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Ted Scheck Dec 2012
This one time,

12. or 13, when me
And a bunch of other kids
From a different neighborhood
Played. Outside. From about sunup
To 9:00 at night. I dimly remember
(This light-bulb memory is the barest bit of energy
In an ancient filament of thought:)

It was a nightmare come to life.
There was this one kid across the River
(Rock Island)
They found him naked and dead,
In a discarded pile of coal.
His life brutally taken from him.
But that was the only time
I'd ever heard of something so horrible. Happening.
It was as commonplace as school shootings.
Which is to say, it didn’t happen in the
World that was ‘As Far As I Knew’.
Outside, everywhere, as far as I knew;
Was just where you went. No matter what.
It’s just what we did. And we did a LOT.

We played. On a job application, I would have
Written that. “Player”. As in: “Hey, I’m a kid.
I mess around. I’m unhygienic and smelly and
My hair is long and arms sunburned and sweaty
And tired and about as happy as any kid
Could be in 1975.

This one time,
I go in this dumpster and grab a
Sandwich the Mgr. of the 7-11 mistakenly threw out
It smelled. Badly. I pretended to take a gigantic
Bite out of it. My buddies weren’t ROTFL.
That stupid phrase was pre-born.
They laughed so hard they fell off their bikes.
Probably painfully so.
I worshiped this praise. Ate it like
Seinfeld eats applause.
They were rolling
On hot Iowa summer pavement, laughing fit to split.
On top of that dumpster, that day, in that single moment,
I was the King of Whatever

The manager heard some kind of ruckus.
The sandwich was in my hand, a cheesy spoiled grenade.
Which I promptly threw at him. ‘Cause he was the Adult
And I obviously wasn't Victor Mature.
He waddled back inside and called the Cops.
Not amazingly,
They were literally right around the corner.
My buddies took off like scalded dogs
I got on my homemade trail bike, laughing so
Hard I pedaled into a sticker-tree.

I didn't know what "irony" was back then.
Back then, I was so inherently goofy, that funny
Hilarious crap was somehow attracted to me.
Ironically, when I tried being funny on purpose...
Fill in the blank. There's a lesson in there somewhere.
I'm pretty sure.

We met at that French word I still can't spell.
Ron Day View.
Cackling like
Loony loons. We laughed out little butts off.

And we rode bikes EVERYWHERE.
Through the trails. There were bike
Trails trailing everywhere, short-cuts from point
Hay to Tree. And oh yeah, I climbed trees.
Constantly. And ate apples and plums from
That mean lady’s yard. She stood in her
Kitchen and glared through cat-eyed glasses,
Daring us. Daring me.
GO AHEAD. PICK JUST ONE SINGLE PLUM.
THEN I'LL CALL YOUR MOTHER!
(Interestingly, we didn't hang out with the
plums which didn't fall too far from Mrs. Tree)

Ate whatever was edible. Wild clover.
Yeah. Grass. And
Crab-apples that held the promise of
Painful bowel movements squirting out of
Your ****. Not ‘***’ because cussing wasn’t
All that big of a deal. You heard it in R movies.
But it hadn’t permeated the marrow of
Our entire culture. Not yet. It wasn’t all over
TV after, say, 8:45.

Nothing about ***. Absolutely Nuttin' Honey.
'Cause I'd be making stuff up in 1975,
When I was 12. Kissing was just...
You know.

We messed around, got into and out of trouble.
We laughed. The future hung over us like
Those mean-sounding thunderclouds,
Miles away, but moving from the North-East,
Because severe weather in Iowa always came
In the same direction.

It’s what we did. It’s just about
All we did as kids. Man, we were crazy, and had
Crazy fun.

We built bikes out of spare parts. They were low-
Slung and cool. Mine was always breaking.
I did a lot of stupid things, and somehow,
Somehow I got away with doing a lot of
Stupid things.

I believe in God. Now.
Way back then, I was Catholic. I don’t
Know if that sufficiently explains it
Or not. We ate fishsticks on Fridays during
Lent. We went to church sometimes
On Wednesday nights, the Guitar Mass,
And on Sundays. The Mass felt like it
Lasted 93 minutes, like our services do
Now. But it seemed to go on forever.
It as about 45 minutes, and we would always
“Leave Early” which meant, we’d take
Our Communion, solemnly, eyes
Downcast and humble, but I would slow,
Then stop, lost in the visage:
I looked up at the Man on the Cross and
Wondered when the Priest would ever
Get around to explaining why He
Died for my sins.
Someone would wake me from my
Reverie, and whisper, “Please move ahead.”
Shamefaced, I would say, truthfully,
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.” Because, in 1975,
When I was 12, I really was.
Sorry.

Then an hour
Later I was dressed in
Salvation Army rags (today)
And I would jump in the creek with my
Jean-shorts and off-color shirt on.
Sometimes, the bikes weren’t in the picture.
So we hiked. Never ‘walked’ but “hiked” which
Was moving with a greater purpose.
Great distances. The distances weren’t the great
Part. I forget what the great part was, because
This was when I was a kid. When I was 12.

The things you did
As a kid
You store them in a secret kid-locker
In your heart
And your heart, it grows, along with the rest of
You, like a quarter pounded into the meat of
A young tree. The tree envelops the quarter,
Taking it in to itself, swallowing time
That you only try to clumsily relive
(Like I’m trying right now)

It used to be cold, icy, and snowy in Iowa.
I know this; I was out in it most of the time.
Does anyone sled anymore? Toboggan?
Round-saucer spinning uncontrollably at
About 12 mph? Metal sleds with runners
And power steering? Down crazy-steep
Barreling down frozen white hills, crashing
Into copses of thin pliable young trees.
You only see this kind of stuff on Youtube
In somebody’s ‘All-time Epic Fail List
The failure is epic, alright. We’ve moved on.
And not necessarily to a bigger, brighter future.

