Super Sized Series

 Winter Wonderland Part 2

 
 Three poems by Alarie Tennille

RESOLUTIONS

The trees fan
sharpened pencils
toward the paper-white sky.
I take one and write,
surprised by my childishly 
round a’s, at how my l’s
and t’s lean together
like they’re staggering home
new year’s eve.
 
Though the lines slant
upward, they look unsure.
Trying to erase, I only
smear the gray and wish
for a red crayon.
 
The wind sighs, but the sky
patiently lays out another
blank sheet, saying,
“Try again.”
 
First published in The Kansas City Star



Superstition 
 
 
Every new year’s day
I follow the Southern tradition:
cooking black-eyed peas for luck
and greens for prosperity—
sort of a soul food seder.
Mindful eating.
   
Courting Fate, I add candles
and champagne.


Winter Comes to Stay 

 
The leaves flashed 
yellow caution, red stop, 
but time’s taxi sped into town,
dropping winter at our door.   
We welcomed it with smiles,
twinkling lights and candles.  
Later we put away the cookies, 
the wreath, any sign of welcome.   
Winter stayed on. We hoped 
it bought a two-way ticket, 
but had our doubts.
 
 

Winter in the Pyrenees by Rose Mary Boehm

Slate grey and barren.
A few shredded snow blankets
barely covered the lower slopes.
Baqueira’s ski lifts, empty,
nodding at each other in passing.

That night, impossibly white cloud-loads
of powdery snow descended, soon
camouflaging the world we knew.

When it was over, a few last flakes
pirouetting slowly onto an absurdly
pristine shroud, our host said:
“Vamos, amigos!”

The cold moon,
hung in cloudless black,
made our shadows ominous.
They snaked over mounds
and into hollows ahead of us.

We came upon twenty-four huskies
lying on moonlit, sparkling white—
harnessed, ready, expectant and keen.

The sleighs cruised across the high plateau at speed;
the dogs, released like bullets from a gun,
streamed across the shadowed white
with exuberant abandon.

A spell had spun a web across our words.
The stars leaned down.
We heard their tiny voices peeling
in delight across the void.
Or were there bells?

Some light years later we returned.
We almost broke—like icicles—and
the Champagne froze
in the flutes.

Three poems by Sarah Russell
 Snow Overnight

I set out at first light
into a seamless landscape.

Earth is silent, save for
a rhythmic plod of boots,
clouded breath against my muffler;
fresh path on an old trail.

I think of my daughter, newly separated,
her search for landmarks in a world
suddenly opaque, and know
even love as fierce as mine
can't keep her warm.

Winter's Atelier
 Stark in January's light,
the elms become reluctant nudes --
poses held until they tremble,
rigid, aching, as the artist etches
frost webs on limbs.

january collage

the world is resting waiting
tuesday wednesday thursday
hollyhocks brown and broken

lilacs bent waiting waiting
squirrels snug in leaf bunches
fire warming soup warming extra quilts 

friday saturday sunday
shoveling splitting wood breathing steam
 in snow bright sunshine

early dusk late sunrise
monday tuesday wednesday 
resting waiting for the crocuses

flakes like dandelion fluff on the wind
landscape lustrous in moonlight

January by Judith Waller Carroll

All last week,
the road in front of our window 
was covered in ice.

Today, this sudden hard rain
followed by a quick torrent of hail. 

Now the sky is clear 
and the flood whirling 
in our neighbor’s driveway 
just moments ago 
is gone, the road barely damp.

How resilient the winter sun: 
chased behind a cloud 
by the dark sky, 
then coming back out, 
brighter than before.

This Winter by Lynn White

My red
all wool
balaclava
masks me 
so warmly
this winter

and hopefully
my colour choice
will distinguish me
from the local would be bank robbers,
if there are any about on this cold morning
when frost crystals congeal in the wool
and hang crystalline
in the space left
for eyes and mouth.

Even those who know me best
would fail to recognise me
especially
if everyone in town
was wearing a red balaclava.




June's Blizzard by Laurie Kuntz

 
June performs an early March sonata:
 
hail lashes the Iris’s purple tongue,
glistening under the  volley of  icy diamond stones.
 
Weather settles everything,
 
violet petals recover,
flowers are never angry.