Winter’s Warmth

The air is cold and the sky is gray.
It’s time again for Valentine’s Day.
Lips are warm and soon to be kissed.
It’s a winter’s day not to be missed.
Flowers found to make the day bright.
Candy presented to each share a bight.
Hands are held and everything’s fine.
Happy Valentines, will you be mine.



Shady Chances

The sun’s yet risen and the wait’s begun.
The weather is miserable and not much fun.
Yet here I stand shivering and wet,
desperately hoping I’ll win this year’s bet.
Losers are more than winners by far,
but another day’s wages I slapped on that bar.
Chances we take most every day,
so by this hole I’m going to stay.
Just a little sunshine is all it will take,
so I look to the clouds, hoping they’ll break.
Will that big rodent peek from their den?
We all know why but no one knows when.
Then out pops a head in search of a treat,
as it’s been a long winter with nothing to eat.
But a shadow was seen, so more winter’s to follow.
Now I’m cold, broke and tired and pride I must swallow.



 If no two snowflakes are the same,

When melted do they come back again?

How do all the storm clouds know,

What each other makes for snow?


Though thought all different, ingredients same

Freely floating flakes, cousins of rain

Minuscule crystals suspended in lines

Destiny’s same – the kiss of sunshine


Just another of natures’ follies, like we all

The higher the cloud, the faster the fall

The longer the blizzard, the deeper the strife

The hotter the day, the shorter the life


Do we really care if snowflakes are the same?

Or are we just repeating an old silly game?

A game that can never ever be won –

When all the pieces melt in the sun



Too Cold To Go Outside

I woke today – weatherman lied.

I rolled over and I sighed.

Couldn’t sleep, eyes open wide.

It’s too cold to go outside.


There’ll be no swing set or slide.

There’ll be no walk or bike ride.

There’ll be no kites to be flied.

It’s too cold to go outside.


Today we have to play inside.

We’ll think of things never tried.

Stocking feet on floors we’ll glide.

It’s too cold to go outside.


We’ll build a fort for us to hide.

We’ll play dress up – you be bride.

Explore jungles – I’ll be guide.

It’s too cold to go outside.


Time to dig a path that’s wide.

Getting dressed, boot laces tied.

Wind so stingy I almost cried.

It’s too cold to go outside.


All’s warm, coats hung to be dried.

Find crayons, colors I’ve eyed.

Draw pictures for the fridge with pride.

It’s too cold to go outside.


Icy world all is gray sky-ed.

Plants droopy, looks like they died.

Bay frozen we’ll see no tide.

It’s too cold to go outside.


Now sleep, teddies at my side.

Cold nights end, take it in stride.

Spring soon then winter we’ll chide.

When not too cold to go outside.



Getting Old

My story today is put on hold.
I’ve snow to shovel in the cold.
This foolish weather’s getting old.
I should move south, so I’ve been told.
Fresh air and sunshine’s what I need.
No more boots or coats of tweed.
No more shovels, my winters freed.
But there’ll be no speedo, that’s agreed.
What about sunburn, I burn fast,
a lesson learned from my past.
And the bugs, their numbers vast,
hurricanes too are often forecast.
I’d miss the autumn with colors bright.
And the pleasant walks on a summer’s night.
Spring of course brings a new days light.
So one more year I guess is alright.



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A Holiday’s Warmth

In the land of the dragon when nights get long.
The air is cold and the wind is strong.
In caves they’ll gather all cozy and warm.
But first, they’ll prepare before the big storm.
The holiday’s near and another year’s treat.
Moms and dads busy to make all things neat.
The children make dangles to dress up their tree.
Then off to slumber for a week, two or three.
Their parents when done with winter chores,
warm their homes and open their doors.
The children then wake to a new winter’s white.
And gaze at trinkets secretly left in the night.
There are mittens and hats for the littlest of tikes.
There are goodies galore that everyone likes.
The grown-ups all share a warm hearted kiss.
Then hugs all around that’s never to miss.
The teens await the greatest gift of all.
They’ll soon learn to fly or tumble and fall.
But the new snow’s now deep and oh so soft.
It’s perfect for landing when not high aloft.
When the sun gets low and the chill sets in.
Homeward they head for the feast begin.
They’ll all sing and dance and sip warm sno-nog.
The night then ends with the last burning log.
Eyelids grow heavy, eyes soon to close.
Socks pulled snugly over big chilly toes.
Hibernation then starts and dreams it’ll bring,
where thoughts are warm awaiting the spring.


