘hooray’
Before, ten minutes less coffee time – not okay!
I wrote to my local politician that same day,
When I threw the wee unhandy gloves away
In a fiddly box little fingers cannot sway,
With Mitts there is space for growing hands to sashay,
And the clock struck ‘high five’ and chimed ‘hooray’
Gloves relegated to the bin to stay,
Consignments of mittens now on their way,
When I threw the wee unhandy gloves away,
And the clock struck ‘high five’ and chimed ‘hooray’
Date: 05/01/23
Contest: Of what use are gloves to fingers that only understand mittens
Sponsor: John Lawless