Long Old man winter Poems
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nineseventeenPM on a winter's night asleep
wolf wind's a-whistlin' and a-howlin'
reaching under every blanket, every sheet
grasping shivering victims in dread's keep
Late spring or early summer, nineseventeenPM
resplendent sunlight's finally dimmed and darkened
though moments ago 'twas still radiant out west
time to head on in from porch or stoop
pre-midnight snack awaits, old-fashioned
homemade beet-borscht soup
nineseventeenPM in mid-Fall, Jack Frost's on the vine
of pumpkins large and small, candlelit smiles
greeting passersby … friendly faces masking
haunting sense that old man winter lurks nearby
nineseventeenPM in Chicago
Fore shadow of terror, or benign:
Evening's waning quickly now
~ Mark each hour's chime
I WOKE UP THIS MORNING
TO A KNOCK ON THE DOOR.
I SAT UP IN BED.
PUT MY FEET ON THE FLOOR.
I LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW.
GUESS WHAT I SAW?
ALL SIGNS SAYING
IT'S THE LAST DAY OF FALL.
I LOOKED THROUGH THE PEEP HOLE
WHO DID I SEE?
OLD MAN WINTER.
JUST SMILING AT ME.
WINTER SHOWS UP
AT TIMES BY SURPRISE.
EXCEPT OR REJECT
YOU JUST CAN'T DENY.
I THOUGHT I WAS READY
FOR WINTERS SURPRISE.
SO I OPENED THE DOOR
AND I OPENED IT WIDE
LETTING ME KNOW
HE'S WELL AND ALIVE.
WITH FROSTY BREATH
AND SNOWFLAKES IN EYES
WITH DROPPING TEMPS
AND FALLING SNOW.
AND FROM THE NORTH
A COLD WIND BLOWS.
A WIZARD OF MAYHEM.
OLD MAN WINTER.
CHILLED ME OUT
WITH A WINTERS BLIZZARD.
Michael E. Harris
11092021
Encouraged and Inspired
by our Good Friend and
L.A. Marathon Legacy Runner
Retired School Teacher
Denny Smith.
OLD MAN WINTER
DONE DID IT AGAIN
WHEN I GET HOME
I'LL NEED A TONIC AND GIN
RAIN, HARD RAIN
KEEPS COMING DOWN
GIGANTIC PUDDLES
COVER THE GROUND
MY FEET ARE COLD
THEIR SOAK TO THE BONE
I STILL HAVE 2 MILES
BEFORE I REACH HOME
MY UMBRELLA GOT TWISTED
THEN BLEW AWAY
NOW I HAVE NONE
THE REST OF THE WAY
THE FASTER I RUN
THE WETTER I GET
PLEASE DON'T LOOK NOW
MY HAIRDO'S A WRECK
MY COAT IS 10 POUNDS
MY POCKETS HAVE POOLS
EVERYONE'S RUNNING
AND WE ALL LOOK LIKE FOOLS
NOW WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT
THE HAIL STARTED DOWN
I WAS SLIPPING AND SLIDING
THEN HIT THE GROUND
I KNOW I CAN MAKE IT
I'M SO CLOSE TO HOME
TOTALLY SOAKED
AND CHILLED TO THE BONE
OLD MAN WINTER
LOVES TO PLAY GAMES
AND IF YOU LET HIM
HE'LL DRIVE YOU INSANE
I FINALLY MADE IT
HOME AT LAST
HERE I SHALL STAY
TILL THIS WINTER STORM'S PASSED
The last hoorah of old man winter 2022?
March twelfth Ded Moroz
struts his white stuff
first real substantial puncheon
found Jack Frost in his glory,
he haint no longer morose nor gruff,
cuz series of fortunate meteorological events
found crystalline precipitation hoary.
I revel watching
the bit torrent of snowflakes alight
upon the greensward;
a cold wind bloweth and doth bite
any exposed flesh of daredevil
(the re:noun Evel Knievel of verbiage)
weather beaten soul
trundling with delight
inured to brutal cold
all fours seasons excite
contemplative character
asked me to ghostwrite,
thus a reasonable rhyme yielded
courtesy wuthering height.
