Beavers trolley snow for built dams.
Cleverness in their small minds,
Everyone has a place in the workshop,
Where wood is transferred as paper binds.

Keep on ice fishing
Until the sunsets winter red
And turns to twilight blue.
Snowmen sled nocturnal nights instead.

Owls give a hoot for the racket
Outside a gleam to keep on building,
Keep on building snowmen until frost covers wool jackets...
Keep on building snowmen until you know the beavers finished the dams...

See them coming, creeping after you
Closer, closer they are coming still
You try to run, cold ice grips your shoe
Zombie snowman will strip your will

Coal mouths show their deadly fangs
Carrot noses will always smell you out
Twigs are where their arms now hangs
You are too scared to scream or shout

Cold is their soul, they never stop
Feed on you until they have their fill
Wearing strange looking hats on top
Zombie snowmen will strip your will

But I can stop them, I can do them harm
I have a weapon, now them I will face
Ready for them, blow torch under my arm
Prepared to battle them for the human race

They keep coming, more than before
I am cornered on top of this hill
I try to fight, but there are many more
Zombie snowmen will strip your will




copyright Chris Smith 2010

trip up the island to see all the folk
monopoly, pong => pig 'n a poke
crystalline glass with dark bitter ale
Santa is looking a little bit pale

cherry red cheeks from a chilled chardonnay
one sailing wait for the talk of the day
drum sticks and dressing are the pick of the bird
chestnuts and brandy for gravy being stirred

brussels and taters are pulled from the bake
pears in the salad bring memories of Jake
sparks from the fire with rich amber glow
grey hair and wrinkles will come...don't you know?

gingerbread man with a white icing smile
candy cane schnapps (with its seasonal style!)
pine cones and tinsel that cover the tree
carols are humming from churches and streets

cold winter nights are the best of the year
chocolate and eggnog await with good cheer
a heavy thick fog approaches the sound
the comforts of Christmas, with joy all around!

At four, you took my hand and pulled me to your bed,                                                            
your small form cuddling, curling, you urgently said,
"Tell me… tell me a story! Story, make it long",
I began to tell the story, the story of when you were born.

Drums and bugles, bubbles and balloons,
somersaulting clowns and calliope tunes,
you came out to meet them, on the day that you were born,
and they were there to greet you, through a January storm.

Lions and gorillas marched to military airs,
snowmen and snowwomen danced without a spring time care,
somewhere in the harbor, a tugboat played a note,
and all the while you smiled a smile, upon a birthday float.

Just like a circus troupe, we formed a great parade,
and sauntered to the birthing bed where your mother lay,
she picked you up, she held you, as close as close can be,
her hand in mine, she softly said, “Now... we are three.”

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks

The river had been rising.
It is now close to flood stage.
There's  a need for sandbaggers.
Workers of most every age.

With the water pipes breaking,
With weather that's near zero,
The work will be bone chilling,
What people will want to go?

Some kids had a lucky hat.
Snowmen, they started to make.
Sandbagging was sure in need.
Sandbags would be no mistake.

Though snowmen could not throw bags,
Or they would be washed away.
They switched with those filling bags,
More men could throw bags that way.

Where the bags were being filled,
It was near twenty below,
And also a cold wind chill ,
And a blizzard spewing snow.

When they passed out free coffee,
Snowmen said that's very nice.
If we were to drink coffee,
We would soon be turned to ice.

With ease we'll take this weather.
Brave, you humans sure must be.
We're glad to be of some help.
How frozen you are we see.

i can see myself in you,
and i might like that*

last winter's first snow
do you remember?
we were salt that won't help defrost
and hoped summer was in permanent slumber

pebbles and branches
three ***** of snow
our little snowman was ready to go
then i thought summer stayed on your lips

i wonder what's so great about snowmen
do you see yourself in them?

