We’re in for a nasty time weather-wise over the next few days here in the Great Lakes area. A mountainous amount of snow the likes we haven’t seen in a few years. Using a form of weather event, write your poem! (Example – A Flurry of Activity, A Storm of Decisions, A Blizzard of Thought…) Stay safe and warm!
Salting Steps Lord, season my words, and salt my path so that I will not slip from You. © Marie Elena Good, 2022
A DELUGE OF MEMORIES
Memories come flooding in, a deluge of thoughts that haunt my heart. I start to reminisce, that first kiss, that last caress. This pulsing in my chest that tells me I am still alive because of you. It is true that you had revived this sorry soul, and I lose control of emotions. And just as fleeting, you are gone again, to linger in my heart and mind, waiting to emerge when least expected, flowing unimpeded as memories can. (C) Walter J Wojtanik - 2022
95 thoughts on “PROMPT #413 – A BLIZZARD OF THOUGHT”
A SQUALL OF SQUABS
storm the skies with white wings
reminding everyone below
Like I need reminders! Great imagery, Bill!
How much snow did you guys get?
I got just about four feet. Seven feet a couple towns over in Orchard Park where the Bills play. I hate when winter starts this way. It just makes it seem so much longer!
This sounds lovely, actually!
Love the images here, William! Beautifully done!
Good visual, William!
Walt, your lovely piece recalls for me Irving Berlin’s “You Keep Coming Back Like a Song.”
Thank you sir! Love Berlin’s music!
Ooooh, it does, doesn’t it! Love it!
Marie, every line in your piece punctuates the thought. Wonderful.
Or as Mr. Welk would say, “Wunnerful, wunnerful!” (Wonderful, wonderful)!
When I was young, there was a joke: “Stop air pollution; take Lawrence Welk off the air.” Considering that his old shows are still on public television, somewhere he must be having a wunnerful last laugh.
The best bonding experience with my Polish Grandfather was sitting together watching the Lawrence Welk Show. When I watch it now (and I do watch it), I’m taken back to those days and memories and cherish them all over again.
I always enjoyed him, and Mitch Miller too~
Thank you both, gentlemen!
Enjoyed this as well, William and Walt! 🙂
We raised homing-pigeons as kids, and this brings back the memories! I loved helping to ‘care for’ the naked little squabs, just so certifiably ugly, but cute at the same time. I loved waiting for them to open their eyes. Great imagery!!
The memories assault
A flurry of accusations in my heart
Not good enough, a failure,
Created only to be bred
His harm and words whip into my head
Accumulate as drifts of blame
Weigh down my limbs,
Cause me to droop in shame.
Will I bend or will I break?
Can I withstand the weight
And winds of memories that seek
To destroy all hope – make all bleak?
If memories were but snow flakes
And by prayer and joy melted away
Watering the ground beneath
My heart would be healed
And a beautiful garden prevail.
Hmmmm… the last stanza seems double-edged to me. Very skilful.
So well expressed, Shelly!
Well said Shelly!
Oh my sweet and beautiful friend … your words are full of ache and beauty all at once. That last stanza … wow …
Phrasing the struggle so skillfully is surely evidence of ‘bend’ over ‘break’– let it go in the wind… you are strong!
This was poignant and powerful! Such strong images! I especially liked your ending, Shelly!
Fine use of connection between emotions and weather
Sounds like you are testing yourself in this very well written poem.
Marie, beautiful poetic prayer! Amen.
In a Blizzard, Pray
Maybe, like those heavyweights so bold,
I’m taking a round off, ‘cause I’m old
saving up for the final turn at rainbow’s bend,
hoping to impress the judges with a flurry at the end.
I have been a little defensive here,
the thought of a knockout drawing near.
I hope the ref won’t think I’m out on my feet,
there are still some challenges I’d like to meet,
even though it’s been a lengthy fight,
please let me go the distance into the stormy night.
I know it’s not the desired norm,
but I’ve appreciated the occasional storm.
I’ve been thankful when it came to mind,
to smile a lot, and to be kind.
It’s been great to see, with certain clarity,
I have cared enough for honest charity,
and I’m still reminded every day
I’m grateful that I’ve learned to pray.
It’s been the perfect place for me to start,
to ease my soul, to warm my heart,
to get me through some pain and strife,
it’s the greatest part of a grateful life.
