Long Snowy Poems
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Written: June 12, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Constance La France
Quote: The sky exudes a serene splendor after a storm, a soft serenity that revitalizes the ruined land. By Poet.
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Breathing the crisp air by a sunlit brookside,
where spring is nested in the snowy stride.
I felt the serenity of the world grow mild —
as if the highlands were nurturing a child.
The inn with its halcyon mosaic glow —
held the night as a lantern cradled in snow.
Stars danced slowly in the alpine breeze,
soft as lullabies sung by the trees.
Aged innkeeper’s hands shaped the bread,
as blessings warmed in the embers' bed.
Her tea — spiced cloves and heated coal —
was what I sought to soothe my restless soul.
Below, the river laughed in the sunlight,
a silver thread through greenery, bright.
Its whispers stitched the hours so pale,
until my breath matched its stillness, frail.
Evenings carried the scent of earth made anew,
with nutmeg drying in the morning dew.
Children raced down the "moss — soft" stone,
while quiescence poured deep within my bones —
I painted the sunset—equanimity and fire —
an artwork born from a lasting desire.
I named it for the tranquility I claim —
that gentle hour when gold meets flame.
Then, quietly and warmly, I stand again —
to dismantle walls in the familiar den.
Serenity, akin to a patient guide,
extends its palms in my mind, slow tide.
My life began as one big blank canvas,
a sweet baby girl loved:
the second child for my parents,
yes, I had an older sister by one year;
Suzanne, already had signs of an adventurer,
while I just gurgled, smiled and made faces.
Babyhood is fleeting,
soon, I was a four year old and walking:
my personality was beginning to blossom,
quiet, shy, loving cats, the garden, and books,
my sister, had no time for all that;
we lost her on a snowy street,
her death left a black mark on the canvas of my life.
My grandma, Helena was our family storyteller,
looking at me she would say, she has an old soul:
grandma colored the canvas of my life with hues lovely,
opening my imagination and a writer was born;
I will never forget the words I spoke at her funeral.
When I write of nature the tone is green with wildflowers bright,
with strokes and swirls of birds soaring and water swirling:
when I write of winter, my very soul opens,
and in sad poems somber colors twirl and mingle;
and my paint drips blood red onto my canvas,
the love poems, I create are full of my love's aqua blue eyes.
I am a butterfly, I am a bird, I am a writer,
each day I add another color, another dimension;
to the canvas of my life that started when I was born,
no telling what the future holds but I know;
it will be beautiful.
She crawled into her father’s lap...her lips were quivering...
there were teardrops in her eyes
“Some kids say they don’t believe in Santa...
they say it’s all a pack of lies.”
She looked at him with innocent eyes...
that snowy Christmas Eve...
and asked him quite directly...
“Daddy! What do you believe?”
“Oh, I believe in Santa.” he answered,
“As sure as I believe in you.
I believe in miracles and Karma
I believe fairy tales do come true.”
“I believe in love and friendship.
I believe in kindness and family.
I believe in God and fairies and angels
I believe in wonder and destiny.”
“I believe a higher power created the planets...
the stars, the sky, the sun.
I believe in the spirit of love
I believe there’s good in everyone.”
“I believe we should listen to the animals
I believe there’s magic in moonbeams
I believe that art is all around us
I believe in the beauty of our dreams...”
“As he looked down she was sleeping in his arms
which gave him some relief.
“And when I look at you.” he whispered...
I believe I’m blessed...beyond belief.”
On the dark seas of the soul, waves of time break apart,
God tears away my emotions, like dried leaves in the wind.
My eyes, shipwrecked on tumultuous shores, gaze at the dimmed sky,
The blue, once pure, is now stained by the transparency of a snowy dream.
Incandescent shadows ask my mysterious, living face,
"Is it you, beautiful?" and the echo replies, "I don't know, I don't know."
On wings of flaming wind, chasms deepen in silence,
Drops from the feathers of mythical birds fall from lofty thoughts.
In forbidden nights, actors dream of lost roles,
Ambiguously interpreting the forgers of silent dreams.
Women who no longer want to bear the world's blame on bare shoulders,
Their fragile minds seek light in sparks from beyond.
The struggle is uneven, but from the darkness, a clear paradox is born,
Lost emotions, like falling stars, return as a gift.
On wings of dreams, I fly beyond the chasm of time,
Searching in the unknown infinite for the essence of his thought.
I remain in the flow of consciousness, a river that runs without stopping,
The paradox of my life is a labyrinth of longing and love.
Every night, on the world's stage, I play my role,
An actor lost among dreams, forever searching for his soul.