the snow falls sincerely sorry,
like a pale yellow skirt at the foot of your bed-
i always said, "i didn't mean it".
but i meant it.
it's that time of the year,
where you'll wrap yourself in wool and leathers,
in hopes no one will feel just how cold you truly are,
but i can feel it.
you drink your whiskey straight,
yet feel too inhumane to rest your lips on the same bottle
as the only people who've ever loved you drink from.
your glass gets frosty.
you blow hot, pungent air between your teeth like steam,
in hopes we'll see you as some frightening machine,
instead of how you really are when you forget
that you should be holding up your fashionably unfashionable walls.
you're just another washed up actor,
who somehow lost the ability to differentiate between being on-set,
and being alive.
so you lie.
frantically,
frivolously,
and frusterated,
that nobody you trust can trust you to be you.
the scenes that you build get muddled and confused,
rendered too busy by your lack of attention
and over-use of the exact same hues.
you used to seem so beautiful,
until i found your pallet
under your worn-down mattress...
you only paint with grey.
oh, how you tried
to hide the colors that i am under a tweed cloak of comfort ability,
but i don't fade,
and i most certainly do not run.
i change every day,
and when i begin to hate the direction that my masterpiece is heading in,
i change course entirely.
i abandon the compass,
and the guide books,
and stampede across the pages,
until i become the new and improved version of who i was yesterday.
stop pretending,
and just be.
you wear your "fight" face everyday,
as if you may have to chase a pride of giggling hyenas away
at any given moment.
put down your knife and act right,
no one here wants to hurt you.
you hurt me,
you tried to hide me,
and you lied to me.
still, 
all i want to do is teach you.
teach you to let go of your charade,
to embrace the life you've made,
and how to paint the sunset as a sunset-
not a eulogy.

Winter Vacation was coming
The kids were all set
They were thinking of Christmas
And the gifts they would get

But, Millie sat waiting
Thinking of nothing but snow
Watching the class clock
That was moving so slow


They did arts and crafts
Made cute cards for their folks
Sang old Christmas songs
And told old Christmas jokes

But Millie, our Millie
Was miles away
Thinking of Michigan snow
In which she'd soon play

She packed up her things
Then the bell filled the air
She waved to the teacher
And burst out of her chair

Faster than reindeer
She was gone from the school
Off to get packed
For a vacation so cool

She ran all the way home
She had sweat on her face
Left her books at the door
And grabbed her pink case

Millie was ready
With one thing on her mind
She was off to see snow
And leave the sunshine behind

She'd packed and unpacked
Twice every night
Now she was sure
That her bag was packed right

Winter vacation
In the north in the snow
She'd be there in hours
Just one night to go

She tossed and she tumbled
But she woke right at five
She showered and dressed
She felt so alive

They loaded the car
And they left in a rush
Millie was set
And gave her hair a quick brush

They got to the airport
At nine twenty two
They checked her small bag
Which was nearly brand new

They went to the gate
They met a woman in tan
He said "Hello, there Millie"
"I'm your steward...names Anne"

"Before we go on"
"There's someone else you should meet"
"He's a pilot, our Captain"
"And his name is Pete"

She kissed Mom goodbye
And she kissed her dad too
Anne took her aboard
To sit in seat number two

Millie was nervous
But, excited as well
She told Anne her feelings
Anne said "I won't tell"

The plane taxied out
Left the ground with a roar
Millie's tummy, it rumbled
Like it had never before

Anne came and sat
In the seat by her side
She said "Look over there"
"Those are clouds right outside"

Millie and Anne
Talked all the way there
Of the Christmas to come
They made quite a pair

The Captain announced
They were all set to land
When the plane hit the ground
Millie grabbed Anne's right hand

The big door then opened
They got off of the plane
At the end of the ramp
She saw her cousin, named Jane

Her Grandparents met her
Thanked Anne, said good bye
Anne said "Have a Good Christmas"
Millie said "I'll certainly try"

Jane and her brother
Had come for Christmas as well
With her Grandparents and cousins
Christmas was sure to be swell

They went to pick up her luggage
And then go out to the truck
Her bag came out first
It was her Christmas luck

The first thing she saw
As she held Grandpa's hand
Was no snow on the ground
This was not what she'd planned

Her parents had told her
About the Michigan snow
About snowmen, and snowballs
And the wind, how it'd blow

She kept quiet, said nothing
There was no snow to be seen
As she looked out the window
The grass was still green

Maybe, just maybe
I'm early she thought
It'll snow here tomorrow
Today is too hot

She played with her cousins
Called her folks about four
Rode bikes that her Grandpa
Bought them all at the store

Nothing was different
It was just like at home
No snow blowing white
Nothing fluffy like foam

She went to bed early
It had been a long day
She kissed her grandparents goodnight
And then hit the hay

She dreamed of the winters
Of the snow on the ground
She dreamed about snowmen
And climbing up a snow mound

The next morning she woke
Ran and opened the drape
Wrapped it round her neck
And looked outside, with her cape

Green as could be
For as far as she looked
There was no snow here
Millie felt she'd been rooked

She sat quiet at breakfast
Made barely a sound
Then she asked Grandma
"Why's there no snow on the ground?

