No two snowflakes look the same
*
Each one different from the other
**
Falling gently to the frozen ground
***
Piling up to create snow drifts
****
So that you can make snowmen
*****
Have a snowball fight with friends
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
Piling up in drifts
Falling gently to the ground
No two flakes the same
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
Unique
Snowflakes falling
To the ground
Gently piling up in
Snow drifts. Ready for the
Kids build their snowmen and have
Their snowball fights. School is closed until
The roads are cleared. Kids go sledding on
The steepest hill, hoping to go fast enough to
Fly, feeling the wind on you as you slide downhill.
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
S - Slippery and slick roadways and walkways
N - No school until it melts away
O - Outside play requires mittens and ski hats
W - Water frozen into icicles
F - Freezing temperatures getting dangerously low
L - Layer your clothes for warmth while outside
A - Allow your pets inside to warm up, too
K - Keep fresh water out for the birds
E - Everyone enjoys a snow day
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More stories from Mother Combs and writers in Poets and other communities.
Obsidian Is Alive
I live in a realm of darkness and curiosity, where the very ground conceals secrets and riddles, the answers to which are well beyond my reach. The cavern beneath Mount Etna is a maze of contorted rock and hidden riches, where daylight never shines, and the shadows of torches and the ghostly phosphorescence of cinnabar are the only illumination sources. I am fascinated by the cavern's beauty: the stalagmites, vast columns of rock that ascend from the ground like titans and are studded with gleaming adornments and stones, capturing sunlight and creating a treasure-trove of wealth and fascination. One stalagmite, however, stands out: a gigantic monolith of completely unreflective obsidian that glows blackly, swallowing light and color. I am drawn to it by a magnetic-like force; though Clement tells me it will boil to the touch, I am not frightened. Indeed, when I put my palm upon it, I am startled by the device's warmth; it is red-hot, pulsating with unseen living energy. Clement explains it is a conductor, a turning device that draws and converts all force it contacts.
By Owen Belen4 days ago in Poets
Comments (5)
Ah, beautiful imagery. This poem really makes me miss the north
Lovely winter collection of various styles!
Love a snowday!
You're like so extremely fantastically absolutely so awesomeeee! Loved all your poems here!
Those kids sure are glad that school is out, bring on the snow they say. Ah, the days of fun we should all go funning.