Long Snowplow Poems
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MY WINTER
It is snowing in my heart, my heart
Wind is blowing can't stop it, stop
And I don't care about you
My mind eyes views are frozen
I've got a cold stone heart
I'm feelin bitter
In my winter
This solstice period got me stuck
My heart cellist like a snowdrift
Can't take anymore the cold sore
The pain in my brain like a freeze
Artic brezze blowin between my ears
I'm feelin bitter
In my winter
I'm so cold, yet I am bold, I'm told
This is my season, my reason
I'm cold emotions run frozen, so evil
Seems like things don't get better
My Winter
Snowflakes falling down on me
Emotional hemridging I will frezze
I can't believe the flakes in my eyes
Wet my eyes, the tears I cry cause I'm so mad
I'm feelin bitter
In my winter
I'm so cold, yet I am bold, I'm told
This is my season, my reason
I'm cold emotions run frozen, so evil
Seems like things don't get better
My Winter
RAP
I don't care bout' you, and or what U do
Heart is frozen like a tray of ice, frozen
I'm cold and infeact blizzard toward you
Don't care what you do
Yes' it's true I'm snowing on you
Snow stroming cold breathe and feet curling
Clapped lips wet cold socks
Heart so cold beats just won't melt
Don't care what ya do
I'm cold and infact flozen on you
And it's raining in here, my heart crying
35 below degrees tempertures fallin
God please tender my non beating heart
No longing beating cause it's frozen shut
Frozen in time stone cold hearted don't care bout yours, mine or others
Snowing now and I'm in bed with my hatred
Walkin so clumsy need to put my ice skates on
I'm just a winter storm of emotins
Rage on I'm calling for a snowplow to undig me from my blizzard mind
I'm cold
It's cold
I am sure, so cold
It's snowing in my heart
It's time for me to shovel away all this frozen snow in my chest
Keeping time attitudes covered by ice dropplets of rain frozaen again and again
My mind, my spirit and soul, covered up ice and snow
So cold
The is.......
My Winter
11/19/17
FOR CONTEST: My Winter
Sponsored by: VIV WIGLEY
Delicate feathery ice flakes, dusting,
pirouetting, and spinning
in the depths of winter in the dead of the night.
Cold temperatures and icy wind moved
in with howling sounds.
Piling up snowdrifts over the ground.
At dawn, a playground of sparkling crystalline carpet of snow
takes away the sun's warm glow.
Silver icicles hung bonded to the peaked hill walls
as dripping water froze.
Snowbound till the snowplows clear the roads.
Or walk the long road feeling the bite of cold through drifts.
The blurred lights and the beep and scrape
of a snowplow are seen through the blowing snow
as it emerges, like an angel pushing the snow aside
as it turns onto the road through the drifting snow.
Shortly after, salt is splattered, causing the snow to melt.
A cleared path through the neighborhoods and town.
The laughter of children bundling up tight.
Outside, chattering teeth and tingling fingertips,
a snowy adventure... having fun.
Even snow angels join in the fun.
The warm ambiance of a fireplace draws all near its charm.
Around its cozy gold ember crackling fire,
away from the cold, a welcoming bathing warmth of comfort.
An app on my phone says they’ll be snow tonight - we can expect .2 inches in New Haven. I can’t wait because where I come from snow is an event.
In Georgia, the mere suggestion of a snowflake in a weather report results in businesses closing, the freeway being blocked-off, and the entire city being evacuated.
Some poor, non-essential civil-servant is sent to his (or her) probable death in the cold, in order to try and startup the state’s single, neglected snowplow.
Reports of “snow” can provoke vicious, panic shopping for essentials, like Totino's Triple-Meat-Pizza-Rolls - known for keeping teenagers alive in weather-pocalypses.
As the snowflake is tracked-in by radar, wooden furniture is chopped up for strategic placement by the fireplace and beloved family pets are evaluated for their fur and nutritional values. Has Grandma really been pulling her weight lately?
These New Englanders seem completely nonplussed by snow, like republicans facing unnecessary death or the loss of American democracy. I think I’m going to video this.
Interesting fact: Snow actually falls from the sky. I know, it’s terrifying.
A birthday wish whispered –
If this world weighs too heavy
on that which remains, leave.
Promise, it will be fine.
Your blind eyes see through my
comfortable sweater,
the fuzzy one worn down
to remember warmth.
Furious, I could scream.
It had always been my favorite:
Always green. Forgiving. A perfect fit.
Meanwhile, get to the heart of it:
The promise reverberates in spaces.
Do you get it?
Enough of this matter!
Can you hear me?
You died the next morning
at 6:04 AM in the blizzard,
of January 23, 2005.
I followed a snowplow
down an unclear highway,
on Sunday in Dedham, Massachusetts,
hoping the next skid won’t
send me too near to you.
Too late, and arriving to crumbling knees
the following considerations:
How many demented trespasses;
how many cognizant?
You are still
just a shell of the man,
imposing, virile, mad.
Your outline singes me, again and again.
Burning fear came before pity.
But, perhaps more importantly,
you were ever loved.
Our weatherman loves his flamboyant maps.
Apocalyptic works of art, with giant smears of white and pink.
Swallowing half the nation in rococo delight.
He talks in excited hush about accumulation and wind chill.
He has a lust for slush and black ice.
Thunderheads always in his mind like a Prozac pill.
The snow wizard predicted 10 to 12 inches by nighttime.
He was right this time.
He told me to prepare for the blizzard.
