Archives for posts with tag: snow

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“I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.” DYLAN THOMAS, A Child’s Christmas in Wales.

Photo: “Zensnowman” by Kyle Miron, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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zen and the snow shovel
by Debby J. Rosenberg

silence but for the scrape
of a blade across concrete
the icy crackle as boots
pressed into the dry powder
and cheeks rosy exposed
themselves to the arctic
chill
 
how like a human
trying to control the
path, clearing it of
frosty debris
 
silence was all around
winter had descended
burying bushes
under white blankets
 
the breath expressed
with a misty vapor
exposing the ether 
of alive
 
the sound, the smell
the touch, and the sight
was glorious for a moment
and felt like the waves of 
nature’s disposition conspiring
its sustainable existence
and all I have is a shovel

Photo: Kay Ellen, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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I MADE MYSELF A SNOWBALL
by Shel Silverstein

I made myself a snowball,
as perfect as could be.
I thought I’d keep it as a pet,
and let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas
And a pillow for its head.
Then last night it ran away,
But first it wet the bed!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Chicago native Shel Silverstein (1930-1999) was a poet, songwriter, singer, cartoonist, screenwriter, and author. Other notable books include Falling Up (1996), The Giving Tree (1964), Where the Sidewalk Ends (1974), and the song “A Boy Named Sue,”  made famous by Johnny Cash.

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CHOICES
by Tess Gallagher

I go to the mountain side
of the house to cut saplings,
and clear a view to snow
on the mountain. But when I look up,
saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in
the uppermost branches.
I don’t cut that one.
I don’t cut the others either.
Suddenly, in every tree,   
an unseen nest
where a mountain   
would be.

 Photo: Byota Art, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

“Choices” appears in MIDNIGHT LANTERN: New and Selected Poemsby Tess Gallagher (Graywolf Press, 2011)

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Tess Gallagher is a poet, essayist, and short story writer. She attended the University of Washington, where she studied creative writing with Theodore Roethke and later Nelson Bentley as well as David Wagoner and Mark Strand. Her honors include a fellowship from the Guggenheim Foundation, two National Endowment for the Arts awards, the The Maxine Cushing Gray Endowed Libraries Visiting Writers Fellowship (University of Washington), and the Elliston Award for “best book of poetry published by a small press” for the collection Instructions to the Double (1976). (Read more at wikipedia.org.)

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CHRISTMAS AT THE ROOF OF THE WORLD (Excerpt)

by Ernest Hemingway

  “…Paris with the snow falling. Paris with the big charcoal braziers outside the cafes, glowing red. At the cafe tables, men huddled, their coat collars turned up, while they finger glasses of grog Americain and the newsboys shout the evening papers.
     The buses rumble like green juggernauts through the snow that sifts down in the dusk. White house walls rise through the dusky snow. Snow is never more beautiful than in the city. It is wonderful in Paris to stand on a bridge across the Seine looking up through the softly curtaining snow past the grey bulk of the Louvre, up the river spanned by many bridges and bordered by the grey houses of old Paris to where Notre Dame squats in the dusk.
     It is very beautiful in Paris…at Christmas time.

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Editor’s Note: Ernest Hemingway wrote “Christmas at the Roof of the World” in 1923, when he was living in Paris and working as a correspondent for the Toronto Star. Find the story in BY-LINE ERNEST HEMINGWAY: Selected Articles and Dispatches of Four Decades, available at Amazon.com.

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WINTER MORNING WALKS

by Ted Kooser

Just as a dancer, turning and turning,

may fill the dusty light with the soft swirl

of her flying skirts, our weeping willow —

now old and broken, creaking in the breeze —

turns slowly, slowly in the winter sun,

sweeping the rusty roof of the barn

with the pale blue lacework of her shadow.

Photo: K&D Graphics, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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DECEMBER MOON
by May Sarton

Before going to bed

After a fall of snow

I look out on the field

Shining there in the moonlight

So calm, untouched and white

Snow silence fills my head

After I leave the window.


 
Hours later near dawn

When I look down again

The whole landscape has changed

The perfect surface gone

Criss-crossed and written on

Where the wild creatures ranged

While the moon rose and shone.


 
Why did my dog not bark?

Why did I hear no sound

There on the snow-locked ground
In the tumultuous dark?


 
How much can come, how much can go

When the December moon is bright,

What worlds of play we’ll never know

Sleeping away the cold white night

After a fall of snow.

Painting: Phoenix Arts Group, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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CHOICES

by Tess Gallagher

I go to the mountain side

of the house to cut saplings,

and clear a view to snow

on the mountain. But when I look up,

saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in

the uppermost branches.

I don’t cut that one.

I don’t cut the others either.

Suddenly, in every tree,   

an unseen nest

where a mountain   

would be.

 Photo: Byota Art, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

“Choices” appears in MIDNIGHT LANTERN: New and Selected Poems by Tess Gallagher (Graywolf Press, 2011)