Long Woodstove Poems
Long Woodstove Poems. Below are the most popular long Woodstove by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Woodstove poems by poem length and keyword.
You know it is cold
You know it is darn cold when the woodstove is going
But the propane furnace just keeps on blowing
When your nostrils freeze outside in the winter air
Ice is curled hanging with snow from the roof everywhere
You know it is cold when smoke bellows from chimneys all around
Everywhere you go there is crunching on the ground!
The dog needs a sweater and winter coat with a hood
Refusing to wear doggie boots, then waits to be carried where she stood
You know it is cold when vehicle struggles to start, taking long to warm up
Then the coffee you hope to have, starts to freeze in the travel cup!
You know it is cold when the driveway is a pond of slippery ice
But, the sand to cover it, freezes as hard as a rock, not nice!
Then you start praying for the temperature to please rise!
And when it reaches above zero you start to celebrate the surprise!
But, this is winter in the Northern New England heights
Just make sure you have warm blankets to get through the nights!
Heidi Sands
1/14/19
SONATA FOR CHRISTMAS EVE RAIN
I. I sit in my friend’s armchair,
waiting for her to get ready for church.
Pianissimo, the raindrops fall in quick, staccato rhythm
on the windows, the roof, and the pool.
I imagine the circles they make on the water.
expanding in echoes only angels can hear.
II. We drive through the valley’s empty green pastures,
to the old country church in Academy.
The raindrops run down the windshield
like notes connecting in smooth legato phrases
made by a piano’s pedal.
III. A fire crackles in the church’s ancient woodstove,
joining the outside rain in an animated duet.
Lead by the antique pump organ,
we stand to sing, becoming part
of their Christmas carol.
Published in Song of the San Joaquin, Winter 2018
I set up my writing spot in front of the window
Then, I found myself in this ongoing trance
Nature was on stage, it chose to put on a show
As the cold wind blew, I watched all the trees dance
The warmth from the woodstove, merged with sunlight
Writing slowed down to a sleepy, calm, inside
A Nuthatch caught my attention upside-down after flight
It seemed my muse had found a refuge to hide
So many distractions, I questioned my writing spot
As the world outside, kept with skipping on by
Yet, the things to write about, surely were a lot
So, I went back to the paper and let my pen fly
Here it all is, observations from inside-out
From warmth to the cold, to the living all around
From stillness to movement, silence to a shout
Writing can be magical from anything that’s found
11/23/21
Entry For the “W” New Poems Poetry Contest. Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Writing
The air smell cloudy,
With a hint of rain.
Come all this way by trustin’
In a thin white cane.
If a wink is as good as a nod,
What’s a brotha ta do?
Should Jesus come again in glory,
Wouldn’t chance to see that, too.
Can’t read the street signs
When I’m walkin’ home.
Don’t never ask directions,
Gotta make it on my own.
Oh, the speck in thy neighbor’s eye…
Some be never so blind.
An honest man in Orleans Parish
Ain’t no easy thing to find.
It’s a game of countin’ footsteps
When I stroll down Rue Dupre
And the landmarks I rely on
Ain’t the kind the eye can see.
My woodstove crackle
When I burn the mail.
The magic wind of radio
Done fill my sail.
Gotta reach for the bulb to tell
If the table lamp on.
A moonless night and empty skyline,
All the brilliant stars are gone.
Sweet voice on FM
Bridges time and space.
You know I’d give the world
If I could touch her face
In a gentle and sensitive way
For to know how she feel.
Get to the pearl inside the oyster
At the bottom of the deal.
Sense desire in her fragrance,
Feel the fire in her skin
Taste the ocean’s salty wonder
When the levee’s giving in.
Don’t say no prayers for me, padre.
When the lights go out,
My soul can find its own way in the dark.
And pretty mama, when I git ya,
I'm gonna lick them ashes off.
Christmas Day, December 25th –
she sits alone in living room;
joyous day for her is but a myth;
this day is filled with sad and gloom.
All her family and friends are gone;
she has no one with whom to share
season’s joy; youth’s happiness foregone;
her spirit filled with doleful air.
Sitting on the sofa all alone;
fire in the woodstove softly burns;
reading poetry of somber tone
in hopes to ease these woeful yearns.
