#mittens
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
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 9:53 PM UTC
The magic of winter, is all around.
The magic of winter, every sight and sound.
Snowflakes and snowmen, getting cosy in bed.
Soft scarves and mittens, bobble hat on your head.
Red cheeks and noses, warm homes all around.
The magic of winter, every sight and sound.
Happy Winter.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 4:54 PM UTC
Cold days and snowy nights
dissolve into the glow
when we come home from the sweater weather.
In from the cozy autumn day.
In from a day in which sunlight
dappled the tree's bark
like the zig-zagged icing
and french dough.
A day of mittens so only your thumbs protrude.
A day like kittens which tumble in
happiness and innocence.
Into the oak, with the window
in which tear drops
chase themselves away
down the pane and
the cool air is made hot
with cocoa frothy cream
and pumpkin.
We smoke on curled cinnamon sticks
which splinter like burnt logs
on an fire of embers.
The silhouettes of our shadows
catch on the horizon
as we watch the spectrum
scatter from the warm
cream to the dusty
pumpkin to cocoa.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC