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Grace Haak Sep 2019
it's white
so pure
so fresh
so clean
so tell me why the red that flows
looks like a scar, so mean?
it's sparkly
so fluffy
so new
so light
so tell me why the red that flows
looks just like blood, so bright?
it's racing and racing
and flowing and falling
leaves a scrape and a streak
as it runs down the peak
a strange sled of red
down a white snowy head
Salmabanu Hatim Apr 2019
Winter can be fun too,
For me and you.
Goodbye  to heat waves,
And iced chilled drinks you crave.
Adieus to flies bugs and bees,
Hay fever, poison ivy and also allergies.
Appetites increase,
Cooking and baking never cease,
Not to forget mending and sewing,
And over a cup of hot tea gossiping.
Fire-places aglow,
Whilst landscape is carpeted with snow,
Children enjoy indoor games in the basement below.
Sled riding, ice skating,
tobagonning, and making snowman can be fun,
With the promise of a glowing sun.
In the mornings dad's car can be stubborn,
But a little wooing and engine warm up it can be won.
Winter too is happy time,
More time for poetry, with rhythm and rhyme.
Ira Aug 2018
As I make a video for YouTube,
I go down to the mall with the real dudes.

I bring with me a mahogany sled,
Ready to go cause the security guards some dread.

I get in and go to the nearest empty escalator,
I chant a mantra that will be hailed by all masturbaters.

“Smoke Grass, Eat ***, Sled Fast,” I say,
But I am accosted by a mans hearsay.

Her threatens me with the cops,
But I ignore this and go down for the props.

I’m then chased by the old ******* that reeked of sea tang,
And hear my friends shout, “SLED GANG.”

I run with my sled in hand,
Chased by the **** who dare brought up his ******* demand.

— The End —