Ice! I skated on long-bladed racer skates.
I could stop on a dollar’s worth of
Dimes.

And this one time
I
Fell right on my knee hard enough to
Grind a hole in my jeans. It looked like a ******
Meteor crater. A pretty girl named Tina
Felt sorry for me and sat right next to me
She wore pink pom-poms and I fell in
Puppy with her for about three hours.
Then she smiled and hugged me and
I was more frozen than the ice outside
And she left, her Mom picking her up
And eying me balefully as I stood
Pink-faced and flushed and utterly
Confused about the randomness of
What had just happened to me.
Girls from my town all knew
More about myself than myself knew
About me. They had me PEGGED, brothers
And sisters. But not this girl. She was from
The next town over.
That was a good day, if I’m remembering
It correctly. If. I’m pretty sure I am.
Or, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter.

We played a game called ‘Blackman’
Like a tag game in Gym, where
One kid is “IT” and a mass of skaters
Goes from one end of the ice pond
To the other, and the people you capture
(I couldn’t catch an old man in front-wheel
Drive figure skates and I got so frustrated
I gave up to jeers and yells and found the
Trees were good listeners to kids
Who couldn’t skate as coordinated as
They wanted to.

So ten minutes later
I would go into the Warming House, and
Listen to am radio. All the Hits! KSTT! Davenport,
Iowa. On ******* Blvd., which was really
River Drive, because the Hostess Plant stood
Sentinel on top of the hill, pushing out
Sponge-cake filling and HoHos and Cupcakes
And those awful coconut snowballs, and
This one time, in high school, I shoved one
Inside my mouth and tried to swallow it
And about choked to death.

I walked to Mark Twain Elementary School
And ran home for lunch, and was usually
Late because I was easily distracted
And when the school day ended,
I walked or ran home, hurrying, because
Captain Ernie and Bugs Bunny Cartoons were on,
And then Gilligan’s Island from about 4:00 to
5:30, when the news would come on,
And then Dinner,
And I couldn’t stand to sit still
To save my life. I have ADD. I
Know this now. I didn’t know it
(Nobody knew what it was)
I knew something was wrong with me
Or not-right. It was just the way
The World Turned.

Back then. I had no sense of ‘self’.
I was a changeling. I tried to fit into
Whatever people expected of me, which
Was very often extremely difficult, because
These people I emulated and thought were
So **** cool were just as messed up
As I was, maybe more; But I
Didn’t have the emotional maturity
(Or I couldn’t face the awful responsibility
That went with that awful truth)
To deal with it, so under the rug it went.

I was moody and happy and singing
One moment and crying in the shower
The next.

This one time, I was stuck
In the borderlands of childhood
And the beginning of a man
It was safe, for awhile
This one time.
Asphyxiophilia Jul 2013
Summer would be the sunflowers seemingly blooming from beneath telephone poles as a reminder that love can travel upon the wires connecting long-distance lovers, the ropes that cling to trees as though reuniting after a twelve month absence as they bear the weight of two bodies more entangled in each other than the pattern of the hammock that they lie upon, the ice cubes that float atop the glass of sweet tea stealing quick kisses each time the glass is lifted as they melt together beneath the heat.

Fall would be the leaves clinging to the tree limbs whispering secrets to each other as they flutter in the wind and change color according to the lovers that will one day float to the ground beside them, a calm pond reflecting former versions of couples who have always desired to know each other before their time of acquaintance only to realize they never existed until the day that they met, the stone path that weaves through a graveyard that has felt the light footsteps of paired souls wandering the grounds during midnight strolls.

Winter would be the snowflake drifting in the wind quickly memorizing the patterns of each familiar one it passes in an effort to reunite with its match made in the heaven from which it has fallen, the steaming cup of tea that collects condensation in the hands of lovers who find solace in sitting upon their front porches when it's freezing, the parallel lines of sleds that have etched temporary tracks in the land as representations of the distance that once separated those who created them (but does no longer).  

Spring would be the first sprout of the season persevering through the darkness of the soil and finally pushing through the light at the end to feel the warmth of the sun upon it, a bridge the connects flower-covered hills that houses the memory of two lovers who reunited after being apart for the winter, the daisy that he planted beneath her chest the night that he told her he loved her and promised to always water it.
Judy Ponceby Jan 2011
Extra! Extra! Read All About It !!

Recent Icelandic Sledding accident.

A mountain of Vanilla pudding was mistaken for
the Olympic Sledding Hill.

Professional sledders lined up, leaped on their sleds,
and found themselves floundering in pudding.

The mayhem was only multiplied by swarms
of wild parrots, squawking at sledders as they
thrashed about attempting to dislodge themselves
from the pit of pudding swallowing them whole.  

Survivors were taken to Pud'N'Pie Clinic,
for treatment of acute pudding suffocation,
and treated with chocolate syrup and whip cream.
For Charming, Fun and Fanciful.
1498

Glass was the Street—in tinsel Peril
Tree and Traveller stood—
Filled was the Air with merry venture
Hearty with Boys the Road—

Shot the lithe Sleds like shod vibrations
Emphasized and gone
It is the Past’s supreme italic
Makes this Present mean—
Don Bouchard Dec 2011
Lady Winter

I.
When surly Winter sighs, her icy breath
Makes adults think of coming death,
Makes children think of falling snow,
Ice skates and sleds and away they go....

II.
Alone among her Sisters, Winter holds such power
To stop the World, to drift in Time, if only for her hour.
She puts the trees and fields to sleep,
Then covers lakes and land 'neath sheets,
And though she tucks them into bed,
Their sleeping form is of the dead.

III.
This Lady White whose frigid face
Turns from the sun with chilly grace
Has for herself a single duty:
The world to rest in icy beauty.
In the North, where'er she goes,
She dresses lands with icy snows.
In gowns of ermine stand the trees
White trains of down lie at their lees.
She sets the plain with crystal lakes,
And sugars hills with frosted flakes.
Where ever she in beauty goes,
The icy Queen her magic sows.

IV.
Strange sister of four Seasons,
Her face, at first, seems set in Death,
But we who walk out on her icy grounds,
Traverse a frozen pond or wander rounds
Deep into her forests fast asleep, know well,
We who stop to listen and to look can tell,
Life's certitude awaits the end of chilly Winter's icy fling.
(Congregation: "Even so come quickly, Lady Spring!")
Paul Roberts Jan 2011
Well there is 'shine' coming down from the Carolines,
Brothers I haven't seen in quite some time.
Each year we gather here , rain or shine,
it's the gathering, the Meeting time.
We all will stare into the flames,
pass that jug, time and again.
Talk , spit , joke and  smoke,
just alot of catching up.
Then the business will be discussed at hand.
What needs to be doing and help where we can.
Dues will be paid and treasure report.
Pass the jug for another snort.
Food will be prepared on that old trusty grill.
Fire will be a blazing to bust down the chill.
Know old Shu is going to bring that guitar out.
Sitting with my Brothers is what it's all about.
Come morning we will all fire up our sleds,
remembering the plans and what had been said.
By noon all that will be left of what happened at all,
is the burning embers and empty jars.
Paul Roberts. The Journey
addy r Dec 2013
“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)
Francie Lynch Nov 2014
Imagine
if you can I say,
the certainty on Christmas Day
If Infinite Wisdom should decree, Christmas
Day to be snow free. Happy children need Christmas snows,
(Ask your parent, they already know);
To use their skates, sleighs and skis, And mitts and coats
so they don't freeze. History dictates outside toys
Combine quite well with outside clothes.
Skates match well with socks and toques, Sleighs slide faster
warm in boots. Snow awakens sleepyheads, gets kids outside riding sleds. They'll ride their sleds down downy slopes, begging
brothers to man sled ropes.  For smiling Cherubs on Christmas morn, hope and pray for snowy lawns. There in safety they can mold
a fortress or a snowman bold. HA! Now listen to my homily, snow's not for kids only. What would we do on Christmas Day, with ready kids, no snow for play. Imagine kids - your very own - doing
everything at home. Your son, too eager with his horn,
playing Gabriel in the early morn. Recall the rush for toys and games, the push of crowds gone insane. "Why won't she play outside at all?"
Instead she cartwheels down the hall.  SCREAMS OF LAUGHTER - RESOUNDING;  PEELS OF JOY
ECHOING; HAPPY SHRIEKS
RESOUNDING
on silent
Christmas
morn.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Mar 2021
Life is not measured by seconds or minutes, but by memories. An old, white lady in a white uniform trying to teach me how to tie my shoes, a red wagon, lying in that space above the back seat of the Hudson coming back from Grandma's watching the tree limbs go by above as we drove home, snow--lots of it--sliding down the big hill on our sleds, saying hello to Darrell, the bully, in 3rd grade as other classmates literally ran away from him because they were afraid of him, my friend, Bruce, who would not trade me Mickey Mantle for my Allie Reynolds, Ms. Perrin, my 4th-grade teacher, one of the best I ever had, who died of cancer two years later, Virginia Bright, my first girlfriend, who took me to her church Sunday nights to learn how to square dance, my dog, Cinder, my best friend growing up, my red bike that took me everywhere, embarrassed at the Y because my right ******* was not fully descended, Maggie, my Black mother, who fed me breakfast--two poached eggs, buttered wholewheat toast, and grits--every morning, washed my ***** clothes, spanked me when I needed a spanking, hugged me when I needed a hug, loved me when my mother couldn't because she was so depressed, always making straight-A's, my dad taking me to Kansas City to take a test (he never told me it was an IQ test), asking Patty to dance the first two dances--we danced alone at the center of the basketball court  as the music began to play at the SnowBall Dance when none of her other classmates would ever get near her--being elected co-captain of the football team and the city-championship basketball team, elected president of the Student Council at Roosevelt Junior High, elected president of the Sophomore Class at Topeka High by my over-800 classmates, pushed by my dad to Andover (arguably the best prep school in the world) my junior year, chose Columbia over Yale (the Core Curriculum and New York City), was a member of Blue Key, Nacoms, and, most meaningfully, elected by my over-700 classmates one of only 15 to lead the Commencement procession, couldn't sleep in law school, dropped out, couldn't sleep for four more months, spent a year-and-a-half at Menningers (saved my life), started writing poetry when, through therapy, I realized I had my own feelings that coalesced with my intellect in my unconscious, slowly emerging through my subconscious into my conscious mind, when I had to write what was coming out of me, otherwise I would lose it forever, seven months at Topeka State Hospital after dad disowned me, founded and edited TALL WINDOWS, The National Public Magazine, moved to Phoenix in 1977, had an involuntary Kundalini arising (took me six years to revover from it, and did, but only because of the exceptional use of unguided imagery practiced by the most loving person I ever got to know, Dr. Patricia Norris) when my girlfriend, who had wanted to marry me badly, lied to me and ****** her new next-door neighbor to make me jealous (I found this out because I saw her bruised ***** that I knew I had not bruised), still unconsciously traumatized during my childhood by mom and dad's miserably unhappy marriage, selected one of 25 alumni out of over 40,000 to serve three two-year terms on the Board of Directors of the Columbia College Alumni Association (1990-1996), traveled the country as a human-rights activist meeting, talking to, eating with, getting to know the hungry, the homeless, the hopeless that populate our yet unrealized democracy, Jorge Luis Borges writing that the most important task we all have in our lifetimes is to learn how to transmute our pain into compassion. That's what I hope my life has been about.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Bellis Tart Feb 2011
I remember when the world was huge
when my small town was all I knew
I remember when I knew no worry
and when I still knew you
I remember the days of before
before I could imagine a life complex
I remember the days before
I had to worry about life, love, loss and ***
when falling in love happened on a weekly basis
I remember when my fears were faceless
I remember when time would pass so slow
when hours felt like days
sipping lemonade on the swings,
in the summer's thick haze
I remember the cool crisp mornings
of September's first weeks
and the hot afternoons reminiscent of summer
walking home from school, longing for the beach
I remember playing games, and doing cart wheels on the lawn
when the leaves were all different colours
and the snow forts I'd build after the leaves were gone
I remember racing down the hill
on sleds, crazy carpets, boxes; what ever we could find
rushing home, after laughing till you almost peed your pants
hoping you'd make it in time
I remember being so happy, not a care in mind
I remember being a kid, and growing up impossibly fast
and having to say goodbye
at the age of nine.
(c) 26/02/11
Francie Lynch Jan 2015
Those dog days of summer
Near forgotten and gone,
Are stored for the winter,
And remembered in song.

