"snowball" poems
I had a cat named Snowball.
She died, she died.
Mom said she was sleeping.
She lied, she lied.
Why oh why is my cat dead?
Couldn’t that Chrysler have hit me instead?
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
In this life you will find
Degradation unavoidable
For it is in the weather of our life
Degradation is like radioactive waste
We pass like presents to each other
The rain on a wedding day
As I did once live
In the shadows of dread
As degradation breathed on me
And I fell into the pits of self doubt
And stank of slimy sewers
For I was lost in loathing ,
But my soul grew rapidly
In the muck and mud of this world
For it was fertile and rich
As my roots drank up all its goodness
So please send me your degradation
Your disrespect and contempt
Your pretty wrapping of best interests
Makes no fool of me
For I will soak it up like the sky above
For I embrace my madness
And caress her beauty
Like the most cherished lover
As you reject your life
Within the tight confines
Of your own reason
As you seek to bury your
Disappointments in me
I hold your self doubt in my hands
For you live by scales and ranking
As I throw away all scales
And burn all efforts
For there is nothing
I can take from this world
So please, please
Strain if you must
Look down on me
If you can, As I am above
For I own the sky
And live above and beyond
But all degradation disappears
In the softest heart
Of self acceptance
As I fill the room
All banter falls like the softest snow
As we serenely dance and play
In our snowball games
As I learn to swing and play
All jokes bounce and tickle
The inside of my belly
For I live in the ecstasy
Of my own self acceptance
As we roll around like clowns
All barriers broken
Our bellies full of joy
As we spill over with love
And bounce around like jelly
For no degradation exists
In the center of our hearts
Where God permeates our souls
For his love should be
Followed into us whole
As I accept God's goodness
And perfection in all of me
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
Cold temperatures
deep snow
there goes a coach
but in the morning...
Skiing,snowboarding sledging
snowball fights warm pools warm sauna
a happy life above the clouds
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
you went sledding
with the kids
while I filed the paperwork
and cried
I used to be your lady boy
shining in green pit-bar light
as you kissed me like
the kids were with my mother
stuck at the bottom of the
treehouse slide in a pile
in mud
laughing
when
in reality they were
just budding inside of you
fertilized with apple liquor
and the perfume smoking
from my chest as you
unbuttoned the first few
revealing the scar left by
my brother's first pocket knife
the skin of my young years
the skin I am wearing now
cut by these ******* papers as
you freeze
tearlessly
in a pom pom hat
teaching our babies how to make
the perfect snowball
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC
It was December 27th,
Nineteen and fifty one
The day the Christmas snowball war
Had officially begun
It started in the schoolyard
It was supposed to just be fun
But, by the time the whole thing ended
No one knew just who had won
The grade five class were ready
All lying there in wait
As the kids from home form seven
Approached the schoolyard gate
With a yell the whole thing started
They were served up on a plate
the kids from home form seven
would not forget this date
The air filled with projectiles
Launched from wet gloves by the score
As the victims ran for cover
They were hit by four score more
They were bruised and hurt and battered
As they ran for the school door
Now, the kids from the grade five class
Lay waiting there for more
Two teachers came to stop them
Get them back into the school
but, the kids just launched more snowballs
Using scarves now as a tool
They would catapult their snowballs
which was really, really cool
And the teachers ran for cover
In the safety of the school
They'd built a wall near four feet high
To protect them on both sides
It channeled all who entered
The walls acted as guides
At most their little walkway
Was only eight feet wide
and their victims ran for cover
For the school, a place to hide
It was dark when the attack happened
The form seven kids came back
They'd left the school from the front door
And had now planned their attack
Their first snowball hit it's target
With a loud resounding crack
It was clear that old form seven
Was truly fighting back
The teachers had a huddle
Met inside and chose to fight
They would wait until the battle
Had gone on into night
They would sneak out of the building
With the absence of the light
And attack the grade five children
And show them how to fight
The air was full of snowballs
Bodies, gloves, scarves abound
there were children hitting adults
And there were children on the ground
They'd been at it for six hours
When they heard the alarm bell sound
It was time to get inside for bed
Before the prefects came around
The snowball fight at Wellesley
Public School in fifty one
Is the one that they remember
Out of all of those they've done
In all one hundred people
Were involved in all the fun
For next year they are building
A snowball launching gun!!!