I found my favorite shovel. It has a wide silver mouth.
Pushes tons of snow if I give it the power to do so.
Years ago-my arms were forged in the hearth of Buffalo winters
, but they are old arms now, and I waver.
I always start at the foot of the driveway.
Where the snow is heavy and deep, and I'm at my peak.
I keep a keen eye on the snowplow.
Lest he plows me under my emerald dreams.
My neighbor is young, strong, and nimble.
He's like a mad machismo maestro in a whirling snow globe.
I try to keep pace but cannot match him.
He doesn't even wear gloves or a hat.
Maybe that's his way of giving me a handicap.
He started late but still finished well before me.
I hope one day he catches a machismo death...but not really.
I see the flakes come tumbling from pale sky.
Grey barren earth below has been effaced.
The loveliness nobody can deny.
With dazzling snow this wonderland is graced.
In morning’s sheen, the frosted limbs of trees
are glittering, and all the land’s pristine.
I run outside and feel chill winter’s breeze
and breathe in air that now is crisp and clean.
Deep snow lies glistening upon my lawn.
Long icicles are hanging down like spears.
Vanished are the streets in the still of dawn,
but not for long! A snowplow soon appears.
Jan. 15, 2023 for 12 Lines Of Rhyme
For Julia Ward's Favourite Poem From January 2023 Or February 2023 Poetry Contest
I was born in a snow storm,
and for that very reason I seem to love winter
with all the lovely filigree snowflakes falling
from the sky.
Outside my window,
is a pure white winter snow blanket.
Some would like to just stay warm inside,
not me- I want to walk in the snow.
A quick breakfast and I dress for winter
with a hat, scarf, mittens, and down-filled coat
oh, and my warmest socks and high boots,
see, I am Canadian and I know all about winter.
My cat wants to follow me out the door,
but I tell her NO, you will get frostbitten!
Oh, the air is crisp and it is bitter cold
and the trees are frozen soldiers
standing silent guard.
A snowflake kisses me.
Already a snowplow has cleaned the street,
and people are shoveling their driveways.
Across the street,
some kids are making a snowman
oh, this brings me back to winter memories
when it was I and my friends playing in the snow.
Turn, turn back the clock to those winter days,
of yesterday skating, sledding, snowball fights
and making snow angels and later hot chocolate
with gingerbread cookies,
and we all had rosy cheeks.
But even nowadays, there is plenty to do,
my city has many outdoor festivals all winter long
and horse carriage rides through downtown!
There is a huge Christmas tree lighting event
and we boost of the longest skating rink
in the whole world.
Where you can get beaver tails to eat (not real)
but a delicious pastry and maple syrup sticks.
Oh, have you ever gone horse back riding in snow!
I love the Christmas craft fairs,
and the chilly walks around my neighborhood
looking at the flickering house lights and decorations,
there is a peace like no other
when your feet are creaking in the snow
on a winter night.
__________________________
November 17, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/'My Winter'
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9620-11-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, 'My Winter'
sponsor, Viv Wigley
Third Place
By the grave I saw blacken snow flakes
Lightning flashed as I witness
Drawn down from blacken purple skies
Burst of brilliants, winter blast snow blind
Upon a midnight electrics static,
you came gently clanging
Deep into that darkness changing, snow blind
To warn me about the steady
That incremental isocheim - that incremental isocheim
Death shall bring trends
Eagerly I looked for tragedy, wintertime
The festivals alteration adjusting
The dynamics brought such sorrow, snow blind
I have dreams of flows misting snow men and women kissing
I crave the coolish, changeable climate
The cyclic cold snap contouring
Take thy gruel hot coal from out my heart
Come stand wit me twit the freezing blizzard
Come dear heart
Much I marveled the integrated icebox
The snow-covered snowplow steadying shoveling
So inviting is the thought…
To be frozen with me come not see will be so kind
If together we be 2 frozen lovers just snow blind
1/29/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
No precipitation the weatherman said
but the snow is falling on my head.
Shoveling , clearing, its still here.
I wonder if the sky will ever be clear.
The snowplow comes by to clear the road
and in front of my car leaves a big, icy load.
Shovel some more, so I can get out
to drive on the ice, slip sliding about.
The nicely dug out spot I left in my wake
is an open invitation for another to take.
Home again, dig out a new spot
(since the other one now, someone else has got).
Winter, I hate you, please go away
and don't bother coming back on some future day.
I hate the cold and I hate the snow
and I really can't wait for this winter to go.
Global warming where are you now.
Melt this snow and take a bow.
A warmer climate would be welcome here
but this is just the start of winter I fear.
I lived in outer space for a while.
I left most of it out of the file.
My toe is still a little space-burnt I can feel.
Something, something I should reveal.
I lived in outer space like an asteroid.
These days, it’s going to the bank I avoid.
I stay in the forest which is space adjacent.
There’s nothing in space which I resent.
It’s just that, I like how grass grows lopsided.
In space, life was divided.
I left all my howling at home somehow.
And excitement burned up anyhow.
The snowplow doesn’t come through the forest.
So everything is caressed.
Everything is reminiscent.
Like me, more than a crescent.
I left my werewolf curse in outer space.
Now I am a person anyhow, and any place.
Just normal hair and skin that’s not lucky to touch.
I am a human, person, being, spirit without much.
Used to be a werewolf, an astronaut maybe.
What sets an astronaut free?
Saying goodbye to empty, dark space.
And back to the howling I embrace.
But something about going to the moon.
Lifts a werewolf curse too soon.