Weighty Waiting

A week was spent with no heat;
my old boiler had had enough.
Perhaps it was just a test;
to see if we are old house tough.
The temperature dropped into the teens,
we also had some snow.
We huddled in the kitchen;
basking in the old stove’s glow.
Now the boiler’s been replaced,
our cold feet are now a memory.
Now which shoe will drop next,
we’ll just have to wait and see.


First Snow

The first snow of the year
fell while we all slept.
We woke to a world of white;
all’s eerily wind-swept.
The outside’s frigid cold,
no need to go out yet.
This storm will last all day,
there’s plenty of time to fret.
The sidewalk must be shoveled
and the driveway too.
The steps will need some salt
to track in on my shoe.
My cats will be upset;
they’re not going out today.
I’ll give them a little catnip;
I wish I too could play.
But soon this day will end
and a fire I’ll then light.
I’ll snuggle with my sweetheart,
cozy through the night.
The first snow’s always fun,
a feast for seasoned eyes.
But after that we wait for spring
and warm, clear blue skies.


Done Again

I woke up early but not sure why.
The sun yet risen, no stars in the sky.
This shortened day will too soon pass.
Memories linger of lush green grass.
The water boils and cats get fed.
Should I persist or go back to bed?
Bed is warm, my kitchen’s cold,
New England winters’ getting old.
My pad awaits and pencils ready.
Ideas are shaky but hands steady.
Now is now but soon to be then.
If not today perhaps not again.
First a letter, then words will follow.
Most are solid, some ring hollow.
But any start’s better than none.
Good or bad, at least it’s done.


Rest in Fleece

One more month and spring is here.
When freezing to death’s no longer a fear.
We’ll pack our sweaters, hats and coats.
Soon the bay will fill with boats.
Flowers will bloom and temps will rise.
Trees will green before longing eyes.
Days get longer, nights a bit cool.
But now we wait, because time’s cruel.
I don’t hate winter or the cold.
But those months are growing old.
I do like autumn but spring is still best.
So for one more month I’ll just rest.


Just Because

My machine is broken on this cold winter’s day.
I woke up early but I’ve nothing to say.
My pad looks lonely with no words on it yet.
So I looked out the window for inspiration to get.
But the sky is gray and the snow is brown.
And the hour’s too early for any action in town.
The birds are still nested and the squirrels asleep.
The cats are about but not making a peep.
My world is quiet, silence is heard.
My vision is clear but my thoughts are blurred.
So I look at the news, but nothing’s good there.
So alone I sit on my old kitchen chair.
Something will come, it usually does,
I don’t know the reason so I say it’s because.
Because, because is the answer we give when we’ve none,
so that’s all for now because I’m done.



Soon it’s fall, but first back to school,

days getting shorter, nights get cool.

Then the winter and with it snow,

wrapping the world in its glow.

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We’ll build forts, make balls to throw.

So many things to do in the snow,

sledding and skiing, rolling in white.

Hoping for more snow every night.

 Snow_poem_SK052014 (2)

Morning’s good news, stay home from class.

Fun things to do with time to pass,

make a snowman with rocks for eyes,

that see’s all in cold winter skies.

Snow_poem_SK052014 (3)

We’ll stay in and play or just talk.

Then shovel a long path to walk,

to the street though nowhere to go.

Everything’s closed because of the snow.