The dogs' days of winter
Tell a different tale,
Of dogs pulling sleds
In Alaska for mail;
Or searching the Alps
Bringing whiskey and ale,
Panting and pulling
In hills, waters and dales.

Siberian Huskies,
The Great Pyrenees,
The Alaskan Malamute,
Run off their tails
Battling death and disease.

The Keeshond  
Doesn't wear
Wooden clogs,
Like the Newfie
And Wolfhound,
They're winter work dogs.

If working in snow
Isn't enough to freeze fur,
Look to the Lab,
In frigid waters
In layers of warm flab
Helping fishermen,
Or retrieving a lad.
These warm furied friends
Will work til their end.

The dog days of summer
Ran off with the pack,
Leaving the dogs
Of our winters
To haul, trail and track.
Our best friends.
Keith W Fletcher Oct 2018
You know me much better than i even know myself
But you don't miss me and I'm not lost
As long as you believe I be among all the rest
You gathered up and put upon your shelf
Oh but my days were numbered long ago
When you didn't seem to notice me
When I was so quickly swept up
into the chaos....so abrupt
That did suddenly erupt
And for one quick moment
I was passing through the light
Pulled from the dark place I had been
I don'tt know if you even saw me
Much less recognize me for how I fit in
To the bigger picture of a future where id be
Exactly what you would be needing
Maybe if I were brighter in a flashy way I mean
You'd  have looked closer...but that day
dull and grey. was all you had seen
as the dust-up had yet to settle
you let me go.... but I know
the unique qualities I possess
you will someday miss me and I'm sorry
I couldn't find a way to tell you will need me
I know all the work and effort will be for naught
The future that you picture
Where you have all the pieces put together
There will always be a hole in your horizon
That only I could ever have managed to fill
You never saw my unique qualities
But now without my dull and grey
You sit at the table on.a cold snowy night
Fireplace flickers and krackles smell of cocoa
Wood smoke and pine fills the warm and toasty air
And you close your eyes and your lips purse
Trying to hold back that inevitable curse
" **** it...**** it **** it " came with the release
  Startled is the man reading near the fire
What is it dear...you need some help gluing it to the board
" No look!" She exclaims and begins to cry
For there in the magnificent rainbow colored sunrise.
And the fall colors of burnt umber and orange
Just above the beautiful blue Lake  
Beyond the 2 kids with sleds in hand who stand
Watching as the somewhat superimposed
first three Snowflakes arrive  "Snowday"
A hole stands out among the bit of grey
Where the artist needed a backdrop
to make the unique snowflakes pop
I can't find it , had it since I was 10 and I wanted to make it a Christmas display
For the girls she begins to weep but I think I saw it the other day
Oh God I swept it up and threw it away
I should have recognized it with that bit of snowflake passing over the grey.

He held her till she quit  sobbing ..until she stepped back ....saying I'm okay
Then he said "glue it down hon and I'll fix it
I promise " he said" we've got everything here somewhere
you glue and Ill check the garage."
He could see she needed more so he took on
You Know fists on hips and wide stance
Everyone knows that Superman pose
"Don't you worry ma'am I will right this wrong "
And  he did ,after 35 tries,a sleepless nite
8 hours it took him to  replace me
just as dawns first light
rose up
to shine down on me half buried in snow
as if to say everything was right
Marshal Gebbie Dec 2013
'Twas the night before Christmas--Old Santa was ******.
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list.
Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks.
I have a good mind to scrap the whole works!

I've busted my *** for **** near a year,
Instead of 'Thanks Santa'--what do I hear?
The old lady ******* cause I work late at night.
The elves want more money--The reindeer all fight.

Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids.
Donner is pregnant and ***** has AIDS.
And just when I thought that things would get better
Those ******* from the IRS sent me a letter,
They say I owe taxes--if that ain't **** funny
Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus any money?

And the kids these days--they all are the pits
They want the impossible--Those mean little *****
I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds
Assembling dolls...Their arms, legs and heads
I made a ton of yo yo's--No request for them,
They want computers and robots...they think - I'm IBM!

Flying through the air....dodging the trees
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees
I'm quitting this job there's just no enjoyment
I'll sit on my fat *** and draw unemployment.

