Diamonds of ice
blinding light
Pearls of snow
frosty white
Jewels of silver
shining bright
Visions of winter
eye's delight

Ah, the winter’s icy nips
Numbs my nose and fingertips.

My walk consists of slides and slips
And bruises on my knees and hips.

I cannot stop my constant falling.
I can barely keep from bawling!

To get to work I end up crawling
And so, I always end up stalling.

"I cannot go to work right now!
I’ll just wait until they plow."

The ice does keep me in my house,
But not my darling Canuck spouse.

He’s not impressed by all this stuff
And calls our harshest winters "fluff."

When going to work in Winter
We sometimes get the blues,
Yet it's not the job that bugs me,
But the slush inside my shoes.

The annoying ease with which the snow
Slips inside my collar,
The ice rink that once was a path,
Makes me scream and holler.

My five hundred dollar overcoat
Is like a paltry rag,
I might as well ward off the chill,
With a wet, brown paper bag.

But the thing about the winter chill
That makes most sense of all,
Is that if I win the lottery
I won't go out at all!

Cold, crisp crunching snow;
Brisk, bracing breezes blow;
Freezing flakes, flurries fall -
White winter covers all.

Flickering fireplace: cozy, warm,
Safely sheltered from the storm;
Couple cuddles, comfortable;
Light lessens, night is full.

Brightly beaming beacon moon;
Tiny tinkling icicle tune;
Advancing arctic air is clear -
Wondrous wintertime is here!

Blinding snow, sun weak,
Light is filtered, dim, bleak.
Icicles are everywhere;
Zealous snow is in the air
Zigging, zagging, falling down
Arraying Earth in wedding gown.
Raging Winter, wild and white
Dumping snow with all her might.

Earthquakes and mudslides
And fast running rivers,
Temps nearing forty
That give me the shivers,
Idiot weathermen
(Maybe a gal);
Winter is wonderful here in SoCal…

Needles and sewage
And trash on the beaches,
Snow on the mountains
And tax-dollar leeches,
Highways more packed
Than a teen’s birth canal;
Winter is wonderful here in SoCal…

Bomb threats and arson
And drive-by gang shootings,
Bulemic starlets
In backrooms are tooting,
Cell phones that ring
Giving me a ‘Grand Mal’;
Winter is wonderful here in SoCal. . .

Oh, the tax bite;
Real estates costs;
Roads the drive me mad …

The days are short;
the nights are cold.
The wind's retort
is strong and bold.
The smell of snow
is in the air;
the drifts will grow
to who-knows-where.
Sounds are muted,
air is crisp.
Car horn tooted.
Will-o'-the-wisp
like a butterfly,
she floated,
old but spry
and crimson coated,
gently stepped
into the snow,
lightly leapt -
a graceful doe
laughing past,
welcoming hug.
Home at last,
warm and snug,
while outside -
cold and stark -
the full clouds cried
in the dark.

The wind is whipping
The trees are dead
To the left of the fence
Is a lonely snowman’s head

Waiting for someone
To put it back up
Instead of sipping hot chocolate
From a Styrofoam cup.

Where is the sun?
Hiding with the moon
Until it hears the clocks
declaring it noon.

We watch the leaves
Rustle and splinter
Here are the signs
Of a prominent winter

The resounding "crunch" of ice
In the winter is quite nice
And the drifted powder snow
Has an eerie twilight glow
Wispy breaths and frozen ears
When the Summer dissappears

The air is so cold, the lake and the sky,
Even the moon has stopped moving.
The stars shine above one soul passing by,
When nature itself has stopped breathing.

The stranger is old and traveled too far
And too long for him to remember
The dream, the prediction on that shooting star
Foreseeing his death in December.

He sees a light…a mill far away.
He knows he will never get there,
For he feels he will end his journey today
Right here, in this icy nowhere.

Everything is dark, everything is still
The stillness and darkness are reigning,
Nothing alive but the lonely old mill
Where the weary old stranger was heading.