Poem: Snow Day

My current home lies where the robins migrate for winter, so we don’t get a lot of snow. For a while, I was afraid that I wouldn’t get to see any in person before the season ended.

Then it came.

Of course, I was delighted, and enjoyed several walks throughout the day between reading and feeding my new bearded dragon, Xephyr “Peaches.” He can’t replace Thorin, but Xeph is adorable in his own way. He’s a little acrobat who wants to climb up everything.

I also got a chance to reflect in solitude on my first walk. Which was quite the contrast from my time living in England, when my family was a channel and half a continent away. During my one snow day in Nottingham, I went outside and watched with longing as families walked together. Now, five years later, with family closer by not always present, I don’t mind walking by myself. In fact, I quite enjoy it.

 

Snow Day

hollow
the way sound reverberates
in canyon

falling
between patches
of blue and gray

glass
covering a thousand
stretching branches

drifting
crystals beneath
a dozen robins

crunch
past the deer prints
on the road

biting
wind until I pull
my scarf back up

slip
back into the
numbing warmth inside

aching
back from hunching
over a book

drip
icicles hang
and shatter on the ground

 

***

 

Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? Did you get snow this winter? Do you prefer walking with people or by yourself?

 

Similar poems: Ode to Winter, The First Snow, and Weird Winter Weather

Poem: The First Snow (Audio)

Welcome to the new face of Word Storm!

After I finished my MBA, I did some tweaking, and I commissioned a lovely graphic artist to design a new cover photo because dragons and tea, travel and thunderstorms. ISN’T IT PRETTY!? Thanks again, Rowa!

But I don’t just have a new cover photo for you. I also spent a good deal of time in December recording the published poems and the Reader’s Choice from 2018, and I’ll be doing some more recordings this year as well. Poetry isn’t just meant to be read on a computer screen, but it’s also meant to be read and shared aloud.

The First Snow

The first snow is fleeting,

fluttering one moment and

                                                melted the next—

but to the driver going to work, she is a blinding sleet,

cascading, bottling up your light and tossing it back—

to the biker heading home, she is the needles,

while the flesh is the pincushion and throw.

The second snow is silent,

drifting down in spurts

                                                taking turns with the sun—

but to the magpie fighting the wind, she is a rip current,

a tether caught on feathers, holding back branches—

to the red rooftops sloping here, she is but a coat,

taken off and folded up indoors.

The third snow is loud,

crackling thunder

                                                howling wind—

but to the mother waiting for a call, she is but a sound

of wailing, complaining, she’s heard it all before—

to the child waiting for a taste of dusted sugar,

she is a touch of dreams, sleigh bells, and numb fingers.

***

For more audio poetry, check out my Poetry page and don’t forget to subscribe to my YouTube channel!

Let’s chat! What do you think of the new design? Enjoy the audio additions? What did you think of this poem?

Similar poems: Biking to Work, Snowfell, and In Season

Poem: Snowfell

No, I did not misspell snowfall. The title is Snowfell on purpose. I like the thought of a quaint little town in the mountains, slick with a layer of ice, covered in a layer of snow, and dusted with another layer of loose flakes. Where its citizens bundle up in fur coats, sporting long scarves and colorful berets. This place is, unfortunately, fictional. But I did draw from some elements of a European winter. And I can dream. 

Based off the latest snowfall in my own little town, the following poem features an early winter. 

Snowfell

The crunch of snow underboot
is quite unlike the rub of
some cotton ball, though they both
send a shiver down my spine.

Her aroma tickles my
nose, her pale flakes make me sneeze;
some breeze whirls the strays like grains
of sand on this lived in land.

Mistletoe hangs green on these
bare branches now cradling
white blankets, green parasites,
like some love is born of death.

Fog fills lungs, bitter iron
touches my tongue, eyes water,
souls soak, sweat freezes, smoke blows
on this here autumn morning.

***

I’m also running a giveaway for my novelette series. So be sure to add it on Goodreads and enter to win one of three free signed copies of Last of the Memory Keepers series!  (Offer ends Dec. 8, 2017.)

Let’s chat! What’s autumn like in your hometown? How about winter? What’s your favorite thing about snow? 

Similar poems: Weird Winter Weather, In Season, and The Crow and the Heron