There's no Christmas this year now you know the reason,
I found me a blonde. I'm going SOUTH for the season
Kelly Aug 2012
The icy air whistles around their ears, causing skin to tingle and sting. Fingers and toes are numb, but it's a good feeling. Snug inside my many layers of clothes, nothing can spoil the overwhelming feeling of being taken back to childhood. The urge to make a snowball is all consuming. Every step taken leaves a fresh, crisp footprint in the snow, as if no one else has ever been here. Snowflakes fall gently from the sky, tickling the end of their little noses.
Shimmering white flakes fall. Ice cold winds blow strongly. All that once was awake busy with their everyday things have fallen into a deep slumber. How the world once was so lively now has gone still cold and dead, but yet is just as beautiful and makes children smile. Winter and snow is a child's delight things dreamed of every winter.  Sleds and hills, squeals and spills, waving, as the world rushes by. There is snow in the air, snow, and snow ubiquitous. Angels they make in the blanket of white, and tomorrow will remember how Snowflakes felt on their tiny tongues like magic to them now.
Brandon Sep 2011
This ship has set sail
With a crew of fifty good men
And twenty heavily coated dogs
Over half the crew will be dead
By the time we reach our destination
On this secret government expedition
Journey to the bottom of the world
To find the Southern Pole
The wind blows us where no life lives
But the bitter cold

From North America
Past the southern tip of Argentina
Harbored at the Falkland Islands
For our last taste of civilization

Six months
Or maybe it was a year or more at sea
To the icy shores of another planet
Encased in endless days of darkness

The ship became marooned
In frozen oceanic tundra
For many winter nights
We the crew chiseled, shoveled
And pick-axed our way to break free
Of our prison made from solid crystal air

Finally unyielding land ahead
An unmovable iceberg
We dock and unload
Steady our sea legs to skis and sleds
The dogs take off across this untraveled land
Pulling us in tow
Faster against the frigid wind
Than our own frostbitten limbs would allow

Ninety degrees south latitude lies somewhere ahead
Blanketed in fresh snowfall and ice storms
Supplies and moral run low as this weary travel continues on

Shaded in zero visibility we set camp for the night
Harbored against the soulless chill
In a frozen crevice of ice mountain
Our health deteriorated and the dogs drained

Polar sleep sets in
The arctic wind chills us to the bone
And my cold eyes close
brokenperfection Sep 2014
I study her withering hands every time I'm around her
they are becoming so thin... all her veins stick out like snakes
her fingers are all crooked--
broken tree branches fighting against the wind
eighty years of working her flower beds and scrubbing floors and
baking the best meals and desserts that only a grandmother can prepare
and my grandpa, I have never loved a person as deep and as securely as I love him  
saying you have a hero borders on icon-worshipping but in this case he's solid
he is the absolute best and absolute most loyal man I have ever had the pleasure
of knowing
he married my grandma at eighteen, and
eighty eight years of wars and he never took one sick day off of work
he sleds down his long, winding driveway to pick up his mail in the snow
he used to pour water in my hands and tell me that if I could catch it,
I could catch the entire universe right there in my palms
I tried for years

I study their hands because I want to remember their greatest parts
arguably, that could be every inch, but their hands have shown
such strength, boldness, fight, hard work, dedication, love, and tenderness
maybe this is wrong but every day I practice saying goodbye in my mind
so that when they pass, I am not so crushed that I cannot move on
they have been my saving grace too many times for me to thank them for
so I just say I love you, you're my reason for existing, and then I
carefully etch their hands in my mind so that never for a second
will I forget the great work they have done here
Dorothy A Sep 2010
Skeleton trees,
stripped down to the bone,
live naked within the walls of winter

Icicle boughs,
and branches buried deep in white
Conical conifers draped with ****** snow,
a blanket of diamond dust
They now enter my frozen world,
like life would now exist
inside of a snow globe

The drifting slopes
add white dimension
to this winter world
Frost upon the windows,
designed like crystal upon the glass,
sends shivers down my spine
The mass exodus of flocks of birds,
migrating south
for their seasonal vacation,
have gone away

These are the images embedded in the hynotic halls of my mind

The aging calender
upon the sunless wall
will soon give way to another year
The polar atmosphere
will have to surrender
its icy grip
but it is in no hurry
once January rolls around

In wintertime
we become like  
weary, winter warriors
as we are manned with
shovels and plows,
battling the barrage of shellfire
of continuous cold, snow and ice
Shielded with scarves and heavy apparel,
shoveling and scraping,
salting and sweeping,
we are at war with
the fierce elements
that make us slip and slide
The salt trucks look like
army tanks on the move

Playful adventurers laugh at the scorn
The mammoth artic tundra
is their playground,
the ultimate winter utopia
They shall master
the slippery landscape
on skis, sleds and skates
in their pleasure
to conquer the frozen land

Winter is truly a wonder,
but soon my
Spring and Summer dreams
lie captive
I find myself
a foreigner of this wintry wilderness
My fair, flowery fields are gone
Barren are those beautiful images,
for Spring, Summer and Fall,
fables to my wintry world,
have slumbered all too long

Soon I am pondering.....

If only I can thaw
these stone solid feelings,
as the land soon melts
into Spring tears,
and can light a lamp within,
defrosting the sub-zero
feelings inside of me,
I will fully embrace the dreams
of warmer times,
and I shall find myself once more

A woman who knows why
she endures such a season,
shoveling my way through
the stormy periods of life
to thrive amid
the firsts of Spring
1990s and improved on it in 2010
Phil Lindsey Apr 2015
She smiled, looked up at him, and quickly kissed his cheek.
Then turned and walked away from the turmoil of the week,
Her crystal blue eyes moistened as she neared the airline gate,
And an inner pain engulfed her as she struggled with her fate.

He stood still, surprised, and wondered what she meant to say,
Her kiss was sweet but melted like the springtime snow in May.
Was it beginning? Was it ending? What future lies ahead?
He said 'Goodbye' and turned away.  Words better left unsaid.

Both home to their own islands, alone with thoughts and doubt.
Nobody they can talk to - No way to work it out.
What will she say? What will he think? My God, what have we done?
And maybe out of Darkness a single ray of sun.

