iI have raised giants
both could pull me on big sleds
mush my doggies mush
The poet is a physician of sorts
tending care to the physical
of his craft -- His patients, the
hearts and souls of humanity --
Latching belts on sleds of words
a-summit he descends, precariously
no safe tracks when in lyric free-fall
Altitudes and scathing depths
are the wails and screeches of
his siren journey down -- when and
where, a dicey pit travel...critics
offer no parachutes...and his lovers
often unavailable, amending their
own wrong steps. Can a writer really make
it safely to the other side, through the creative
pressures of ever revolving mantles and imperative
crushing cores!?
Getting hard to hide here,
Wanting to fully disappear,
Anxiety has got a chokehold,
This demon has gotten bold,
Talon's buried deep into me,
Try to run but cannot flee,
Each struggle darkness embeds,
Pulling heavy burden sleds,
Ground has turned to tar,
Unable move forward far,
Strain becomes to heavy to bare,
Chokehold's now stopped my air,
Gotten to hard to hide here,
I'll never fully disappear.
Mistletoe and jingle bells
Holidays are here
Christmas lights and
Snowy hills no longer bare
Icy cold and icicles
Treats are being baked
Cookies and breads all that’s good
To celebrate Santa’s wake
And I in my robe
All nice and warm
Sipping eggnog
Ignoring the norm
Horse drawn sleighs
Children on sleds
Laughing and joking
Happiness in their heads
Sugarplums and mistletoe
Carole’s in the street
Laughter and freedom
People are so sweet
Ambrosia and clotted cream
Spread on warm baked buns
Celebrating here at last
Music centered on the fun
Surprise! six inches fell
Silently through the night,
Secretly, unforeseen.
School cancelled, sleds are launched
Salt brine is useless now.
Stay home, no shoveling,
Sunshine will seize the day.
Silent nights and silent days
Silver pines of yesterday
Still-celebrating reprise
of rosy cheeks and snowy heights
of treetop angels and brilliant lights
Glowing bulbs and flying sleds
Destiny in dreamy beds
for morrow’s Christmas
is presenting and unwrapping
Springtide memories are clapping
It is snowing! It is snowing! It is SNOWING!
Three children I usually have to drag out of bed are heading for the front door.
I say “don’t forget your bookbags! Don’t you want breakfast?”
Mom, it’s SNOWING! Says the middle one. No school. Right?
I begin to laugh. This is Minnesota. We don’t cancel school here.
An abdominable snowman could be eating busloads of kids,
we would not cancel.
An avalanche could bury six cars on the school road.
We would not cancel.
MINNESOTA I remind them.
We used to live in California where they would cancel school for rain.
They begin grumbling, put their pajamas on, and try to feign illness.
Too late, I say. I saw how fast you got dressed and got those sleds out.
I hear grumbling all the way to the bus where other kids are yelling “Snow!”
I could not relate to the carols;
about jolly, happy snowmen,
when I sculpted in the sand.
I could not relate to the carols;
about riding sleds through the snow,
when I was riding my bike, in the sun.
I could not relate to the carols;
about sitting by a crackling open fire,
when I was sitting by an air-conditioner.
I could not relate to the carols;
about gliding over a pond of ice,
when I was swimming in a cool, blue sea.
I could not relate to the carols;
about lands of winter wonder,
when I stood under a raging sun.
I could not relate to the carols;
about falling snow and freezing cold,
when the land I saw was dry
and
I was sweltering hot.
Of feet crinkles crispy snaps with your mate,
as the ebbing tides that breaths winter's fate.
Echoes summons a dusty field in white,
closets freed skis and sleds still not quite right.
Few sunflowers escort its mentored sun,
facing their eastward repose position.
Brisk breeze tails a crafted shawl snuggly wrapped,
home, hot cider, lit fire, read book is lapped.
A forested cabin that's well-engaged
coast reservedly entertained assuage
A prominence forestalls in burgundy,
copper, and blonde. Snowflakes smooch tenderly
the fallen perianths. Forgivingly
melts to a smooth touch that norms Autumn's eve.
Blue haired witch with the rounded hat
You are not what we expected said the cat
The others in the coven wear points on their heads
In our town, she told him, our cats ride sleds.
Where are you from? The cat asked, feeling persnickety.
A place you have not heard of, near Broken Knee.
Under the snow, a million light years away.
Where magical blue-haired witches laugh and play.
Can I go there? The cat asked, intrigued by her story.
She threw back her head and said “Rice and Cakes Glory!”
If I brought you there, they would make fun of you too.
Our cats are rainbow colors – purple, orange, yellow and blue.
A one-time backpacking zebra with a rah rah rah
Went down the mountain sliding down a long seesaw
We yelled hey wait! Don’t you usually walk.
He gave us a rude hand gesture; and a little squawk.
I did not know that backpackers rode down sleds I yelled.
He mooned me good, which I thought was even ruder still.
I was glad when he ran into a picnic table at the bottom of the hill.
Which was not kind, but it was the way I felt said my brother Bill.
Once upon a time
It just got cold and windy.
Now we have felt temperatures
Wind chills
Bombogenesis.
Snow days used to be fun.
NO SCHOOL…..YIPPEE!!!
We would ZOOM down the hills
On whatever would slide
Sleds, plastic “spinny” things,
Occasionally socks
Would replace wet mittens
Plastic bags would go over shoes
To allow easy entry to galoshes.
((Mom’s were magicians back then))
Snowballs were legal.
Snowmen were called….SNOWMEN.
Snow angels caused no controversy.
((Well, truth be told, I made a few snow devils))
((used one of the snowman’s arms for the horns))
For homework….
Tomato soup, Ritz crackers
A blanket and Howdy Doody.
((Damn, am I old))
John G. Lawless
©2/5/2023
Hurry up and go;
Slow down and wait;
Drink when your hungry;
and Fast when your thirsty?
~
Dream while your awaken;
Sleep while your body is dead;
Even blindmen read books;
Some even drive, toboggans and sleds;
12/15/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
cold, but
sun’s bright
season’s
grand sight
pure snow
gleaming
thrilled kids
screaming
snowballs
soaring
day’s not
boring
sleds are
gliding
grandma’s
riding!
snowmen
makers
cookie
bakers
cocoa
mixers
supper
fixers
great day
near-gone
“Good night,”
all yawn
December 6, 2022
placed 5th in a Brian Strand Contest
A poem, beautiful as snow,
She sparkles with a wintry glow.
Like falling frost upon each pine,
each word: complex and crystalline.
With magic sifted in each fractal,
The snow resembles every dactyl.
Hot chocolate, sleds, the fireplace-
Are comforts like the poems’ grace.
A novelty, a Christmas treat,
a lovely poem storms like sleet.
A winter’s day with snowing skies
Is poems in a white disguise.
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