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
I want to be close to you like Mercury
to see your full glow
and brightness of your intimacy
I see you like a Venus
because of your unsurpassed beauty
and your unfathomable, abysmal kind of love
You are like the Earth
where living with you is not a problem
and with you it is always easy to breathe
I see your ardent desires like a red Mars
to fight a war to cover and protect me
even sacrificing your own life
You give a gigantic precious tenderness
and enormously unselfish affections
like a Jupiter
You give me snowball rings like Saturn
that gives remembrance to all the beautiful
things that we had been in the atmosphere
of treasured memories
Your warmhearted axis
that tilts on the rocky core of my life
is like in a deep ocean of Uranus
that clasps me with grasping arms
You are like the depth the Neptune brings
who takes me beyond the known
to what's alive only in my wildest dreams.
On a very far and infinite distance
deep into the darkness like Pluto
you are perfect to get lost with
nothing matters but You and Me
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 5:53 AM UTC
homage to Wallace Stevens
I - My Focus pistoned up the rise
and all at once, the Rockies -
silhouettes against the western skies.
II - On the road to Boulder
a pleated ridge crawls north
like a blue whale bound for the open sea.
III - Appalachia's intoxicating verdure
never fails to induce in us
a certain mellowing of the spirit.
IV - You 'conquered' my North Face, did you?
Why, I should skewer your arrogant ***
like a holiday lamb culled for the sacrifice.
V - Lewis and Clark looked west
surveying the Bitterroots' frigid expanse.
Farewell Northwest Passage!
VI - Pueblos stranded on Enchanted Mesa -
their rock stairs crumbled to the valley floor.
Should they dive to their death or starve?
VII –Touristas at Big Bend Park
wonder at its pastel window -
its romantic haze a toxic gift
from stacks across the Rio Grande.
VIII – The once mighty Ozarks humbled by age,
dwarfed by the youthful Rockies.
Listen up, youngsters, your time will come!
IX – We de-bussed to seize the dolomites
with our hyper-kinetic shutters.
Pausing for a draught of Italian air,
I felt the whack of an Alpine snowball.
X - Before Oregon's crater had its lake,
the mountain scorched the village below.
Today its azure waters preach only serenity.
XI – Looking down from Shissler peak
to the golden meadow below
where the elk herd calmly grazes.
XII – Do mists veil the Blue Ridge Mountains
or are there really no mountains at all -
only clouds decked out in mountain attire?
XIII – They say that peaks more steep than Everest
soar up from the ocean floor.
Who will scale their sunken heights?
May 28, 2010 – Boulder Colorado
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
Quick Mr Ted get out of bed
the garden's crisp and white
let's dress up warm against the storm
and have a snowball fight
Then dig a den and build snow men
and decorate with coal
a hat, a scarf, a carrot half
and twig arms make him whole
Then let's lie down and move around
to give the angels wings
then put out bread for robins red
whom songs of winter sings
a tea tray sled for me and Ted
to slide down hill and plain
then lose control, we crash and roll
and do it all again
The cold wind blows, red cheeks and nose
our fingers all but numb
but cocoa cup warms us back up
while cuddling up with mum
Then time to sleep snuggle in deep
and dream of all we've done
for when all's told snow may be cold
but winters so much fun
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
you have left an imprint
on my heart
and no matter how hard i try
to forget you
like you did me
little things remind me of you
they keep you just a phone call away
a three minute walk from my front door to yours
the snow on the ground reminds me
of your promise to have a snowball fight
and my promise that i would surely win
it's hard to forget someone when
all the memories you made
were close to home
i want to move far away
i'm suffocating under the pressure
of the constant reminders
because all around the neighborhood
are reminders of you
but it seems that the story of us
is one you have forgotten
there are no memories
but you're everywhere to me
and it's getting hard to see
i need time to
breathe
i'm gasping for air
desperately trying to push them away
but i'm drowning
and home never felt more oppressive
and the reminders make me feel
obsessive
but is it really too much
to ask you to remember that i exist?
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
I went to Wal-Mart, the other day
To buy you a shower curtain.
Not just any shower curtain, if I do say so myself,
But the perfect shower curtain.
I wanted a shower curtain that would describe you, as a person.
A shower curtain so wonderful
And weird
And uniquely you
That everyone that saw it would say,
"Damn! That's a fine shower curtain!"
And what's more, they would know,
Beyond a shadow of a doubt,
That it was your shower curtain.
No one else's.