"My big Christmas wish"
"Was to snow, snow...for real"
"It's just like at home"
"Grandma, what's the big deal?"

"We've had some strange weather"
"It's been warm every day"
"They just do not know"
"How long it will stay"

"I'm sorry dear Milie"
"This is just how it's been"
"I'm afraid that this Christmas"
"Is one that is green"

Millie, sat silent
Went outside then to play
There was no snow coming
There'd be no snow today

Depressed as she was
She had fun, best she could
Riding bikes around town
It was fun, but not good

With one day till Christmas
She called up her Dad
In the call she then told him
Of how she felt sad

She loved both her cousins
And her grandparents too
But, she just couldn't go
And do what she wanted to do

She'd come up to the north
To have some fun with the snow
She wanted to leave
But, she'd not let them know

They had dinner at six
Millie went up to bed
She was asleep in a moment
Christmas dreams in her head

At seven oh three
She woke up, looked outside
And she stood at the window
With her eyes open wide

The front lawn was covered
There was snow all around
She woke up her cousins
Down the stairs they did bound

They opened the door
To a yard full of white
Christmas had come
Bringing snow in the night

Out on the road
She says other kids too
All in their pjs
And some with no shoes

They were all throwing snowballs
Making angels as well
this was what she had wanted
Christmas was gonna be swell

During the night
While the kids were asleep
Out to the arena
Grandpa did creep

He'd called in some favours
Got the snow from the rink
Then they brought it out here
"Christmas magic" they'll think

The kids can't have Christmas
With no snow to be seen
It just isn't Christmas
With a yard that is green

Phone calls were made
To some other rinks too
And the ski hill as well
Knew what they must do

A parade of dump tucks
And machines that both blew
Came to help Grandpa Joe
Make Millie's Christmas wish true

It lasted four hours
Then it melted away
But, for Millie, our Millie
It was her best Christmas day

Wishing is magic
And dreams, they are too
So, believe just like Millie
And make your Christmas wish true

Leaving carbon footprints in the snow
as the ice caps melt
snowmen are becoming extinct

AFTER THE ROW

Built an over large
snowman

on your front doorstep
&
hid behind it.

Rang your doorbell

until you were annoyed
by it.

“Yes...yes! ”
you flung open the door

to be confronted
with a snowman

telling you
he loved you

until slowly

your heart
began

to melt.

**

SNOWBALL WARS!

Use a shiny blue megaphone
to magnify the menace

in my voice.

My snarl barks curt commands

as authentic as
any movie scene I've seen

with a Rod Steiger fat ugly cop
tone.

'We know you're in there! '

'We've got the house surrounded! '

'You don't stand a chance! '

'Give yourself up & come out with
yer hands up! '

And, it's true:

I have ringed the house
with an army of snowmen

(some better trained than others)

others a little shaky
nothing more than half-made rookies.

Their nasty little coal black eyes
trained on the door

a snowball in each of
their twitchy twiggy fingers

more for effect than
actual firepower.

I command
from behind the line.

My little pyramid
of snowballs at the ready

waits eagerly at my right hand
longing to be thrown.

A tense suspenseful
second that seems to last for ever

then suddenly
you emerge

a human blur
dashing from the door

like the last freeze frame from
BUTCH CASSIDY & THE SUNDANCE KID.

My army of snowmen
are caught on the hop

frozen to the spot
not expecting the unexpected.

'What now...boss? '
they scream

losing their nerve.

You are armed
to the teeth

with snowballs
frozen from the fridge

one or two snowmen
have already lost their heads

another has his snowball
shot from his hand

as you break through
the cordon

determined to take me
down.

Get me
(you reckon)

& all the snowmen
will just cave in

turn
& run.

Your lipstick
yells redly

(voice made visible)

I take a snowball
to the heart

fall in almost
slow motion

as you leap upon me

kiss me

...to death!

