When the muse strikes, I'm compelled to write poetry; try as I might, I cannot ignore it when it does, nor conjure it automagically.  So, when the iron is hot?  I strike. 

When unexpected snow began accumulating, so did a niggling insistence to write.  When I share my poetry, understand its revealing vulnerability.  I'm not schooled in verse.  I don't know the rules.  I just write…my soul writes.  Sometimes its silly, other times profound, but always it flows from creative instinct

I wish you'd try your hand at it–I used to be one of those who said I couldn't write poetry.  And then one day I started writing and fell in love with it.  If you're in any way inspired, won't you share your offering in comments?  I'd love to celebrate with you!

Snow, Unexpected
{A haiku}

Joy, exuberant

Unleashed by frosted manna

Childlike hearts devour.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Unexpected Guest

The key, a frozen wafer

Unique as companion lock–

An entrance in swirling pirouette,

Grand and welcome and turning heads.

Unlocking inhibition–

Coaxing laughter's carillon and dance of feet and soul

Dizzying child delight.

Marking time in white

Etching memory with footprints in frozen sand.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Man of Snow

Man brought to life in spherical mound

Fashioned in cold, sticks and stone

Sculpted by eager and expectant hands

Dressed in imagination

Finished in satisfaction

Reflecting the smile of his maker.



Meteorologists Is a Big Word for Adult Weather Guessers
{A limerick}

Two words school kids want to hear

"Go home!"–they erupt with a cheer–

The snow, a surprise

Missed by all weather guys,

'Tis, indeed, a happy new year!





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