I didn't find it.
I'm sorry. I am.
I tried to get one that fit
Your style, your class, your ******* beauty,
But I'm not sure it exists.
First, I tried to find one that smelled like fresh-cut flowers
After a rainstorm
In the Amazon.
Then, I thought about trying to find
Something that would match the color of your eyes,
But I don't think they've invented a material
That starts out sea green
Then changes to iron gray when you're happy,
Sky blue when you're sad,
And a mix of all three when you're angry,
Like a technicolor warning system.
So I looked for one patterned with cartoon owls.
Because I know you're scared of birds,
And the best time to face any fear
Is in the morning.
And the best way
Is as a cartoon.
They didn't have one printed with your favorite song,
Or one made entirely of white lillies,
Or one cut into the shape of every snowflake
From every snowball
You've ever fired,
With the accuracy of the captain of the softball team,
Directly at my head.
I tried to find one with your vicious brand of humor
That I find so compelling,
But they don't make a shower curtain
That insults your mother,
Then gives you a kiss on the chin
Because it can't reach your nose.
I went to Wal-Mart to buy you a shower curtain.
So I bought the only one they had
That I could justify
Because nothing else would have fit.
I bought one that is translucent,
So that if I walk in on you one morning-
By accident, of course-
When you are busy washing your hair
As you sing Elvis songs,
I'll be able to see you,
Without seeing everything.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 1:39 PM UTC
I stood flat-footed upon an eroding hill
Here the sweet peas, on tip-toe for a fight
With wing of coarsest black o'er delicate night
And spiteful fingers grasping at all beauty
To bind us all in deeds unworthy
Oh, toxic wind and fertile rain
Disperse the fragrance of this pain
In healing gardens root a seed
Sprout the bliss we sorely need
This tiny pulse of life we hold
Thrives in soil tilled with love
And tender vines create a bower
Of sweet pea tended, brought to flower
I stand bare foot on an erupting volcanic mount
Here the sweet peas, on tip toe for a flight
With wing of justice verity o’er delicate sight
And nails that compassionately snowball serenity
To bind us all with concord and altruism
Oh, acidic rain share the tears
Wash thy tainted eye-sight
Then crux us in the high-yield land
As we germinate to heaven’s height
The seed so robust and fertile
A shell encased with human forms
The greenness of reflected sextile
Oh Sweet pea, our mirrored storm
*Inspired by a stanza from Keats' poem:
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill
Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight:
With wing of gentle flush o’er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings."*
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 9:11 AM UTC
My snowball-like puppy barks like a bird,
Whenever that sparrow enters my window
Like a sudden sunray of winter.
She perches on a luminous spot
To sing him the sweetness of nature, that
She composed when dawn kissed her feathers.
He rhythmically stirs air with his thin white tail,
And concentrates hard on imitating
The morning song of little sparrow.
Days walk like this on my room
Resonating with their twittering symphony.
Now I think, maybe it's not only a music lesson
But a chapter of learning the secrecy of flying.
'Cause yesterday afternoon I dreamt,
My puppy flew out of the open window
With his two new glittering wings of sparrow,
Singing the brightest song of freedom.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
If dogs could speak, O Mademoiselle,
What funny stories they could tell!
For instance, take your little "peke,"
How awkward if the dear could speak!
How sad for you and all of us,
Who round you flutter, flirt and fuss;
Folks think you modest, mild and meek . . .
But would they - if Fi-Fi could speak?
If dogs could tell, Ah Madame Rose,
What secrets could they not disclose!
If your pet poodle Angeline
Could hint at half of what she's seen,
Your reputation would, I fear,
As absolutely disappear
As would a snowball dropped in hell . . .
If Angeline could only tell.
If dogs could speak, how dangerous
It would be for a lot of us!
At what they see and what they hear
They wink an eye and wag an ear.
How fortunate for old and young
The darlings have a silent tongue!
We love them, but it's just as well
For all of us that - dogs can't tell.
2.8k
3 years
I find a new place
3 years
I wear a new face
3 years
I carry my shame
3 years
I burden my brain
Am I the variable, or a constant in march
It's never too bright and it's never too dark
A rolling snowball or a forest in fire
Border planted flags do not inspire
Sep 16, 2022
Sep 16, 2022 at 8:51 PM UTC
those mistakes were never the same,
snowflake, snowflake,
i melted in the touch of your cold cold heart.
i see you frantic, romancing the stars,
show me the world again, my gentle penpal and my proudest critique,
we circled the landmarks until you made me heart start to beat.