Her resolve much stronger than his lust, her drive to do what's right,
Prevailed and gave her judgement (though she didn't sleep that night.)
And life goes on, and snowfalls come - Young children play on sleds,
And both can dream what might have been. Dreams better left unsaid.
PwL  2005
Deana Knight Dec 2015
An unstable mind.
Why is it so hard to find peace?
Because you have an unstable mind.
If you aren't stable then peace will be the last thing you'll find.

Wish my heart could flow,
Like sleds on snow, but it can't because I am unstable.

Take another look at that broken heart you hold. You tossed it to just about anyone in hopes that they'd catch it and not let you down, but you were surprised when your hopes where flipped upside down and that made you unstable.

See your thoughts is a way for your mind to breath, to live; to speak. And when your your unstable and your speaking, so is your mind.

That's what makes you unstable.

But remember, that if you think no one cares, please note that I do.
Because you are me and I am you.
So throw away your unstable mind and and take mines, while im mending your broken heart and your unstable mind.
Silver Knight Feb 2015
Raining down from the frosted heaven's it is snow
Turning the green grass and black soil as white as the north pole
The school kids come with their sleds of pure gold
Looking for a nice hill or mountain to let it go
Snowballs fly like bullets fired on the battlefield
Snowmen rise like zombies during the apocalypse
Smiles are born from the endless laughter
As parents watch their children's happy ever after
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Jun 2022
LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 18

They lay side-by-side on the bed. Bian was sleeping. Jon, also asleep, was dreaming.

(...an old white lady in a white uniform tried to teach me how to tie my shoes, a red wagon, lying in the space above the back seat of the chevrolet, coming back from grandma's watching the tree limbs go by above as we drove home, snow--lots of it--sliding down the big hill on our sleds, saying hello to darrell, the bully, in 3rd grade as other classmates ran away from him because they were afraid of him, my friend, Bruce, who would not trade nolan ryan for my george brett, ms. perrin, my 4th grade teacher, one of the best I ever had, who died of cancer two years later, virginia bright, my first girlfriend, who took me to her church sunday nights to learn how to square dance, my dog, cinder, my best friend growing up, my red bike that took me everywhere, embarrassed at the y because my right ******* was not fully descended, maggie, my black mother, who fed me breakfast--two poached eggs, buttered wholewheat toast, grits--every morning washed my ***** clothes, spanked me when i needed a spanking, hugged me when i need a hug, loved me when my mother couldn't because she was so depressed, always making straight-a's, dad taking me to kansas city to take a test (he never told me it was an iq test), asking patty to dance the first two dances--we danced alone at the center of the basketball court as the music began to play at the "snowball dance" when none of our other classmates would ever get near her--being elected co-captain of the football team and the city-championship basketball team, being elected president of the student council at roosevelt junior high, elected president of the sophomore class at topeka high school by my over-800 classmates, pushed by dad to andover my junior year, choose columbia over yale (the core curriculum and new york city), a member of blue key, nacoms, and elected by my over-1,400 classmates one of 15 class marshals to lead the commencement procession...)
Francie Lynch Dec 2014
Consider, If you will,
I pray,
The certainty
On Christmas Day,
If Infinite Wisdom
Should decree,
Christmas Day
To be snow free.

Pray to avoid
Inside woes,
Happy homes
Need Christmas snow.

Get kids on skates, sleighs and skis,
Bundled well so they don't freeze.
History dictates outside toys
Combine real fine with outside clothes.

Skates match well
With socks and toques,
Sleighs are steered
When warm in boots.

Snow awakens sleepy heads,
Riding sleds instead of beds.
Toboggans hurling down the slopes,
Big brothers begged to man sled ropes.

For smiling cherubs
On Christmas morn,
Hope and pray
For snowy lawns.

There in safety
Kids can mold,
A fortress
Or a snowman bold.

HA! Now listen to my homily,
Snow's not for kids only.
What would we do
On Christmas Day,
Ready kids,
No snow for play.

Imagine kids,
Your very own,
Being inside
All day long.
Your son,
So eager with his horn,
Playing Gabriel
In early morn.
Then recall
Your rush for games,
The lines, the crowds,
It's so insane.
And they won't play
Outside at all,
They're pushing us
Against the wall.
Yes,
Screams of laughter, resounding;
Peels of joy, echoing;
Happy shrieking, pounding,
On
Silent Christmas morn.
Edit. Repost of an earlier bit.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2022
call humbug at your own peril,
dare
I don't know but I've been told,
streets in heaven been paved with gold.

'swat all the little kids that pullt the sleds's told.

Streets in heaven be needing this gold,
g'wan now, whistle while you work

it's a small small world after all.
We all become children then,
we all fall down,
that's the game. Okeh, wanna play?
Let this mind be
Jowlough Sep 2010
Do you know the reason behind these conflicts?
As we see the results of these evil tactics!
War had begun,even the sun got no clue,
Mind produced inventions, weapons making a breakthrough!

Catapults and ammunition scattered everywhere
as this century comes into fatal despair.
Nation's blame pointing through east and west,
Lies, false accusations and boundless protests.

Foreseeing the future, knowing the end is near,
Soldiers and tanks in full combat gear!
Millions of civilians, Innocent lives damaged,
as the battle of faith continues its rampage!

So called Leaders and kings pin pointing,
Naming names, questions the Endless blaming!
they all stood up, with a huge Pride in their heads,
as if there is no tomorrow, the way they slide their sleds!

Moving forward, as we trace the root cause,
what could be the weapon of the Big Boss?
is it the bombs, that could erase the whole city,
or the technology that was forsaken by your brother country?

Looking over, I realized something,
that it is not the suing of your Governments crying!
the root is in the word of your leader's direction,
who would have knew it could give massive destruction!
(c) crt - sept 14 jcjuatco - CCAC
Robert C Howard Aug 2017
Let jubilant bells ring out
     proclaiming the joy of the season.
Banish all darkness with bold Christmas lights
     that brighten the sky on a cold winter night.
Rejoice in the bells of the season!