 Snow_poem_SK052014 (4)

Crusty piles; high, dirty and gray,

wetter and smaller each new day.

Snowman’s withered, springs on the way,

time to make up for our snow day.

 Snow_poem_SK052014 (5)

Waking one morning, snow’s no more,

instead there’s flowers by my door.

Springs arrived and welcome by all,

summers next and followed by fall

 Snow_poem_SK052014 (6)

Like the seasons our life goes round.

Searching for answers already found.

Around and around we all go,

waiting for summer then for snow.


The End


Wintery Summary

Our day of thanks is past.
And Christmas is coming fast.
Now all the roads are jammed.
And mailboxes are getting spammed.
Traveling from all around,
our friends and family abound.
The mistletoe will hang in wait,
ready for the kissers’ fate.
With ornaments galore arranged,
precious gifts will be exchanged,
The food and fun will joyfully flow.
But then it’s back to shoveling snow.


Good Morning Sunshine

Good morning sunshine wherever you are.
The sky is gray and the spring is far.
The winter blue’s now in sight,
reminded daily by the length of night.
Soon will be snow, slush and rain,
every chore’s a major pain.
Walk’s now unpleasant in my little town.
So we’ll bundle up and hunker down.
The calendar I’ll watch and mark each date,
envious of those who hibernate.
To sleep all winter sounds like fun,
then awakened to a warming sun.
But I’m just a human, as are you.
We endure the weather, it’s what we do.
But for me the heat’s never too far.
Good morning sunshine there you are.


A Christmas Tail

Chapter 1 ~ the Beginning


All’s quiet this early winter’s night.

Embers fade in the candles dancing light.

I was thinking of Christmas, many years past.

Those fond old memories, now fading fast.


I recalled when our home came alive.

I was just a small girl of about five.

It was a grand old house for mom, dad and me.

Sat perched on a hill overlooking the sea.


It’s still a museum in our little town.

It was built by a General of historic renown.

Shared with his bride Martha, she had a sad life.

The General’s a hero, she a young widowed wife.


We cared for the house and gave the tours.

All year-long we opened our doors.

We welcomed the guest to step back in time.

So come on in and share our rhyme.


I lay awake and tossed and turned.

Thinking of school and all I learned.

Letters and numbers and new friends,

I hope kindergarten never ends.


My thought disturbed by shapes on the wall,

a moonlit dance, shadows big and small.

It pranced to my table that’s set for tea.

There’s a seat for Teddy and Dolly plus one for me.


It climbed the chair with a dancer’s grace.

She must be a girl with a whiskered face.

Dolly left some crumbs on her plate.

When I remembered it was too late.


I Left a treat each night for a week.

I tried staying awake to catch a peek.

I’ll call her Martha, like our homes bride

But when I giggled she ran to hide.


Chapter 2 ~ New Friends


The days passed, she’d visit most nights.

She kept unseen until I turn out the lights.

She knows I’m cozy in my warm bed.

She smiles and winks, thankful she’s fed.


One night I waited, still in my chair.

Starlight warmed the chilly night air.

Eyelids dropped like the falling moon.

I hope my visitor gets here soon.


Night turned to-day, feet cold on the floor.

I missed my friend but goodies no more.

The next night I brought a cookie to bed.

I woke with my new friend by my head.


Days got colder, Christmas was near.

I looked forward to the snacks we share.

Each passing night our friendship grows.

We chat and laugh, I scratch her nose.


Thanksgiving’s past, Santa’s on his way.

The tree goes up, brighter each day.

We’re happy to welcome all our new guests,

while I wore my new colonial dress.


I tell them of the homes long past,

Of all that’s lived here, my family last.

I tell them of their history.

But never a word of Martha and me.


On the last day of school before the break,

we celebrated with carols and cake.

We shared cards and hugs then on our way.

We’re off to the bus and our long holiday.


Glad to be home, much to be done.

Baking and wrapping with mom will be fun.

I think Christmas is the best time of year.