Another wunnerful, wunnerful here. For me, this piece shows that rhyming couplets can be done with grace and dignity.
Adding my humble-but-huge amen.
Agreed. I always find couplets difficult.
Oh, Daniel, such a moving, heartfelt poem! The sincerity is reflected throughout! It flows as beautifully as love itself and sweet gratitude! So well done!
This is a beautiful ‘life trip’ and certainly reflective of you, but a reminder to all of us. Happy Thanksgiving!
Drifting in the Wind
drifts into the wind
a slow dance
after the last leaf
but I already dream
of next spring
a story told
but my thoughts
turn to winter
as a cold wind
For me, the shape of this piece suggests falling snow. If it were slanted, it’d be blizzardy.
“a cold wind sings” made me smile. Lovely piece altogether.
This was just lovely, Mike! The flow was an excellent pairing with your words! So enjoyed this!
Thank you, Jane.
Nature transformed! Indeed!!
I like to think of all the bulbs and seeds dormant, too.
Can feel the snow just starting to fall, gently.
I am sorry for last week. I had a migraine that lasted five days…
I’m so sorry to hear this! Thankful you are feeling better.
I had it show up again but today I am better…
Blizzard on the Mountain…
We survived a blizzard,
My parents and me.
That morning in the valley
Where we lived
The sun was shining.
We were going towards the south
To visit family, and
I was twelve.
I was playing in the yard,
When I was called to get in the car.
We stopped at Da’s office
Located in the park.
It was beginning to snow.
Before we left, Da put chains
On his tires, and the snow was falling fast,
And the sky was dark grey.
It was eleven in the morning.
At the gate to the parkway,
The ranger told Da…
He would be the last to cross.
My father built the road…
He knew it as well as the lines
On each of his hands.
It was half past
Before we got to the top of the mountain,
The snow was falling faster and
The sky was dark as night,
But it was going to get darker
Before we reached the top.
It was almost one in the afternoon.
At the top of the mountain,
Da stopped to talk to the ranger
Waiting until we passed.
As they talked,
I stepped out of the car
And within inches
All I saw of it were its lights.
Standing within the wildest storm
That I would ever stand.
I heard the whistle of the trees
That shrieked in warning
As the winds roared
The sound was loud like a train
Blowing at the crossroads of the tracks.
The snow cut into my face and hands…
Shards of ice pelting on me,
And I was beginning to freeze.
The sky so black that black
Of silky black cat.
In the car lights that snow
Was dancing like a whirling dervish.
(The man from Turkey taught me about them.)
I heard my father’s muffled shout,
“Get back in the car!”
I reached in the dark and felt cold metal,
And opened the door, and
Da gave me a tongue lashing
And in his voice was panic.
I was sorry that I scared him,
But those moments in the blizzard…
I have kept them close to my heart.
Our journey downward
Was slow and the snow kept pounding
Us in our journey in the dark
And out of the park.
The sky was still dark
When we got to the gate.
I looked at the clock,
And it was three five hours
After we left home.
There was a man arguing
That he was from New York,
And he knew how-to drive-in snow.
The young ranger asked Da to tell
Him why he could not go,
And Da said to the man,
“I built the damn road,
And almost did not get across.”
An hour down the road,
There were only a few snowflakes,
And we stopped in a diner
That Da liked to stop and
He ordered his coffee
Like he always did-
Blond and sweet like he liked his women.
Ma rolled her eyes at him, and he would laugh.
Eight years later, I would order my coffee,
“Blond and sweet like I don’t like my men.”
In the same diner, and the shock on Da’s face
But on this day… just to have life the same
Was all that really mattered.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
November 20, 2022
I remember this story. Great retelling, Mary.
Thaks… I did it as a Christmas story once. but never as a poem.
Well done, Mary! Such a well captured collection of images! I could almost feel the snow falling! Beautiful!
Just love the visuals here, the images of going on the mountain… so poignant.
Another wonderful tale, Mary! I hope you begin to start feeling better.
came her response
the strike hitting
cracking the heart
as if a tidal wave
had been welling up
a speedy token
reflecting what’s broken
cascading down and out
leaving little doubt
of imminent rage
spilling out like a volcanic reaction
any sense of recourse
by the ever hot lava
flowing in only one direction
best move out of the way
better to just witness
this verbal mess
holding onto hope
it will pass soon
and trust what I know
once this storm can go
in some way
on another day
I can say
I’ll again see
because at last
another storm of hers
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2022
Pretty potent this.
