Long Windchill Poems
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THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF WINTER, IS A SIGN,
OF WHAT OLD MAN WINTER, HAS IN MIND.
OLD MAN WINTER IS UNBELIEVABLY KEEN,
CHECK OUT HIS HISTORY TO SEE WHAT I MEAN.
HE SETS US UP TO THINK ALL IS WELL.
THEN UNLEASHES A BLIZZARD FROM HELL.
WE SHOVEL THE SNOW AND CLEAR THE STREETS.
AFTER A DAY HE DUMPS THREE MORE FEET.
HE WILL MAKE IT SNOW FOR A VERY WHITE CHRISTMAS.
IN HIS OWN WORDS "YOU DON'T WANT TO MISS THIS"
HE DELIVERS JOY FOR THE SNOWBOARDER TYPE,
BUT AT 12,000 FEET IT'S A FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE.
BACK IN THE CITY IT'S FREEZING COLD,
QUITE THE HAZARD, FOR THE WEAK AND THE OLD.
JUST OFF THE LAKE , IT WAS FORTY BELOW.
EFFECTS OF THE WINDCHILL OR SO WE ARE TOLD.
DOWN FROM THE NORTH AND ACROSS THE PLAINS,
WHITEOUT CONDITIONS ARE PURELY INSANE.
OLD MAN WINTER LOVES FREEZING RAIN.
IT'S HIS WAY OF INFLICTING PAIN.
FROM TIME TO TIME WE JUST DON'T KNOW,
WHAT IS MEANT BY COLD WET SNOW.
JUST FOR KICKS HE LIKES TO TAKE DOWN TREES,
BY FREEZING RAIN AND ASSERTING A BREEZE.
NEVER, NEVER, CALL OLD MAN WINTER A *****.
YOU'LL FIND YOURSELF, OFF THE ROAD IN A DITCH.
I took a stroll through City Market
Kansas City's cultural queen, with vegetables and flowers
Concrete words leaning against their water buckets.
Old women's hair unnatural colors shining from restaurants
Enough of that, inertia at work here, Kansas City's pride
Cracks on sidewalk, ugly giant tracks for new street car novelty
Yelling from hooded youth, anger or attention?
Street car on track for once. Making noise, people lying in windows.
Woman with dog hurries it past me, suspecting me of something
I clutch my purse harder, suspecting her too
Freezing cold was two days ago.. Today is forty-one,
Sixty-three degree shift if you count the windchill and who does not?
The midwest USA, of course, south of Canada a few thousand miles.
A little boy gives me a hopeful glance.
If I say "hi" first will I be the pervert?
I see he wants to also, but dares not.
He has been warned against me at three. So sad really.
My friends are late. Thank God. Ensuring writing time,
And time to watch people's silliness and haughtiness.
I am a voyeur, taking tiny gulps and glimpses
So they will think I am not dangerous.
What if I run and snatch up that boy
To show him that all strangers are not horrible?
To teach him that strangers are friends you do not know yet?
To teach him that the world is not all cynical?
What then?
Grandmother Everest caresses clouds
with her diamond-studded, silky crown.
Westerners come to conquer and boast
Sherpas wish to provide for their loves
and must always bear the heaviest load.
Shaman chants echoing from base camp
The mountain tourists are not listening
They're having a toast and chewing granola bars.
Prayer flags dance and quietly chat
Snowflakes are dreaming in avalanche.
Shaman chant from base camp
They're still not listening.
Today is the push for the summit.
The rich. plastic-dipped mountaineers.
Pickaxe the icy apron of Grandmother Everest.
The weather shifts-windchill dips....
The fog and wind perform their wicked tricks.
The reaper is the death zone storekeeper.
Shelves lined with broken axes -blistered faith.
Empty oxygen bottles, the last prayer of a mate.
Grandmother Everest is the keeper of ego and bones.
At base camp, the shaman chants
The prayer flags whip
Only the dead and dying are listening.
an hour before docking
it was ice cold and freezing
as the vessel like scissors
cut clean through the swell
and the ship’s horn then sounded
and woke those still sleeping
startling the standing
and seagulls as well
and the door opened outwards
on a windswept and dark deck
as a lighthouse and headland
appeared to our right
while the radar was turning
mixing mist with the morning
as we looked over railings
still wet from the night
and the lifeboat above us
secured by strong davits
dripped north sea in droplets
from somewhere on high
and the noise of the engines
grew loud and then quiet
as the spindrift and windchill
danced wild with the sky
and the lights and the silos
of europoort holland
shone blurred with bright colours
as such paintings do
and we stood there transfixed
with our backs towards england
while dawn beckoned others
to stand and stare too.
brace for five inches
frozen forecast repeats “snow”
winter storm coming
“12 to 24”
Weather Channel jumps for joy
winter storm warning!
the blizzard arrives
eighteen hours of snowfall
twenty-one inches
morning reveals drifts
waiting for my shovel's edge
to wreck their beauty
sore, aching muscles
attest to snow-free walkways
shovel stored; wine is poured
breathing is painful
windchill at 30 below
following the storm
brilliant sunshine
crystal drifts of sparkling snow
adorn my city
*A young man went out for a stroll in the snow
Into a remote patch of icy blue Adirondacks.
It's been a few moons since he was last seen.
They discovered his lithium car at the trailhead.
A white broom swept his footprints off the map.
They posted a vision of him sitting in the sunshine.
They're searching low and high for that cherub smile.
Prayers are swirling like glitter in a snow globe.
The ranger whispers about windchill and hope.
The forecaster says a fresh foot more of devilish snow.
They postponed the search until tomorrow.
They say a cardinal may chirp a psalm.
When souls wander into the beyond.
A young man went out for a stroll in the snow.