Where the grapes you eat are red and green
But the ones you draw are purple

Where you love your parents with all of your heart
But pretend you’re an orphan when you play with friends

Where the monsters that lurk in closets and under beds
Can be destroyed by the light of day

Where a stinging, aching cut or bruise
Can be healed by a kiss

Where a girl can transform into a fairy princess
By slipping on a voluminous pink tutu

Where a boy becomes a conquering hero
By arming himself with an intimidating roll of wrapping paper

Where a slightly unkempt yard
Becomes a jungle full of tigers and serpents

Where an in ground pool
Becomes an ocean whose depths must be explored

Where winter
Is a season for snowmen and presents

Where summer
Is a season for ice cream and beaches

Where Mommy
Is the best chef, nurse, and storyteller

Where Daddy
Is the great protector, hug giver, and handyman

Where science has no bearing
Because rainbows and lightning come from magic

Where logic doesn’t make sense
Because the powers of love and fantasy are illogical

And there is no place for suffering
Because pain is overshadowed by innocence

Do you want to build a snowman or would you rather **** it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wrapped around with electric fire
spewing out the storage heater.

I have to pay someone whom I have never met
a quarterly bill getting larger by the minute.

Oh for the freedom of a child who knows nothing of the World
save butterflies and flowers all summer long

and snowmen in the midst of winter
while sledging down the hill.

When I was a kid
I remember watching the comedy channel
Not in my own house, mind you
My parents were too smart for that
When I was a kid hanging out at my friend's houses watching the comedy channel
I remember
A slogan
Time.  Well.  Wasted.
And I remember thinkin'
"Oh!  Yea!  I like that!  Imma sit here a lil' longer!"
I was just a boy at the time and that's as far as the thought got
About a half-hour later we decided time was better wasted building gigantic, man-eating snowmen.
Eventually I went home
I wasted some time arguing with my parents about schoolwork, ate a bowl of cereal and wasted the next 8 hours in a comatose
I woke up to waste the next several years of my life figuring out how to waste the NEXT several years of my life
Somewhere in there someone told me I should do what I feel called to do so I wasted time waiting for a sign of some kinda magicy, Jesus voodoo
While I was waiting I wasted time reading Ecclesiastes and learned about what a waste of time it is to read Ecclesiastes
So I tried filling my time with all the things that weren't supposed to BE a waste of time but then I didn't have any time so I fell flat on my face on the edge of the vortex that is the human condition!
And I cried, "God!"
"Why do you waste your time with a foolish and selfish sinner like me?"
And the almighty, holy, infinitely incomprehensible, incredible God of the Universe replied
"Time.  Well.  Wasted."

How we are like a snowflake each our own shape.
We’re all born pure, and land wherever the wind takes us.
Our destination is never for certain, for a cloud over a calm field,
May have flakes land in a distant fire,
Or fall to the concrete and get shoveled aside
Forgotten of their magic and stomped to ice.
Not you, the flake on the other side of the mountains,
The flake that is part of an aura of calmness and peace.

How we are like a snowflake each magical and full of potential.
Some turned to snowmen or formed to angels,
Others turn to ***** for a joyous fight,
Some flakes fall on mountain tops and remain up there for years,
Others fall to that same mountain and cause an avalanche.
Some fall to rivers and wash away and are never seen,
Not you, the flake that remains the same, that is untouched by time
And unscathed by hands and prints, needing no other form to remain beautiful.

Some flakes get walked all over turned hard and cold,
Unfavorable to be around and hurtful when one falls.
Other flakes are turned to homes providing shelter and comfort.
You’re that flake free and soft, still able to fly with the wind.
You’re that snowflake in the wilderness, the clean snowflake
Not covered in dirt, not marked, and not yet on top of the mountain,
But that snowflake that is full of so much potential and beauty.
Oh how we are like a snowflake, and how you’re brilliant among us all.