Yours truly breathes deep sigh of relief,
when surprise blizzard came our way,
no matter yours truly solitary fellow
holed up in me mancave yay,
he experiences unfettered glee
for picturesque blustery scene today
eight sleeps before Spring Equinox
glad second rate nor'easter
pummeled Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania.
The near future forecast
bodes well nigh arrival of vernal equinox
when the sun crosses celestial equator
in northerly direction, marking
prime meridian of right ascension.
Fanfare for common man
(think das scribe spinning these lines)
grateful timely notion
kindled inside mine noggin
truth be told - before onset of storm,
I drew one blank after another
and felt at my wits end
regard apropos material to write about.
Methought to soon to post
poem about beware the ides of March,
(approximately sixty one
and a half hours hence,
similar explanation regarding
summoning creative literary endeavor
honoring Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona duit,
thus imposed upon figurative shoulders
(mine) to hash out some
marginally passable verse.
Now attention pauses to take look see
out bedroom window
watching medley of gusty air
in sync with blizzard conditions,
yet yours truly snug
as a bug in a rug
despite not turning on the heat,
and would ye believe
bard of Perkiomen Valley
only donned in ma birthday suit?
Cold front brings August respite
upon cusp of autumn quite
natural palliative to forget monetary plight
relieving spate of dog days of summer
seasonal crisp balm appeared overnight
evidenced of late by Jeeves
cool temperatures at night
temporarily bumping ugly
global warming with moonlight
sonata courtesy mother nature
perfect bonfire weather courtesy lignite
kept burning chaste cheerful pro bono
strong arm moored Sir Lancelot knight
sinewy physique, muscularly lean
apropos appellation applied Jack Lite
doubling up as Jack Frost
i.e. old man winter based
on Farmer's almanac
forecasters, who possess
sixth sense insight
predicting harsh winter, yeah right
as if standing atop shoulders of giants
towering, rivaling, overshadowing...
Jack and beanstalk re: fabulous height
seedy tale Aesop pose ghostwrite
ten and/or retold by Flora Annie Steel
fanciful imaginative flight
first appeared as The Story to delight
kids all ages of Jack Spriggins and
the Enchanted Bean in 1734 quite
similar to goose that laid golden egg
wishful thinking miniature
cogs and wheels spin
furiously at midnight
fantasizing escaping out
maws o' penury plight
accepting hand to mouth existence
experiencing pleasant distraction
as fall weather doth excite
reminding me seasonal change
could kindle potential playwright
within, which storyline outright
fabrication trumpeting rich mogul
comprising make believe webbed world
frees yours truly 24/7 nightmarish fright
one forlorn bummer groveling along...
holding transformative amulet tight
precious stone of malachite
imparting deep energy cleaning,
bringing healing powers that
powers love delight.
Grandpa grew hay and corn and vegetables on his farm,
And in the Autumn on bright sunny days we all helped him;
With the gathering, reaping and gleaning to get in the Fall crop,
Then the family gathered to celebrate another abundant harvest.
And when the rainy season started, torrents of rain fell,
Soaking rain that flooded the fields and made them soggy;
We all stayed inside on those wet days reading and waiting,
I did not mind, for I find the pitter-patter of rain to be pleasant.
Soon Jack Frost was knocking on our farmhouse door,
The hoar frost covered everything in the early hours of day;
And it was piercing and penetrating, it chilled us to the bone,
But by mid-day the sun came out and melted all the frost away.
One bright morning everything was frozen and ice covered,
All the walkways were iced over, it was bitter cold, cold as ice;
Old Man Winter was just reaching out his icy fingers to warn us,
And I was thinking, perhaps it is time for me to check my skates.
It was late November when the first flakes came in the night,
The snowstorm was light snow with big beautiful, gentle drops;
By morning, there was a mantle of white on all fences and barns,
And by afternoon everything had melted into a wet, slushy mess
After school, I was helping Grandpa shovel the many paths,
My teeth were chattering, trembling, I felt like a girl made of ice;
I told Grandpa, that I was quite sure I was going to freeze to death,
He nodded and said, go in the house; I noticed he was also shivering.