With joy-filled hearts we zip up our coats
     to savor the crisp morning air.
We take to our sleds for a vigorous ride
     then draw snow angels in the meadow.

Our town is decked out its holiday best
     where strangers and friends pass our way.
We stroll down the streets ‘til the stars appear
     to dance in the jewel case sky.

The bold steeple bells peal so clear and loud.
     Bright Christmas lights are gleaming.
Our kinfolk have gathered from far and near
     To share in a holiday feast
and after the meal we all gather by the fire
     To celebrate the blessings of family.

With grateful hearts raise our songs
    and ring our bells this joyous day.
Rejoice, give thanks. Give thanks, rejoice!

Let jubilant bells ring out
     proclaiming the joy of the season.
Banish all darkness with bold Christmas lights
     that brighten the sky on a cold winter night.
Rejoice in the bells of the season!

*© 2017 by Robert Charles Howard
This is the text for the third movement of a cantata entitled Winter in the Rockies.
Chuck Jan 2015
The wind blew
The snow flew
The storm grew
And we didn't know what to do

So we ran inside
The winds died
The storm subside
And we took our sleds for a ride

The rides done
We had fun
Goodnight sun
A new snow has just begun
Emily Budrow Oct 2015
When I think of healing, I think of the pain that comes with ripping a band aid off a scab.
The anticipation running through your body as you shut your eyes too hard and feel the blood in your eyelids swim rapidly down to the wound.
Healing, in a lighter sense, only occurs after an injury.
The dead flowers under the snow we thought nothing of as we dragged our sleds behind us through the winter evening.
They had three months to perfect their beauty.
They will go through the same healing process every spring.
I often think of myself as a flower under an untouched bed of snow.
A child, dragging his sled, nostalgic for the icy breeze slamming his face as he faces the bottom of the hill, steps on me.
He thinks nothing of it.
Possibly the dandelion we ignore among the rest as we dance with our lover through summer fields feel similar.
Ignorant because we as people don't assume the dandelion can feel like a wallflower.
Someone else will come along and pick the dandelion, and put him down.
And the healing process will begin again.
It may be the newspaper that someone spilled their morning coffee on or the hole in the wall after an angry drunken fight.
Don't worry.
The paper will meet the recycling bin and perhaps the new family who moved in will repair the wall.
The healing process doesn't end.
There is always beauty that comes from pain.
Mitchell Jun 2011
Pay our dues so you can write for someone else to help you out
What a crock of dog ****
I thought these words were coming from the muse?
The cherry wine orchards where birds soar for free
Are now taxed burned maimed and *****
So you can record yourself on some 10 cent tape
Either the lines are drawn and the combines have stormed through
Or the men and women behind the pens
Have truly lost their way
But what was a way before they decided to come and stay
We are all ****** in the end
Either to the Gods above or to the men with guns
Who are we if we are not fighting for the sun?
Absurdity in the tenth degree!
You want fire to cool your soul and love to make you bold!
Shame on the service entry fees with complaints of their boss
I write these things with irreversible electronic blood!
And if you saw me you wish that you'd never did!
Pom Pom girls break their bread as the football players shine their sleds
I'm in my bed wishing she was with me instead
Ram that note up your hole **** it up and see if its any better
The hall is broken the coolers dead landlords knocking
Where on Earth are you gonna go?
Mama's done gone and daddy's already dead
Sisters got a wisher with a pencil filled with lead
Streets are searing hot
And the backdoor to your house is locked
Let me have the key
And I'll surely make you believe
Lets stay up late an' we'll catch the next freight
Spend some time with me an' I'll teach you the meaning of hate
Wooden stool pigeons leaking blood on their eyes
A sigh colored brown
When you sleep baby
You don't make no sound
Wash basic red hedonistic hearings
Crystal nail polish with agate colored earrings
When a place is a place of comfort
Thats the end of your start
Stars shine so the blind may be able to see
I got women who know me and men who hate me
When I meet you
Which one will you be?
Soft fire ******* lick was the way you kissed
Your hands warmed from the liquor you said
On the porch you said I'd doused your torch
Where I then said "Love hurts when touched"
Kirke Wise Jan 2019
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
Just a little poem to help me capture and remember some of those winter moments in the back yard so long ago.
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
For me the evergreen and or Christmas tree are the symbol of winter love.
Family gathered together sharing time which can be hard to find during the abby-normal week.
It's driving cars, boarding planes, boats and trains to get to your other home.
It's one of the few times a year when cooking and cleaning for large numbers doesn't **** you off.     AS MUCH!!!!
It's sitting down for hours with loved ones you've not seen for to long.
It's sharing stories witch otherwise would have gone missing.

Putting up the Christmas tree is a call out to everyone that it's time to stop for awhile and get together.
Time and distance may separate us however nothing comes between the family tree.  
Her roots are deep and strong.  The tree knows not of clocks, snow or sun; nor reasons why we can't.
The soul purpose of the family tree is to gather her children together.  Her branches are many, they reach out in every direction and continue to grow.
All trees have inner rings which tell of their age and time spent standing watch.
We have rings also however we call them wrinkles.  
Regardless of the names these lines are called, they silently speak of the years spent, whether they be good, bad, happy or sad. Yet many of those rings are an accumulation of a gathering of memories from our sub-conscience of family times which mean something special to us.    