When you live in the suburbs like I do and like I always have,
the same house even, there is an intimacy that develops- real or imagined -with your neighbors. It's like those dreams we sometimes have about people and places that really do exist, but it just ain't quite what it's supposed to be , but we accept it anyway, because it's a dream and in that ethereal realm of dreams -that's what you do ...you accept the normally unacceptable.
       For instance, who could ever have imagined that the Rosses ,who live at 1423 ,would turn out to be secret swingers ? Mr. Ross is 62 years old, probably five foot nine with a horseshoe ring of white on white  cotton- fluff hair,  perched on his round pink scalp,  over his round pink face , accentuated by round -wire rim- glasses perched on his nose and a  little white mustache that hangs under his nose - like an afterthought.
    Mrs Ross is a  slightly rounded little woman that  always wears  flowery dresses, and  those god awful  tortoiseshell glasses secured to a  string around the neck  like secretaries and librarians often wear.   Her hair would also be white , if not for her habit of having it dyed blue , as is a habit of many suburban housewives of her age .
     So it would be impossible to ever imagine this pair of- short , jolly - suburbanites as secret swingers , but it's true. . I know!  Because I've seen them at it .  About 2 years ago- while Billy Joe Randall , Macy and me were( oh yeah my name is Rance Reed short for Clarence -but don't call me that ) anyway; where was I -oh yeah -we were down at the little pocket park on Grove Street- sitting behind a hydrangea bush-smoking a fatty- and telling each other lies that no one believes anyway, when we saw the Rosses walking toward the park, holding hands as they were often doing.
     Mr Ross looked into the park- suspiciously - as if he were afraid a  hit- man were  hiding somewhere .  There  for a moment I thought he could possibly smell our smoke.,but seemingly satisfied with his inspection, the two of them strolled -hand in hand - across the grass to the playground area where the spring horses , the merry-go-round and swings were.  Mrs Ross perched herself on the rubber - sling like - seat of a swing as Mr Ross pushed to get her started and then he climbed aboard the one to her left .  Using  that see-saw motion one uses to get himself going and then the two of them sat there -swinging and laughing together -for almost an hour.   Sometimes we could hear Mr. Ross go varoooom varoooom and Mrs. Ross would go wheeeeee. It  was the funniest thing that I've ever seen and the three of us sat there making jokes and laughing at them.   Three 23 year old wasted wastrels thinking that laughing at this spectacle was the right thing to do . Then a little while later , as a melancholy wave washed over us like a sea tide , we all stopped laughing.  All three of us -I believe - realized that jealousy is a hard pill to swallow while you're laughing . Looking back at that now I'm a  little  ashamed of myself.  So yeah, the Rosses were secret swingers , but you would never know it by looking at them--- (Oh!  You thought I meant the other kind of swingers. didn't you ? )   -anyway ; where was I ?- Oh  yeah .-     I believe they were sort of embarrassed about the whole thing so I've never said a word  to anyone  about what I saw -until now.  
     Then there is old man George (call me GL ) Angleton and his wife Sarah.   Theirs was the big grey, split -level rock and cedar  house that  dominates the very end of the cul-de-sac we live on called Grayson circle . An enormous porch dominates the front and that is the first thing anyone  - turning onto Grayson Circle- sees after making the turn.   The Angeltons house was always the most decorated house on the block , no matter the holiday,  especially at Christmas- when a raucous mix a snowmen, reindeer and especially Santa's, gathered under the thousands of twinkling lights each year.    There were so many Santas on the lawn, on the roof ,along the porch , one climbing the chimney   that- I always thought - it  looked  like the gathering together of Santa's for a Santa gang fight.
   Halloween was another special time with the Angeltons when they gave out more -kinds and just plain more -candy to all the kids than anyone else for blocks  around or even miles around. One year Mr. Angleton gave a comic books along with the candy to every kid  that  came to the door.
    So who could have ever imagined that just 6 months ago ,  2 days before Christmas , Mr Angleton , who was always of sweet disposition  and always quick to give you a warm smile or a compassionate pat on the shoulder would shoot and **** his wife Sarah and then turn the gun on himself ?  NOBODY!!!
   Certainly not me.
   No, you cannot just see the outside of a house, with the flocks of flowers , the nice neat lawn  and charming old rocking chairs on the porch and really know anything about the heights of happiness or  the depths of despair that live or die behind the front doors .
    When I was growing up , you sure couldn't have done any of that at my house. Looking back now I realize that G.L .didn't put out any decorations last Christmas .
        I should have noticed that.     Yeah , I really should have noticed that!

White, cold,
wet and crispy.
For skiing
and making snowmen.

