Where in the world does satisfaction dwell?
Tempt a poor with money once.
He will let out such a wail
Dissatisfied faces gather in a bunch.
I witnessed those drowned in greed
Ones I believed were a symbol of sanctity.
Though terrified to question their creed
Yet I know without desires exist no entity.
I stumbled one day in a forest
When looked up, displayed a competition.
Trees shot toward the sun, leaving behind the rest
They stifle, subjugate and obstruct without hesitation.
Rivers yet are quite manipulating
They carve a compelling story
Once acknowledged as calmed, now invading
Eroded, shoveled and marked its territory.
Snowplows rumble through the night.
A distant tomorrow
already applauds a surprised sunrise.
Later, Sol turns the slushy ice to diamonds
while it digs the world out again.
For a while, the land is shoveled up,
cleaned and rolled into paper-light reams.
Whether the earth melts
or grows backyard glaciers,
skyscraping winds will blow down
deeper than ever before.
Eventually winter pileups
are pushed back
by the steamy breath of labor
and the prayers of those who only watch.
Machines continue cleaning up dead spaces,
constructing viewing platforms
for the fur-fluffed and swift winged onlookers.
Lazarus moments come and go
between the humped heaps of ice and snow.
I’m restless as everything being shoveled, gone, and lost.
I have enough gears leftover to store nerves.
And drastic guitar strings handed over to me.
The types of manic piano keys all over and over.
Shoveled, eaten, and swamped.
I’m restless as everything over there.
In the old pond with shiny things.
Algae coming to life.
Over there, crispy.
Whooshing.
I’m restless as the end of a gold skeleton.
Or a bobbing up and down coin.
I’m restless as a crunchy sound.
Guitar leaves.
I fell asleep somehow.
Shiny, restless, gone.
When Mrs. Autumn said good-bye, and Mr. Winter came to say hello
He brought with him a great surprise- two feet of heavy snow
I shoveled my walk, my drive, and porch and spread some salt to melt
That's when I noticed on my lower-back there was something there I felt
I know you think I've pulled a muscle and I'm feeling lots of pain
But I feel fine, in fact, I'm feeling good... all thanks to Mary Jane
With a glass of apple cider and a splash of honeyed rum
No longer will I feel my pain, but I will feel a little numb
Now walking like a hunchback- like the one from Notre Dame
I had to take some Percocet to keep me feeling calm
I've never drank or did drugs before- well, maybe just a smidge
But that was way back in the day, when I built the Brooklyn bridge
she spent her day traveling from nap to nap
the dogs and cats laid around, lethargic
they were all becoming listless, non-moving slugs
once upon a time she had been energetic
she had a great job, and a lovely life
but then she was laid off work
Her husband left her, and her sister was in a car wreck
She tried happy pills, but they did not work
For the last two weeks she has been an avid napper
Her house is so dirty, it would have to be shoveled out
She has no desire to do that or anything else
Her energy level is at an all-time low
The battery in her phone has run down to empty
she was not returning calls anyway
when she is this low she wants to be alone
Poetry can be deep,
lord knows I have
shoveled some! Or shallow,
everyone loves icing --
instructive~ insight into
truth, passing go, a 1000
erudite words equal one, honest
poetic portrait --
size may somewhat count
with sex...but poetry, is
lasting intimacy –
as mysterious as love
and insolvable as God --
It was like someone tried to bury me in the snow.
I woke up.
I shoveled for half an hour.
Snow is dangerous.
I hope I don’t die.
Panicking.
I could have a heart attack, heart attack.
But I made it inside to make hot chocolate.
Heart attacks don’t let you go back inside.
I grab gloves.
Yes, that helps my frozen fingers.
If snow was all there was, I would make a million snowmen.
And they would be friends.
Like she was.
The wind starts blowing snow around.
Look outside, look outside.
The snow hides the grass.
Then the dirty snow hides under new snow.
Her car is collecting snow in the junk yard.
It was the third time it had snowed this winter.
Then the fourth.
Then the fifth.
It never melts, just turns into ice.
I wish I liked a lot of ice in my water, so I could drink it all up.
But that could never be.
It will continue to snow.
Until everyone else is buried too.
It’s cold
It snowed
I shivered
I shoveled
A Solstice sun
Silently smirked
Iridescent icicles
Licked their lips
A crunch of crusted snow
Battled the scritch of shovels
Headless snowmen
Wandered in wonder
I shoveled
I shivered
It snowed
It’s cold
The Abba clones were about to perform
Suddenly Bob felt his feet wet and warm
Anna screamed "diarrhea!"