The whole family each and everyone become the ornaments on the tree.
Together we make the room bright, warm and happy.
We create the magic of the holiday.
The snow falls, threes are white, our tongues catch the flakes and the sleds scream downhill.  Or, the sun shines, the palms sway, the tops down and the boards meet the curl.  Either way the next year seems better.  The days are wrapped with ribbon, the clouds aren't as dark and special memories have been given and received.  We thank each and everyone for a great, white, warm, wonderful Christmas.
You gave us presents we could carry with us through the New Year;
YOURSELVES
Supa Dec 2018
Flurries fall onto the window
As white fills the street
With a clean white sheet of snow
The phone rings
Schools have been cancelled
Call up my friends
“Let’s go down the BIG sled hill”
We meet up around 3PM
Where no little kids around to ruin our day
We pack snow to make a ramp
And drag our sleds up to the top
As we race down the sled hill one by one
Faster than light
Speed, I am speed
Feeling the freeze and staring at the jump ahead
Until we feel an elevation
Then we are sent flying high
Soaring faster than planes in the sky
Until we land
Hard landing but we land
Every laugh, every giggle fuels are adrenaline
As we take on the ramp
And build it up and build it up
Until we get the biggest jump
And once we get tired of that
We race down the hill
Trying to knock each other off to win
So we can go the finals
And be crowned a sled champion
In our fake world
And we rinse and repeat the same formula
Our creative minds wonder
Until it turns dark
Where our mothers come to pick us up at 8
Where we get hot chocolate at McDonalds
And head back to someone's house
Where pizza and drinks await
Where we go downstairs and play video games
And talk about girls all night
And sleepover and stay up til late
Still playing games
Having deep talks
Life, sports, girls, parents, etc.
Truth or Dare, What are the odds
Until we start to feel tired
And pass out and start dreaming
On the next snowfall
Under the white blanket
Need a snow day right now tbh. Flashback free verse! Follow for more
Isaac Jun 2014
I'm alive but barely breathing,
Troubled lungs with time receding.
Oceans swelling deep within me,
Close my eyelids, open now free.

Forbidden love demands a loser,
Better I go down without her.
This ships sinking, fate demanding.
Losing altitude, plane's crash landing.

Plane kiss ground, knife into skin,
****** water, sharks, I see fin.
Feeding frenzy, ripped into shreds,
Liquid racing, childhood sleds.

Winter wonderland, now stained red,
What the **** is wrong with my head?
Cleanse in shower, I'm still *****,
Put my mask on "Yeah I'm sturdy".

Headphones on, I won't hear a thing,
Never mind dad's started yelling.
Out the door, maybe if I run.
Dusty pavement, sparks from a gun.

How the hell did I end up here?
Outside her house, with no one else near.
Ring the bell? No I'm a coward.
Once again I'm overpowered.

Call a friend and smoke some grass,
I think of how I've been an ***.
If I stepped in her shoes I'd see,
Never mind they're too small for me.

Return home, collapse into bed,
Swirling thoughts inside of my head.
Reality hurts when it bites,
I'll try and sleep it off tonight.
A wintry mix hit our area today-
Lots of snow on the way-
Cars covered in white-
More snow coming tonight-
Shovels-plows busy as can be-
Holidays coming exciting to me-
Kids on sleds having fun-
Snowmen to please everyone-
Snowballs in the air left and right-
Lots more snow on the way tonight-
Welcome to NEW ENGLAND WINTER is here-
Lots of snow for all to share-

THE END
COMING SOONER THAN YOU THINK OLD MAN  WINTER RETURNS AS USUAL
Sam Irons Jun 2014
#3
Its just me and you and everything in front of us, or behind
     especially if gravity operates like chemicals.
Let's go exploring, if you'd like,
     or sit like lumps and metastasize on chocolates.
The stage, the fame, the beer, the strife,
All the things we wanted don't matter in that
     wonderful white space ahead. This hill can trail
     off to the worlds we'll create, so utterly shapeless
     – impossibly white –
     yet filled with color and sound and romp.

The airplane we rode, just the first or last few frames of the film
     (you should start wherever you want)
     it had the new world in its sights to open up the stodgy filth
     and land us tumbling into the great unknown.
We walk ill-prepared, like our fathers,
only so far as what they know.
     A harsh word.

These legs will take me to Tøyengata or Nieve or Las Ramblas
and that street to the river
to the train or the bus
to a frozen tube of horrifying humanity
to land on familiar runways in New York or Albuquerque
     catch you in your mother's Civic
     and bound away.

Where we'll speak – concisely.

That's where intimacy lies: in codes and twitches,
     and very little soft sweet words;
     and, the more we love the less we say,
     'cept to remind each other we're ready to go cartograph again.
Then speak endlessly, drunk in each other's words, and move brazenly, tromp the neigh-sayers and know-it-alls,
stumble our way across frail little ropes,
sprint through orchards to catch smoke.
     Through the door, into bed.
     past the last frame.
     past that sweet little line –
     to let this placid chaos slide down the hill
     and trail off
          into madness.

I'll be waiting by the sleds.
You know what to do.
Jayantee Khare Aug 2017
A poet was in the closet,
the doors tightly closed.
With the bunch of syllables,
dormant in own world.

Once a fairy gives a knock,
opening the block,
the poet lets her in, and
keeps the syllables in lock.

The fairy sleds
in his heart's depth,
makes the syllables slept,
and the poet swept.

The fairy wants to go high,
takes the wings to fly.
But the poet,
could not rely.


The closet smashed,
she breaks open the door.
The dreams crushed,
the poet lets her go.

The poet, wounded, sad,
leaves the broken closet,
with a bunch of syllables
steps in the poetic world.

The river of emotions flows,
the oars of syllables, he rows.
Frightened by the sharks,
on an island, he embarks.

The land of "Poetry"
with a single giant tree,
Sheltering many castaways,
tired of gloomy days.

Greeting each other
With a warm "Hello!"
Showing each other
a nice way to go!

Many wandering poetic souls,
from sufferings, recovered,
In this way the island
"Hello Poetry" was discovered!!
Fiction..thnx hp

— The End —