There’s lots of visits from friends far and near.


Chapter 3 ~ Good and Bad


It’s not just gifts that makes Christmas best.

It’s all the excitement, no time for rest.

One snowy day mom and I went to town.

Main Street’s so merry, never a frown.


When we returned from our last-minute shop,

we saw a truck with a light on top.

A man in a hard-hat talked with my dad.

They both spoke quietly and looked very sad.


My parents whispered, thought I didn’t hear.

Something’s was broken too much to repair.

Said we’re leaving, where they don’t know.

I loved our home and didn’t want to go.


I gave the last tour on that very sad day.

We finished our cocoa with little to say.

Mom read aloud then kissed me goodnight.

Dad tucked me in, turned out the light.


I lay sobbing at the loss of our house.

No new friends, no Martha the mouse.

I then had a plan and ran for my bank.

Shook out the coins and my little heart sank.


Martha came close, she knew I was sad.

I forgot the snacks but she wasn’t mad.

We counted my pennies in moonlight,

then crept downstairs later that night.


We tucked my bank under the tree.

It’s for our old house from Martha and me.

But one last thing and then back to bed.

A snack for Martha and a pat on her head.


My dad woke me early that Christmas day.

I knew he was sad, he smiled anyway.

We met mom in the hall, headed downstairs.

We all acted happy while holding back tears.


Chapter 4 ~ New Beginnings


The cookies were gone, Santa was here.

Beneath the tree, present are there.

But shocked to see something I’d never seen.

There are stacks of coins, sleeping mice in between.


They ate Santa’s cookies then took a nap.

All snuggled together in the Christmas wrap.

Sleeping soundly until mom screams.

Then all were awakened from their dreams.


Martha stood out front and winked at me.

She waved me over to come and see.

The piles of treasure they found last night.

That was lost under the floorboards out of sight.


The Generals treasure, his coins of gold.

There’s enough to fix our homes splendor of old.

Martha saved our house and Christmas too.

She helped write this rhyme to share with you.


We wish you the best this holiday.

May all your days be just your way.

We’re glad to have shared our time as one.

From all of us here at our house of fun.


The End    


A Cynic View

I warn you now I have no clue

Where this poem is going to

Or if it is a poem at all

I can’t decide, you make the call


Trees fallen for me to rhyme

Till out of space, bounds, breath and time

Out to lunch and there I’ll join you

We’ll rearrange words on life’s menu


Time is free, food is not

Sleep spent in dollars per spot

Feet walk, wheels run

Hands make wings to the sun


Voices singing for all who hear

Through buds growing in the ear

Tiny wires dangle from there

Yet no-one seems to give a care


With tablet and Wi-Fi at the ready

Media replaced good ole teddy

Designer binkies between the lips

Smartphones at the fingertips


Toddlers hunched, stroller bound

Multi cup-holders and Dolby sound

Of course a visor to shield the sun

The big glowing face that was once fun


Now a menace to one and all

Best to stay in until the fall

When leafy suburbs bags abound

Full of leaves, once on the ground


Cleared from lawns to keep them green

Exchanged with poisons in-between

Until the snow, when all’s forgotten

Of summer days way back when


When sunny skies made all seem bright

Laughter filling playful moonlight

Now games played with only thumbs

Killing the most for the biggest sums


Some might win the rest will lose

Most can’t, but some will choose

Now we’ve all a choice to make

Was it ever real or just a real fake?


Or if it ever will be, or ever was

Or just maybe it is – just because



Pastel Poetry Please

The pallete overflows

Colors no-one knows

A spectrum of hues

Whatever I choose

But the grays get in the way


Wheels of color roll on the ground

Colors don’t matter if wheels ain’t round

Drawing time from sketchy books

Gradient defines good, shady or crooks

And the grays all have a say


Canvas pure, time no-more

Palletes bare, nothing to share

Thinking of more, brushes galore

Morning’s bright till dark of night

Yet the grays still paint my day