I’m petrified of the ride, this gifted one way system,
my commitment to you is beautiful true.
i pictured destruction - i couldn’t function in ways,
years and years, days and days, it was peace at last, if only you knew.
a thousand friends and a million faces,
the snowball effect melted me snowflake mallow.
you were right all along, i was spun from the whirlwind of your world.
give me Disney love now or nothing at all.
i’m all yours now my sweet princess,
theres no contest or battle just a universe of you.
the placebo effect is so far from the truth, an uninhabited land - i belong here with you.
theres only one question that remains unanswered.
snowflake don’t ever change. x
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
“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)
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
no count-downs for birthday parties
no arm wrestles, no jump shots
no go-cart donuts
not even a snowball
where did we go?
blond hair
up to my shoulders
surrounded by jewels
some empty-paned picture frame
couple sprouts beneath a pine
saying "monkeys" for Grammy's kodak
red clay on your feet
pink frosting in your teeth
me, sheathed in my favorite shirt
"I'm the big sister!"
with a butterfly depicting
what I've yet to become
how wrong have we gone?
well, I'll be twenty
once spring rolls around
and brother
you're not far behind
I can't tell time
to change its mind
but I promise you
it won't be changing mine
from the photographs, scrapbooks
I'll forever feel your laughter
just like goosebumps
the brail I'm reading into
let's gaze past glares
straight through white sunbeams
spiking your brown eyes
twice as deep as mine
the truest shades
on the face of the earth
to this very
foggy day
this mirror, this moment snagged
before shutters snap
and capture us, splatter us
on matte paper, or cell screens
with brown hair
up to your shoulders
way to go, little brother
but I'm still keeping that tee
because the only thing
I've always been proud to be
is your big sister
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
I think there are parts of our
lives that we can't possibly know
the meaning of until we are
months or even years removed.
I'm
talking inconsequential moments
that snowball, gathering up value
over time. Then you look back,
and suddenly you are just
so
surprised at how many actions
interacted perfectly, the necessary
amalgamation of happenings to
bring about one exact minute. I'm
glad
to have had this experience the
second you walked up. At that time
I could never have possibly known I
would be here today. Never guess
you
would have such an impact on my
life, knocking an avalanche into my
world, leaving me gasping for breath,
showing me what it means to
exist.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
You and I are going to settle this score
Now that you've abandoned your special snowflake campaign
And overcome your Stockholm Syndrome
A dynasty has been created
The snowball's chance begins to take effect
The short order cook has taken a tall order
A citrus feast for a ship of marauders
To prevent scurvy
The maitre d' disarmed them at the door
And allowed them to infiltrate the dining hall
The captain sat and twiddled his thumbs while his crew cut loose
The first mate drank fire water and shot it out of his nose
The quarter master ordered some fiddlesticks served on door glass
The boatswain ordered the insemination of a cow so he could eat the cow and all of its offspring
It was his first day eating meat again
He remembered his vegan salad days
The carpenter and ****** constructed a shrine of after dinner mints
And conducted a seance to talk to their old crew mate, Black eyed Ollie
He squandered his life searching the sea for a doctor to restore his sight
They planned to revive him and allow his spirit to possess one of them
And sure enough Black eyed Ollie entered the seaman's body and they took turns controlling the fleshy vessel
Black eyed Ollie got every day of the week that ended in "Y" and the seaman got the rest
The filching crew of blighters finished their meal and went on their way
They left quite a tip
"Actions speak louder than words and money talks too
Yet talk is cheap
But time is money
So every burning second counts
Then let's freeze time
Take action and buy all the talk at whole sale price
And sell it at retail price"
So pay up man, I told you working here would be interesting
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Through the miracle of meteorology, up high - little by little
parts of me was made, without form within a clouds middle,
and eventually, formed in unique designs, lighter than feathers,
temperature and water work together to produce, a period of weather.
When shapes, never repeated - but in approximation, begin to fall, as snow,
feasibly forecasted, sometimes not so, down on to the surface below.
And so as blanket laid, across town and countryside, fields and city mews,
changing the familiar, smoothing contours, into new landscape views.
The material soft, white glistening snow so miraculously delivered,
at earliest opportunity is introduced to excited shouts, laughter, and shivers.
