Pills.
Like a dried out lawn.
With weeds and a broken birdbath.
Growling.
With hands or without.
Needing medication.
Like teetering on a snowbank.
Avalanche.
Pills.
A shopping cart filled with broken chairs.
There’s no one except a lawnmower.
No one lives here.
Pills.
Tugging at my sleep.
With a broken birdbath in my sleep.
Pills.
They aren’t the spidery kind.
They’re the gracious sight
My own hands.
I placed my sword down in the snow
outside the dragon's lair
and breathed in deep the sulfur smell
that hung in the clean crisp air.
and lo' my heart was heavy
weighted down by my fear and despair
I thought of the king's only daughter
whose beauty was both fragile and fair
The reward was both silver and knighthood
to the subject who braced dragon's den
we started out sixteen and twenty
now our swords numbered fewer than ten
and as the snow fell I called to the others
but found I was now on my own
so i placed deep my sword in a snowbank
then with dagger in hand moved alone
the dragon blew patches of fire
but I leapt fast the fiery blaze
to scale fast the neck of the bellowing beast
and drive in the point of my blade
now when snow falls my queen always
chides me; " be still with that old dragon's tale,
don't you listen to a word that he tells you. It
seems he's had too much ale."
“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome." ~ Anne Bradstreet
Winter’s quick wind slips shadows through my soul,
Risking dawn’s light, leaving a mournful glow.
Deprived winking stars, moon will still console,
Grasping night with promise of graceful flow.
Wintery breath clasps the silent snow’s fall,
Rescuing each flake with cool, frosty thanks.
Gasping at the dance, beauty not so small,
Braving the night, gentling even snowbanks.
Wintertime comes and goes, leaving light trails,
Glistening joys, falling from the night skies,
Racing to meet life with enticing tales,
Memories of sweet love that never dies.
Winter’s easy light glows into the night,
Moving souls to hear its legend so bright.
I will turn back the pages of my tattered life
to when I was five years old and it was my birthday
it was a cold winter day as mom and I strolled to the school
to walk my big sister home- she was running and jumping
climbed a snowbank and slipped into the busy street
mom was screaming- and my life changed forever
on her lawn
four pink plastic flamingos
peak above a March snowbank
twisted forms caught in forlorn evasion
beak-body contortions like wrestlers resilient
in pretzel formation
unmanageable remnants of warmer days
denied the dignity of upright
plastic muck ups, a nostalgic weep of summer
wishing a solar Florida footing
their caught spirit of iced- playfulness
a pink flamboyance
teasing an icy surface
four plastic birds, frozen status
kitsch defensive
misplaced images like on-line love
wing swept longing
to flee this barren snowbank
nudging a tardy spring's erosion
with its courtship fringes
Poem posted April 13, 2023
November descends delicately,
crisp, crimson-gold
landing languidly midway between
'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day'
and 'Now is the winter of our discontent' -
dead center between its nurturing tree
and the leaf pile bound for burning
Casually clad in T-shirt and shorts
on my makeshift cardboard sled
middle age's gravity conveys me irreversibly
down summer's green, grassy slope
towards the snow-shrouded vale -
I find myself halfway between
where I did not want to leave
and where I do not wish to visit
Midway between the eulogy
and the forlorn trumpet playing 'Taps'
it dawns on me that life is not entirely about the
sunshine on our backs nor the coming snowbank
but about searching for the sunrise
on the far side of
the next hill
1 November 2022
thick walls overflow
crystals golden sun rays glow
ice deposits grow
Winter Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Syllable counter PS 5/7/5
01/16/2022
Large
Bobcat
peaked above
the tall snowbank
Then, it slowly walked
sat in the street
looked around,
as it
left
Heidi Sands
12/30/21
Little boy scales the snowbank
in Spider-Man boots
stomping snow,
relentlessly
a focused performance
superboy tantrum, gushing discontent
flattening worlds imagined
crushing lands gripped by villains
His mother, nearby, gleams
like heat under a stove pot
a wary gatekeeper,
extending love unmatched
to watch the giddy rush of boy
to dream a soulful future
to wonder on the needs of self
to view a son's awakening
in the freedom of spaces
Little boy
unfinished work
putting his stamp on joy
as bits of snow fly like a tale unfolding
As a mother watches the elastic bounce of youth,
till the real world runs away with him.