Longing for the love she’s been without,
but Christmas tidings warmly brings
cyber friends to her are reaching out
in hopes to heal her broken wings.
_________________________
Merry Christmas, Dear Heart
December 14, 2018
The Empty Academy Schoolhouse
It stands on a vast green lot,
No trees to shelter it from heavy, gray clouds
on the rolling foothill horizon.
Its thin coat of white paint peels,
revealing bare, dry-rotted wood.
The rickety porch boards,
once sturdy under children’s energetic steps,
look about to collapse at the slightest wind gust.
What’s it like inside?
Puddles of water from the last rain?
Rat’s nest in the woodstove?
Any desks or yellowed books, pencils,
love notes left behind?
A soiled ribbon slid off some girl’s braid?
A chalkboard with spelling words
or arithmetic problems still on it?
What songs, prayers, or memorized poems
still echo off faded, white-washed walls?
When was the first day of school?
When was the last?
What became of all the children,
who once ran around laughing
all over this green meadow?
What happened to ball players,
clover-chain weavers,
kids who picked lupines and fiddlenecks
for their teacher?
Did they leave Academy,
or do they lie in the cemetery on a nearby hill?
Published in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2021 Issue
This old school house is in the tiny pioneer town of Academy, just outside of Fresno, California, near the Sierra Nevada foothills. Some of the descendants of the pioneer families still remain in the area.
Incessant straight line winds, assail us from the East
and as all good sailors know, are good for neither Man nor Beast
The winds that are visiting us, like unwanted visitors from afar
Stay with us, both day and night, their unwelcome presence never hidden
It has one wishing for them to leave. wishing upon Winter's Northern star.
Under forty below, that's what the instruments say
I can feel the temperature drop as on cue by the hour
All panes of glass are well chilled from where I stand
They appear as December's foggy skies, as though from an icy shower.
The power lines outside dance and howl and sway
Crackling as the ice along them shatters in dismay
The shelter struggles to grip them ever tighter still
The house stands firm to keep the winds at bay
Shutters chatter as the winds struggle to them undress.
The raging straight line winds go on and on
A kitchen woodstove holds a crackling relief
to wage its wintery battle with the season
its ongoing struggle to give off more heat
than the wintery cold drafts that the winds force in.
And late in the evening I put my head down to rest
On one of my grandmother's quilts, one of her best
I can hear the winds still howling, as wolves to the moon
As I drift toward my dreamland, my wish is for Spring to come soon.
Copyright Christine A Kysely December 12, 2010
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
It was an early Christmas present
I was so anxious to give it to him
It was so soft and luxurious
I thought how it would keep him warm
With the winter months ahead
Turned out he didn’t need it
He never saw one flake of snow that year
No more walks across the fields
To his creek over the bridge he built
To the cabin with his woodstove
Where he’d percolate fresh coffee
And toast bread on its hot surface
In a flash it was all delegated to a distant past
How I would treasure that snapped photo
Of my father’s precious smile
As he tried on his new fur hunting hat
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~A SIMPLE MAN~ 2020
AP: 1st place 2020
Hazy, hot, stagnant heat with cough
Humidity reaching 100 degrees
Waiting for storms to cool off
And also maybe a cool breeze
Resorting on water to get by
I think I prefer winter and woodstove
I feel like I’m in a fog, like I could cry
Dreams of being in a cool ocean cove
The heat wave has lasted a while here
It’s been a tough summer in many ways
I know others struggle lately everywhere
As we try to hold onto hope these days
A lot of effort to survive and get by
Holding onto faith, love and light
Remember, you are not alone
When there’s an aura like the dark of night
Heidi Sands
7/24/22
As winter waits around the corner,
Some dread the darkened days
But, I don’t forget the sparkling snow
That glistens in the winter sunshine
The flakes that come twirling down,
Fluttering through the winter air
The clear icicles hanging like crystals
Most of all, the special quiet stillness
Of new fallen snow, peace is all around
There is so much in winter to be found
The sunrises and sunsets cast the rays
Between the bare standing winter trees
Spreading light across the white snow
It’s almost blinding, but truly awakening
There’s something about woodstove warmth
Not cocoa, coffee and crockpot dinners
Somehow, inside becomes more comforting
Especially through the long, bitter cold days
I welcome the winter blessings on the way
No other season offers this kind of display
Heidi Sands
10/31/21