Fittingly gathered by adult and children's hand, with the goal - to build a man.
midst joyful sounds, travellers moans and snowball fights, the creators plan,
By rolled ball pile and heaped snow I was born, created by many in several places,
some small and really, lovingly made. Others large with various, curious, hats and faces.
All - to stand appreciatively of of the makers time, to create me and proudly put on show.
Winter feeds our lifetime span with cold wind, colder nights and, temperatures low,
we stand as white statuary, where children play, soon - will come the expected day
a thaw, will take our sustainability of cool, and so little by little I, and others go away,
with saddened countenance creators watch as we bend, wither and slouch,
stoically accepting this is, as is. Snowy days will return, snowmen too, I can vouch.
It’s a happy sadness for snowman builders and snowmen too, who together
wait in anticipation for fun and creativity, the joyful side of snowy weather.
From a Snowman
Michael C Crowder 23rd January 2019
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 5:09 AM UTC
i like the feel of your hand in my and chipped
nail polish because you always make fun of me for
it and the way you smile at me then, like
you're trying so hard not to laugh
fills me with a kind of eternal happiness that
i crave and maybe that's why i like writing
your name on my hand because it reminds
me of sumshowers and accidental kisses-
it reminds me of hide and seek in the rain and bear hugs
and the ever changing color of your braces,
it reminds me of central park and late night
conversations and coffee and indigo and music and
snowball fights and wildflowers and--
you
writing your name on my hand makes me happy
because it reminds me of all the memories
i have with you and it wills me to make even more
until then though, i'll just keep writing your name on my hand
(h.l.)
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
Distorted words from holy books,
hypnotized by the **********
Whirl the swords 'round our heads,
while making their incursion.
A snowball out of control
a firestorm a reining
beliefs too strong to see the winds
of peace within them straining.
We wake to fear, and fear, and fear,
and soon will come the numbing
left by the sound of egos blasts,
cadences of ancient drumming.
Bullies in the school yard,
disgruntled husbands batter wives
Too many with too much and still unhappy
ruining other peoples lives
Who then among us
will take up the banner now
and love themselves, change the world
unfurl their angry brow
I will move the universe.
I will love my life.
I will throw away the gun.
I will sheath my knife.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
I want to see you in the summer
Sitting at the edge
With our feet in the water.
The ice creams in our hands melt
As the temperature gets hotter.
We don’t speak as we eat,
But we don’t have to,
Because the silence between us is not uncomfortable.
I want to see you in the moonlight
When we would walk so far that my feet bled,
Our eyes fixed on the road ahead-
But you walk close to me
And turn on your flashlight
Because you know that I am scared of the dark.
I want to see you in during autumn
When the leaves are the color of your hair.
Your words are so carefree it’s not even fair.
We look cozy in sweaters;
I’d be cozier if I was closer to you,
But you forge a path ahead,
And I follow you.
I want to see you illuminated
A dim glow cast on your features
By a 1980s horror film.
It doesn’t scare me, yet I wish it did
Because then maybe you would hold me,
But I wouldn’t pretend, because to you I would not lie.
This is just a movie between two friends: you and I.
I want to see you in the wintertime
Red cheeks and nose
Mine are too,
But not from the cold-
I think about these things as I’m hit by a snowball from you.
You laugh while I pretend to be mad
As the cold infiltrates my shirt,
But I don’t feel it,
Because we all know that I’m burning for you.
I want to see you every which way
Dressed up, dressed down;
Distressed or acting like a clown;
Excited, acting with reckless abandon;
Content, allowing me to see you undone.
I want to see it all,
But right now, I want to see you.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
We mourn the loss of our little pet,
And sigh o'er her hapless fate,
For never more by the fire she'll sit,
Nor play by the old green gate.
The little grave where her infant sleeps
Is 'neath the chestnut tree.
But o'er her grave we may not weep,
We know not where it may be.
Her empty bed, her idle ball,
Will never see her more;
No gentle tap, no loving purr
Is heard at the parlor door.
Another cat comes after her mice,
A cat with a ***** face,
But she does not hunt as our darling did,
Nor play with her airy grace.
Her stealthy paws tread the very hall
Where Snowball used to play,
But she only spits at the dogs our pet
So gallantly drove away.
She is useful and mild, and does her best,
But she is not fair to see,
And we cannot give her your place dear,
Nor worship her as we worship thee.
2.1k