There is a Christmas Story
For each light upon the tree
A tale to share with others
For each light that you can see
Stories of the presents
Of the times from long before
There are stories in the light string
Go to the past...step through the door

Each light brings on a feeling
As each decoration does as well
There are stories long forgotten
There are stories you should tell
Of Uncle Mike and Aunty Pat
Of skiing down the hill
Of Christmas' from long ago
You think about them still

A simple decoration
Brings a picture to your mind
Of the Christmas you first got this
Of the friends you've left behind
Of road hockey on Christmas Day
And making snowmen in the yard
It doesn't take much to find the memory
It really isn't all that hard

The tree and place is different
And the people come and go
Remember back that Christmas
When there wasn't any snow
The pictures may be buried
And the gifts, now out of sight
But, if you look closely at the tree now
You'll see a story in each light

Spend some time this Christmas
Sing some songs, remember back
Of the Christmas's forgotten
Of the people you've lost track
Look deep inside the light string
Find the stories in each light
Tell the stories to your loved ones
On this Merry Christmas night

We used to Imagine things...
You and I
and the kids down the street
We used to ring doorbells
and scrape knees
and look for treasures in the backyard
We would eat dinner
with only the lights on
and talk about how good the potatoes were
We would tell stories
run barefoot
and catch lightning bugs in a big glass jar
remember jumping in leaves?
rolling up snowmen?
and looking forward to the sweet smell of summer?
I remember.
We were young
it was easy

it's not so easy anymore.

We pile them high
The slush taking shape
The sky made solid
In our hands.

Every one young or old
Likes to fabricate
The form

Armies would they be
If, like in cartoon,
They could attain conscious
Motion

But alas they are doomed
Like so many of us
To melt and evaporate
And return to whence they came

In the big melt
The sum's rays glinting
Fiery inferno
Causing gentle curving,

Maketh ice
Which forms puddles
Which give way
To earth.

Snowmen near the Christmas tree
Having fun oh yeseree
Partying with *** by the Christmas tree
On the GET bus
You see these snowmen really love life
Having fun husband and wife
Snowmen near the Christmas tree
Really loving life
Drinking coke all day long
Forgetting about their eggnog
Drinking coke because they say that’s cool
Oh yeah that sounds rad
Fred Cummings wins a race
On a motor jet ski ( that is ACE)
Having fun eating turkey
That we caught on the buoni family farm
You see he nearly broke his arm
But the snowmen didn’t care
Sixers got 213
Fun for you and fun for me
Having fun is good for me
No I ain’t so bad
Don’t get me wrong
I am alright
When I saw a boy from foothill high school
As they marched in the parade
Cool man

Falling snowmen from the sky
The vision of snow and ice being my surprise
November being winter early
Heaven’s way being surely
Yet blinding storm put me on alarm
Cars stuck on roads and Homes destroyed being harm
Winter’s arrival at Autumn’s season expense
This was something the skies actually sent
The mystery behind the sudden snowstorm that weather forecaster’s can only guess
Yet to drivers and sanitation it was a guest
It seemed to get worse more or less
More snow is scheduled to come
To school kids they want some
But a snowstorm that came at the wrong time to arrive
However it’s ironic and must take in our stride.

“Cold snowflakes upon my arm

the winter shine peeking through a crack in the blinds

a breeze of ice engulfing the room through a window left ajar

a land covered in a shiny white blanket.”

Winter has come. Cue the thick padded coats and the parkas of every color of the rainbow! Behold the sleds and skis and the beautiful Siberian huskies who pull them. Await the closing of schools and the temperature drops, keeping people in and making children everywhere euphoric as ever. The time has come for skating upon rivers of ice, and joyous dinners in warm wooly sweaters as families gather around to indulge in the tastiest of food. Fireplaces shall again be lit in all households of old, and stockings hung up early in preparation for Christmas. Happy smiles all around, engaging in snowball fights and the building of snowmen.

Ah but winter is as winter does. As numbers reach the negatives, heaters are turned up to the warmest possible, insulating the beings in a home and using electricity. What about those without a home? Those who are confined to the streets of the city, waiting for the cold to eat their bodies up and leave them in a state of rigidity? They are left to waste. Left to succumb to the bitterness of winter, with no sustenance whatsoever or any form of water to soothe their burning throats. The cold will conceal them in a cover of white death, a prison of snow. And in the early mornings of every winter-filled day, a machine is sent out to collect the bodies of those who have been imprisoned by the winter. The one operating the machine weeps silent tears for these ice prisoners before bringing their poor souls elsewhere.