Poem composed: January 23, 2021
Charming in his capotain, and
Christmas-red cape, alongside
His plain-costumed puritan wife.
Maritime tall masts,
Snow-capped spruce,
Blushing-white clouds.
Sailors offload merry assortment —
fancying their Claus-like chores.
Old New York spectates by the shore —
The “blue eye” of the Santa-sea,
Brings old-fashioned fillers
For pudding-plum stockings.
Hard-packed snowbank under their coal-black boots.
Twinkling behind devoted eyes —
Treasure trove of memories to offload to their progeny.
11/25/2019
Based on N.C. Wyeth painting “The Christmas Ship in Old New York”
There once was an elf named Joe
He loved to drink in the snow
He went for a ride
On Christmas, to hide
Got stuck in a snowbank below
12/26/18
*Entry For Let’s Have Fun Poetry Contest. Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Fog on the road, white out conditions.
Cannot see a thing; wind bats car back and forth
Sideways, as we try to advance forward.
Slap. Slap. Drive. Slap. Slap.Drive.
The windshield wipers appeared to have turned on.
Oh, I guess I did do that.
It does not help at all. Slap. Slap. Drive. Slap.Slap. Drive.
Christmas Eve. The car is sliding, we whirl in
A complete circle, BAM! When we hit another car,
The trunk pops open. The gaily wrapped presents begin
Throwing themselves onto the freeway. We are still spinning.
I get a glimpse of a small package, and watch a semi
Smack it away, in a furious head-butt. Spin. Spin. Spin.
Some fool honks. I know we’re in trouble, I think.
Whomp! We land in the side of a snowbank, three
Feet from the freeway. Fog on the road, white house
Conditions. Watch out everyone! And you can stop
Blowing your horns. We know!
As Jack Was Walking in The Snow
Jack saw wife's nightgown on the home snowbank
At first, his heart leaped frogged, and teeth croaked clank
Why his little bare bo-peep
Pulling his buff wool so deep
Soon joy rose and love snowballed at her prank
connie pachecho
2/20/18
Jack slide across the slippery ice to land on his…
Ass frozen like an icicle in the dead of winter…
Calling out “help me, help me!”
Kicking his body every which way he…
Falls yet again on the cold marble floor… of glass…
Rolling and spinning he tumbles steadily toward the edge…
Of the glistening mirror staring back at him…
Singing a chorus of “Ouch, ouch, ouch” he…
Takes a deep breath and finally reaches… the towering…snowbank!
December 7th 2015
For the contest: “Acrostic: Jack Frost”
Written March 8, 2012
Death mixed with morning rain and darkness,
Icy patches hidden on the pavement
Lived comfortably on the outside
As I rode along in my car like the
Planchette of a Ouija board.
Unaware that the power(s) that be
Were battling against each other
To push my car on the board to
Spell out either life or death,
My morning thoughts
Were interrupted
By a 360 spin faster than
The distance between
Two thoughts...
Ending up muffler-first gagged on
A snowbank with nothing,
No one around for miles.
I gazed at the three-lane
Highway where LIFE
Was spelled out this time,
And realized that
DEATH may have been on the
Board thirty minutes later
During a busier time.
Thirty minutes later
Found me talking
To a mechanic
Instead of my family talking
About me in the past tense
And trying to communicate with
Me through the Ouija board.
Death inefficiently cheated
Marked off on My To Do list
For the day.
How many more times will
I be able to mark that off?
Dare I ask the Ouija board
Knowingly sitting in the corner
Of my closet?
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