It was a long Winter with many snowstorms and huge drifts,
But somehow we survived it; I loved the smell of the fireplace;
And curling up on the sofa with Grandpa and Grandma like a kitten,
Then those ever shortening days of Winter became long days of Spring.
______________________________
September 17, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Grandpa's Farm
Copyright Protected, ID 15-710-135-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Seasonal,
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton
Second Place
Rabbits go dancing in soft moonlit meadows;
Field mice, less boldly just waltz in the shadows.
Moles and shrews surface, but can’t see a thing;
Young thrushes and sparrows take flight on their wings.
Fawns go cavorting in wide open spaces.
Turtles shed shells and run naked in races.
Owls so enthralled that they don’t give a hoot:
Provincial living’s exceedingly cute.
Crocus choirs raise color-filled hallelujahs;
Queen bee lays eggs because that’s what she does.
Pansies and bloodroot are no longer dormant;
Solomon’s wardrobe ne’er held such a garment.
Young kits leave tree nests and begin exploring.
Cross Old Man Winter is finally snoring.
Temperate days have moods on the upswing;
Nighttime’s for frolicking when Mother sings.
Hopefully, Old Man Winter has had his final fling!
Now, from my stoop I can relish the coming of spring!
I can watch as nature awakens and begins anew its birth.
From my perch I enjoy simple things of which there is no dearth.
A pair of squirrels entertain me, playing tag upon the grass.
They scamper up the elm, each giving the other lots of sass!
Mr. and Mrs. Robin built a cozy nest in my apple tree,
And I see three newly minted babes peering back at me!
Hummingbirds flit about sampling nectar from every flower.
The soothing coo of a mourning dove greets me from the bower.
I witness a monarch butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
A pretty golden finch serenades me with its lilting tune!
A pair of wrens is teaching their young the thrill of flight.
A haughty blue jay settles in a tree, scolding all in sight!
The roses, apple and cherry trees are in full bloom,
Filling the air about me with sweet-scented perfume!
From my humble stoop I need only to lift my eyes,
To see snow-crowned Pikes Peak agleam in the skies!
I needn't travel to any distant alien or exotic destination.
From my own back yard I can savor the wonder of Creation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Flood Tides .
RIVERS of LOVE
Along many a bank, rivers of love did flow
grasping pieces of broken, decaying branches, twigs, leaves and know,
carried down stream - within them - are the memories that show,
once there were dreams of love that lived within, never to grow.
Dreams, Autumn has been guiding towards the arms of old man Winter.
A journey Dreams, Mankind, Mother Nature, takes and must,
in the end, let go of, let metamorphose into specks of Dust.
An energy to take wing and soar into becoming The Light.
Dream, desire, obsession, rivers of love, all will take flight,
climb towards the heavens, past romantic stars and out of sight
B.J."A" 2
August 31st 2009
Hello. My name is Spring and I make an appearance every year.
People have often made comments of me like, 'Spring is in the air'.
For Daylight Saving Time, many will say 'Fall back and Spring forward'.
Well, they can say that, but sometimes I am early and other times late.
Sometimes, Old Man Winter hangs around too long, taking up my 'air space'.
And sometimes, I can't wait to 'Spring forward', attempting to push him aside.
That's right my friend, there is more going on up there than meets the eye.
And when cold clashes with heat, especially in my season, there's always
trouble in the sky. And usually, when there's trouble in the sky, it's not long before there's trouble on the ground. I might show up before I am officially
due or I may come after I'm due. It's another way of saying that I might be in the air but not on the ground in your neck of the woods. I may be in the air, but you do not see, hear, or even feel me. You take this winter of 2019 for example. I don't rightly know what's going on out here, and I don't know how long Mr. Winter is going to last, but things are definitely much different.
Anyway, I want to say that each of us seasons has to show up and do our job, and I'm hoping that, as you might be also, Mr. Winter does not overstay or infringe upon my responsibilities. I have to show up on time to restore life, create beauty, and get things growing again. I can't do that if Mr. Winter wears out his welcome, and it is absolutely unthinkable to try pushing him around because he's much stronger than I. So whereas I might be in the air, I might also be there cold and covered in snow, just waiting my turn.
03052019PoSoupContest, Spring Is In The Air, Emile Pinet