Winter is two-faced, and she is both beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night.

(lunarlullubies)

Jingle Bells and Mistletoe
Christmas songs galore
Plastic crap marked down again
Sales in every store

Santa Claus in Shopping Malls
Photos for the hoards
Teenage girls dressed up like elves
Looking rather bored

Hollydaze, Oh Hollydaze
Get me through the Christmas Craze
Hollydaze, Oh Hollydaze
I can not take much more

Christmas shows and pantomimes
Put on by theater groups
Old actors who we used to know
How low will these folks stoop?

Boxing Day and crazy crowds
Houses lit up like the park
Even when the power's off
They're still glowing  in the dark

Hollydaze, Oh Hollydaze
Get me through the Christmas Craze
Hollydaze, Oh Hollydaze
I can not take much more

Charity is on the wane
People confuse want with need
The population's gone insane
They're full of Christmas greed

Snowmen out in the front yard
Decorating Christmas Trees
Carolers from up the church
...that is Christmas Time to me

Hollydaze, Oh Hollydaze
Get me through the Christmas Craze
Hollydaze, Oh Hollydaze
I can not take much more

I don't need no presents
wrapped up underneath the tree
No I don't need no ribbons and bows,
or stockings hanging...
No I don't need no snow
or chestnuts roasting on an open fire
to make it feel like Christmas
I don't need no magical hats
or dancing snowmen
I just need for Santa to please listen
because there's something missing
that my heart only wishes for
while others are dreaming of a white Christmas
you see Santa
I'm dreaming of holding her so close in my arms
so please Santa
I don't ask much
I don't need no presents
wrapped up underneath the tree
I just need someone who I can love
who loves me just the same
No I don't need no ribbons and bows,
I just need someone who I can love this Christmas
I don't need sleigh bells ringing
I don't need no jingle bells jingling
to make it feel like Christmas
No I don't need Dancer and Prancer
and Donner and Blitzen
I just need Rudolf to please listen
there's something that I'm wishing for
to be next her and to make it by this Christmas
I don't need no presents
wrapped up underneath the tree
No I don't need no ribbons and bows,
or stockings hanging...
No I don't need no snow
or chestnuts roasting on an open fire
to make it feel like Christmas
I don't need no magical hats
or dancing snowmen
I just need someone to love me for me
this Christmas

The cold festive wind blew;
Laughters, hollers of "Merry Christmas!"
Came along with the breeze.
Children, with their little toy drums
Bang, bang, banging away;
Choruses of "Gloria In Excelsis Deo";
Pine trees, Snow flakes, deformed Snowmen;

Houses are lined with
Blink, blink, blinking
Colorful lights and wreaths;
Somwhere among them,
in some living room,
"All I Want For Christmas" is on loop;
Cookies are laid for Santa Claus;
Presents are stacked
Under the Christmas tree--
With garlands and *****
And--

The Christmas lights
In a room in the middle of a second storey house,
Were shining as brightly as they could,
Being wrapped around the neck
Of a teenager misunderstood,
Hanging lifeless on the ceiling
With a note pinned that read,
"Happy Christmas from the dead."

I could see him standing beneath the bridge,
dressed in blue and navy
cotton and denim,
his beard was long,
longer than your train
the train you had as a kid,
his beard huffed and puffed
telling the story of growing old
his eyes were clouds
floating on his face
and if he was angry only his nose would know,
bent and flat pushed up farther on the right
hung down lower on the left,
I only assume he had lips
and teeth,
only his beard moved
but he never spoke
beards don't speak,
he wasn't wearing shoes,
it was cold outside,
snowmen would melt,
but it was still cold,
It had just rained
I could see the puddles
but I couldn't see the sun,
This man saw nothing
he just stood there,
I just walked by.
I could see him thinking all the thoughts
we try to forget,
his face was wrinkled,
furrowed brows make the deepest lines,
a soggy man,
he ate enough or drank enough
i guessed,
because he was warm enough,
a thinking man,
what better place to think than under a bridge,
I'll call him the troll,
I'll paint paintings
and write with chalk
I'll make a memorial
for a man who's only a memory,
I saw him,
I can't forget,
This man will never die,
he'll last as long as the chalk on the ground,
keep thinking for us troll
thinking keeps the boy insane,
keep saving us troll
we can't do it we keep forgetting,
keep standing troll
cause we keep falling down,
be my savior troll,
and I'll keep walking,
just don't steal my ****

Ash fell like twisted snowflakes distorted
from tome stone clouds, children were playing
outside unaware to the ruination descending .
Collecting this abomination of clouds above.