Mum yelled "mamma mia"
While their pug pup hid inside its fly swarm
Pip had gifted the gig wet smelly poop
Made Anna gag as she shoveled each scoop
At an abnormal level
A proud deed for this devil
For its contents were like newt eye witch soup
Back in February.
We shoveled away our snow.
In March?
Our kites would freeze in mid air.
In April…
We would have burning days for no reason, while others are just like winter all over.
May is not perfect either.
Bugs arise.
Grass is out of control.
The air is hot, but the ocean is too cold to dive in.
I could go on about Michigan weather.
Before we know it, fall arrives.
And winter is around the corner.
As we wait for March again.
So many earths to unearth....
worlds that define my history
like a geological time capsule;
you see,
I hid them from seas
of terror
in a world of fear.
I shoveled them down
for years,
until I forgot how they look like.
Sometimes I exhume them
for remembrance,
only to crowd my mind
with unnecessary mess
all over again......
Docked your own can it tote-n-land home
Locked unknown antidote to amp the mode
Clamped-n-sewn your stamp will show
Plan it slow in a long tramp you know
Boat the load and camp your stow
Go for broke to brand a glow
Sold your joke now stand-n-soak
Hold folk accountable and count your table
Don't poke a mountable route make a staple
Flow on ropes tight like cable
Low-n-behold a dangle blame angle
Won't hold me-n-strangle in a shame shamble
That’ll level the bevel playing field left disheveled
Hips shoveled as his groveled
It’s bliss behold miss molted
Changes skin manages kin
Estranges them bandages again
Rearranges agendas to gain
Free ranges attendance scars remain
Eerie chances dependence hard refrain
Flee dances of steep step stances
Weep wept lands won’t weaken plans
We keep kept cans to seep sunken strands
A snow-filled world
is a bowl just so wide
with an intimate, friendly
feeling inside.
Earth's lonesome toil
was the dark yesterday;
soon it will stain
crystal carpet to grey.
But in world lately born,
they lock arms and shout
where the boot tracks meet
when the path's shoveled out.
Quick-frozen blossoms
sprout from hellos
and flower from fellow
explorers of snows.
A bouquet of echoes
to exile has come
in a sealed packet pocked
by a wet woolen thumb.
Unlovely dear blot,
it remembers the thrill
of a streak down the slide
of a snow-covered hill,
The trailing fine thread
of skates spinning by,
a braided ski path
binding valley to sky.
Reach out a greeting
with frost-reddened hand;
sun-burned fingers
trace in dry white sand.
Does March ever quit
to be the wildest month?
Isn't its fury a serious threat
to the crows who munch
on anything, they can find?
We bundle up not to catch a cold,
saving a trip to the doctor's office is so smart;
Grandma always said, " To keep warm:
wear your woolen scarf, gloves, and hat!"
I listened to her warning as a good kid should;
can granny's advice misinform?
It's time for the shovels to come out
of the storage room, I'm the first
to grab one; every morning I shoveled snow
that was two feet while the frightened neighbors
watched me from inside their frosted windows;
I screamed at them saying," Come out
and join me, more snow is to come! "
But no, they stayed inside enjoying my show!
Do winds blow harder on freezing days in January...
scattering the flocculent snow anywhere they can?
Which one is the fiercest month: February?
They all are winter's bad omen to spread doom,
making us dream about the flowers in bloom;
isn't this harsh punishment more than a ban?
Does March ever quit
it's a dramatic play of self-rage and insanity;
who would challenge it
and halt at once the spiteful winds of frenzy?
l
WHERE I AM!
“Where am I?” I ask,
an aging citizen in a small cold place
in Upstate New York
…..but my fellow citizens
in the suburban towns have
given up on my City and its
proud but struggling peoples,
they want to slink in and work
then flee as fast as the Interstates
will allow….but I want to live
in a work of art in progress,
participate in the unfolding of
faith, opportunity, good work
rewarded not only with money,
property and the pursuit of
happiness, but with the spiritual
fulfillment of taking care of
one another……..
Yesterday, the afternoon high was nine degrees,
it was bright and sunny, I shoveled the snow, said
a prayer of thanksgiving for the place where I
live, knowing my wife was waiting
inside, knowing I was blessed and
always have been!
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