Potent is a great word for it. Well done, Janet.
I was inspired by your prompt, Marie and Walt! Thank you so much for your kind comments, William, Benjamin and Marie!
OOOH! great descriptions. Know I couldn’t have unpacked it so well. Wow!
Love this, Janet!
Why the onslaught?
Why can’t I clear my head?
Most of these thoughts just seem petty!
Will they matter tomorrow?
But they won’t go away
And they’re ruining my day
Maybe I should pray
“Dear Lord, I’m not complaining,
but why are these things on my mind?
I just don’t understand.
Are they from You?
Then the Lord told me
“It’s your assignment, My son.
Go, and do My will?
Oh wow. Powerful, Earl.
There is no other truth
No other Way, no other Life
Jesus is the only Truth
So, SO thankful for Him!
Ya gotta believe, or what do you have??!!
Marie, your poem about not slipping away was profound and such expressed sweet gratitude! Soothing and comforting! Walt, a beautiful poem about memories and the sweetness of remembering itself! Also, even if they pass quickly, they can touch our heart. Well done, both of you!
Dorothy Dreams a Storm
The wicked wind
of the west spins
and whirls into
a funnel of slate.
at the front gate,
tries to recall
an old, odd dream,
or was it? She is
never sure, although
family assures her
it was simply that.
Still, vivid images
on her brain. She
stands still as
frozen statue, eyes
glued to the funnel
until it splits in two.
She hears cackling,
watches as a familiar
green face in pointed
black hat emerges.
Is she dreaming
I love this, especially the opening.
Love this! can see her blue pinafore and all standing there and ponderring!! And I so love the witch. Perfect!!
You started us off beautifully, Marie!
“flowing unimpeded as memories can” – a perfect line, Walt. I have been thinking about you since that deluge began.
Shovelfulls of Sunshine
I’m shoveling sunshine
In the place of snow.
Phoenix is the place to go.
I visited the equator.
It was quite warm there.
I was shoveling sunshine
As if I hadn’t a care.
I’m shoveling sunshine.
It sure is a breeze.
Then it’s back to Colorado
Where it’s seventeen degrees.
Smiling broadly here.
Delightful! Will have to remember when I don’t get a white Christmas! Just a childhood thing, but still…
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Howdy all Happy Thanksgiving~
And to you from the land of wild turkeys, multiple flocks!
Thank you~ .Around here Wild Turkey is a famous bourbon~
Gleaning after the Deluge
Icy wind buffets
wrinkled purple fruit
dark orange interior
revealed only after
a bite that tingles teeth
wizened orbs plucked from trees
in the ditch along the road
these are November persimmons
ready only after first snow
when deer scoot beneath
low boughs of snowy cedar
to hunker together near pastures
where fall calves nurse until
bellies swell with warmth
frost settling breath pluming
and these spindly trees swaying
above opossum and coon come moonshine
wading the runnels where wind
felled fruit into this deluge of bounty
snaking through brown grass
tempting me to glean as I wade
and savoring the sweet juice, I do.
I admire a poem that can make a persimmon sound good.
This is like a horn-of-plenty, Pat!
Thank you for sharing these. I enjoyed them,
Here is one of mine. I published it in a personal book and shared with classmates.
WALK BETWEEN STORMS
Rivulets of rain carve wrinkles
in the earth; feathered clouds
depleted of energy for now
glide listlessly overhead.
Worms, expelled from sodden soil,
form mysterious script on the path,
native code talkers writing
Liquid diamonds quiver on a strand
of spider silk, a bracelet adorning
the uplifted arm of a redbud tree
swaying to a rumba beat.
Rain-pasted leaves craft
a collage of natural hues
alongside the river running russet
with torn flesh from mountains.
Along the worn path miniature craters
comprise a moonscape
as wind wafts diminutive swells
across scattered puddles.
The fragrance of moist grass
is a heady aroma,
an aide memoire of
renewal and growth.
Returning home as rain begins again
I gaze through the icy window,
witness the writing of water
across it, and covet its clarity.
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