There was a Winter’s chill
But we still had fun
Sledding down the hill
In the clear Winter sun

It was a cold day of play
Mittens stuck to the sleds
A frantic snowball fray
With woolen caps on our heads

And we all slipped and slid
Never really knowing
How great it was being a kid
In our yard, as it was snowing

But then as we grew older
Winter never seemed the same
Each year grew a little colder
Reliving our childhood game

By Kirke Wise

The first publication of this poem was in the Winter 2019 edition of The Watershed Journal

Your darkest fears
A life of regrets
A story of tears
Time never forgets

Daylight for another
While you're still dark
Emotions smother
You missed the mark

And this world turns
While desire spins
Humanity yearns
But only chance wins

Violently mixed
Beaten by life
Utterly vexed
Cut with a knife

Screaming in quiet
Grasping unknowns
Needfully silent 
Graves full of bones

Wasted by the way
Deserted roads
What can we say?
Life’s overloads

And can we make it?
Those who have lost
Ever admitting
Such a great cost

I don’t know for sure
But please still try
For hope is the cure
Before we die

2-13-18 by Kirke Wise – Darkest Fears

And so often it is with the life that you were given. In recognition of actual reality or perhaps being able to accept things as they are. This is about life's disparity. Things which I imagine that some of you may perceive in your own life. It’s about clarity. We all have one very short time to live here. So embrace it. Correct it or fix it if need be. Don’t spend your time thinking about others which may seem unbroken. Think about yourself. Because it is the short life that was given to you. Make the most of it. Just something to think about. ~ Kirke

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the coop
Not a creature was stirring, because of the chicken ****.
The scratch grains were flung on the floor with great care,
In hopes that soon they would eat some better fare.

The chickens were nestled all snug in their nest,
While they pondered which worms tasted the best.
With their mom in some soup, and dad lunch meat,
Their high tech coop simply couldn't be beat.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from the perch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, they flew like a flash,
Peering through the pane as they heard another smash.

The LED spotlights on the coop outside,
Gave a midday luster to make it hard to hide.
When what to their wondering eyes they all saw,
But imprints in the snow of a large predator's paw.

With other tracks spotted, they all took a vote,
Then they knew in a moment it must be a Coyote.
More rapid than eagles his cousins they came,
And he howled, and yodeled, and called them by name!

"Now Coy-dasher! now, Coy-dancer! now, Coy-prancer and Coy-*****!
On, Coy-comet! On, Coy-cupid! on Coy-donner and Coy-blitzen!
To the top of the coop! To the top of the fence!
A fresh chicken meal! We will soon dispense!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the coop-top the cousins they flew,
With snarling teeth, for some "chicken stew".

And then, in a twinkling, the hens heard on the roof
Much prancing and pawing and it was no spoof.
And I as the "farmer" now checked my phone,
Because an SMS text made the situation known.

The varmints were dressed in fur, some mangy in spots,
I knew that soon they would be having second thoughts.
Wiring, and controls that a coyote can't hack,
Made a pest-proof coop, impervious to attack.

Their eyes-how they twinkled! The electric fence made a flurry!
The predator deterrents had reacted in a hurry!
Their growling mouths now drew up like a little bow,
As their fur turned white from the highly conductive snow.

The stump in the yard was an early warning device,
To detect all the varmints that the fowl would entice .
Sound masking systems had been activated too,
As well as an outdoor alert lamp which flashed red and blue.

The Alpha coyote was chubby and plump, like a jolly old elf,
Or rather an elf who had inadvertently electrocuted himself!
with glazed over eyes and a writhing head,
Soon gave me to know the fowl had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, and abandoned his work,
With an unfilled stomach, he turned with a ****.
spotting me now outside, he immediately stood still,
Then the crack of my .22, and the echo from the hill.

He sprang to the ground, to his team gave a howl,
And away they all ran away with no taste for fowl.
And I heard the rooster, as they ran out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

DEC 2014 by Kirke Wise