Amassing the needed amount, collecting
it with others as heavy than the white stuff.
But collectively they made each one, dead branches
hung as limbs of fallen life hanging loosely.

Each was a distortion of the other, as each child
coughing under showers of grey flakes...
Eyes were broken bottles glassed into there features
Smiles more of teeth, small rocks falling like hail above.

As each on looked upon there creation, on there knees
admiring each's snowman of grey hues. They stayed
their  breath was concrete, Imamate like snowmen
coverings of ash collected upon there silence.

They fell beneath there snowmen, like tombstones
silently adoring there creators. Buried beneath the
tears of an angry heaven. the snowmen awkwardly
smile. Silence collects as death is buried by clouds.

Climate change is con,
Says dumb tea party— snowmen,
In house on fire.

Rudolph The Red stayed in his shed
Unhappy with minimum wage
He refused to get started
Cos he wasn't rewarded
With the promised end of year raise

Rudolph The Red sang with his friends
And staged an all-advent sit-in
But Santa just smiled
Cos his jet had been fuelled
In advance for such an occasion

Rudolph The Red looked overhead
While Santa sped round the world
When Santa got back
With his large empty sack
His workshop was empty of Elves

Rudolph The Red was no longer led
By thoughts of personal gain
He'd formed his first union
With Elves and ten snowmen
And the workers were free once again

The ways in which things fall apart.

Slowly,
like sandcastles,
and snowmen.
melting away,
in the rays of the sun,
the soft gentle waves.

Quickly,
like the way fire takes apart,
a paper plane.
one final blaze of glory.

Painfully,
like your words,
eating away all of my dreams.

Never more,
never more.

We fall into the stars.
silent and holy,
alone in the cathedral,
waiting to feel,
the presence of nothing.

That which tucks us in,
and tells us,
that the monsters,
are just illusions.

Is that what dreams are?
monsters?

In the dark,
out of reach,
intangible and fragile,
waiting to flee when the lights come on,
slipping away,
to the corners of our mind.

So what is this feeling then?
is it the presence,
of a state of heartbreak?
is it the absence,
of the dreams we shared?
does it haunt you too?

Or,
are you not afraid,
of monsters anymore?

Perhaps this is when,
we forget how to be children.

Stuck in a world,
of the finite and real.
alone and cold,
because we forgot about love,
and our dreams.

We took on their dreams.
the ones they forced down our throats.

Day after day,
year after year,
it only gets worse...

Once we lose the the bliss,
of endless possibilities.

Once we discover,
that we cannot be an astronaut.

Once we learn,
to accept our given fates.

We are lost.

Nothing can escape,
the winds of change.

Why then,
do we run?
and hide,
pulling the covers up over our head.

Why not embrace the inevitable?
open the window,
fly away,
and never come back.

We allow ourselves to be chained,
firmly to the ground.

We are responsible,
for our wont of love.
having pushed it out,
to the fringes of existence.

A hermit,
alone,
so profoundly alone.

He takes solace in his infinite wisdom,
and grace.
small comforts.

Wishing for just one companion.
one person,
to help conquer the dark.
with which,
they can brave returning to the cave.

But this other is elusive,
and cannot be found.
rather they must find,
their own way out.

That secret path,
hidden in the shadows,
along with our dreams.

Society tries,
to obscure all hope.
if we do not play along,
with this self imposed torture.
everyone will turn against us.

They are so lost,
that they cannot see,
cannot even fathom,
their poor and tortured lives.

They do not know,
why they cannot be happy.
why they cannot be free.
what being free would even mean.

To be truly free,
from that subjugating will.
which is itself a fiction.

They have created the overlord,
the one who sits atop the mountain ruling supreme.
they pay their homage to him,
dominating themselves.

We however,
cannot be dominated.
we will not allow ourselves,
that easy way out.

We alone can be held accountable.
for this pain we feel,
is of our own creation.

Our own monster,
roaming in the night.

Yet still,
the joy we know is transcendent.
freeing us,
from our own traps.

We see the overlord for what he is,
a monster,
an illusion,
a dream,
a sandcastle.