Night's silent shadows softly fall
from moonlight's muted, mellow glow,
that shroud the land with sunless shawls
on cold ground glazed with glinting snow.
Tree branches, seen with broader breadths
by shadows that bestow their form,
splayed stark atop the snowy depths;
by wind, they swirl like snaky swarms.
Small bushes sway between the trees
to shadow snow like ghastly ghosts
that dance deceptively to tease
and harrow wary human hosts.
Pure, peaceful pageantry at night;
such lovely landscapes, to be viewed.
But, sometimes shadows strain our sight-
with varied visions misconstrued.
March 27, 2018
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon
Mile 6 Poetry Contest
The lavender clouds, lowered, like a fluffy blanket
on top the eaglets’ ledge.
Its loblolly pine lingers on the palate of the tongue
like a luscious lollipop.
The nestling-siblings, downy light, slightly on edge -
eagle-eyed leader seeks kill.
A bald rivalry rides the snowy sledge, unshielded
by the adults; harmony sleeps.
The earthlings’ Hallelujah - wings climb,
soar, a lavish flight - celebratory sigh.
Sunlight’s vantage slights - the flourishing cradle
unsettled by uprising; loss.
The lovelorn will land its own fledglings, feeling
only for the solo Caesar,
hailing through the rainbow slide - the Salome quilt,
nevertheless God’s will
on earth, necessary suffering for a season -
a sour lollipop; sloppy life.
We glory at the eagle’s flight, flourishing wingspan,
falling towards us.
Stalwart, its talons’ prey; we pray unfailing strength
and fly towards heaven.
6/28/2020
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW(2) any theme any form Poetry Contest
*Long lines are divided into two lines
Where the sky drifts into the sea
And twilight slips into starry destiny
I see you in the cliffs of mountains
Snowy tops dip into heart’s fountains
Your soul is like haunting hurricane
I’m a little boat riding it so insane
For you are stronger with less force
Maybe I’m the braver one by choice
You want my life and I live for you
You’ve made me wife I cherish this too
You are so strong perhaps as deep
Carry me along with eyes that speak
But I am red fire to your water sign
Both full of desire we sip like wine
You’re uplifting motivating and beautiful
I’m captivating grounding and typical
Our relationship is destined despite dilemma
Kiss upon lips brings bliss we’ll remember
Spring with full bright blossoms in cheers or zing.
Dulcet sunshine never turning scorcher.
Pigeons flutter in frolic to fling.
Colourful flowers blooming : Spring’s culture.
Crocus showing delightful decorum .
Cosmos glistening yellow -violet chiffon
Cloudless sky shine silky on Sun’s spectrum.
Butterflies flying freely off and on.
Bidding bye to snowy frosty Winter,
Fresh freesia sending sweet scent to flow.
Lively lovely jolly Spring to enter.
Birds sing honouring holy Spring to bow.
Spring stitching luminous lustre like gold.
Resurrection of soothing sense from cold .
Her icy breath blows snowy swirls,
etching the land in abstract curls.
Sculpted spirals form frozen art,
frosty fragments of Winter's heart.
Feathery flakes of white on white
fall from heaven on fledgling flight.
And icicles, like shards of glass,
cling to the eaves and blades of grass.
Ebony colors the night sky,
yet cerise clouds will not comply.
And a red sun lends ice its fire
as its flickering flames expire.
A crunchy crust of sparkling snow
quickly loses its twilight glow.
For gleaming gems of golden light
vanish, with the approach of night.
Swaying silhouettes creak and crack
as shifting shadows ink them black.
And as skittish stars take their place,
a gilded moon beams down from space.
I transformed Iowa’s meadows and forests overnight
Changing her children’s delight at first snow to fear of the cold
Gloating and laughing, I introduced some to frost bite.
What did I care if their pinky toes fell off?
That’s enough, my husband said.
What did he know? I whirled away, flicking him with ice.
I was not finished for I did not want to merely be a blizzard.
I wanted to be the worst snow blizzard in Iowa’s history.
I slickened their streets with the blackest of invisible ice.
I allowed icicles to drip from the roofs of their houses.
Their snow was piling up now, in five foot snow drifts.
Was I finished? My husband asked me. Ha!
I swirled up my snow and shot a snowball into his eye.
My winds picked up speed; I was on a roll.
I tossed snow so thickly in the air that the drivers could not see.
The freeways and schools were closed.
I waited all day long for the radio to say worst snowstorm in history.
Little did I know it would take about two years before I heard this.
In the meantime I kept things snowy, icy, and impassible.
Reveling in my power. Oh, I took down the power lines too. A fantastic time!