Snow (an acrostic poem)


So much of the white stuff littered the ground that

No trace of anything else was in view

Obscuring the need to go anywhere else

While consuming hours moving it from one place to another

Outpost (an acrostic poem)

Outside all was quiet except for that ever-present northern wind

Ugly clouds shouted that something bad was coming

That put Kristoff into an even more foul mood

Pulling duty in such a remote Nordic section of the kingdom was horrible

Observing his youth and career slowly blowing away in this wasteland was worse

So deep he was in his musings that he didn’t hear the twang of the released bowstring

The snow soon covered up the red stain

Snow (an acrostic poem)

I decided to do the Inktober Challenge in my own way.  I am going to try to do an acrostic for each Inktober prompt.  Hence the topic for today.


So the air took on a decisive chill

Now was the time to put away the mower and find the shovel

October wasn’t too early to prepare because who knew

When the white stuff would begin to fall



Wrecked (an acrostic poem)

Wasted time dribbled away from Kenny

Reaching for his mostly empty beer, he finished the job

Everyone turned as he slammed it to the bar top

Cussing at the slow bartender, he demanded another

Know what? He found out the gutter was cold with snow runoff

Eventually, he managed to get himself into a sitting position

Depositing the remains of that beer into the gutter, he watched time follow it down the drain



Winter Blessings (a 100 word story)

The snow continued to fall, covering the refuse of Gary’s life.  He smiled at the cold whitewashing of his previous mistakes.  It gave him a crisp clean perspective on his past.  The sad thing was he knew soon the sun would come out and the blanket of white would melt away, allowing his warts to once again be in plain sight.

At least for now he could pretend there had been nothing wrong as he sipped his spiked hot chocolate in front of the fireplace.  Spring can take its own sweet time.  He was happy to be buried in blankness.



Untied (an acrostic poem)

Useless fingers, frozen from the cold, tried to grasp the laces

Nothing was going right.  The cold was so bitter, the snow so deep

Then there were the noises in the dark.  The sniffs and pants from furry four legs

It made his spine quiver.  He took a step and pulled his foot out of the boot

Even though his foot was half frozen, when it crashed into the snow the chill exploded

Daylight found the boot alone in crimson snow



Lost and Found (an acrostic poem)

Leaving home was always a chore for Harry

Only the comfort of solitude gave him any comfort

Still the season forced him out of his hibernation from humanity

Thus he was stuck in this terminal waiting for his flight


As if fate wanted to see him squirm, now his plane was delayed

Nothing was moving because of the two feet of white stuff outside

Denver was now his home for the next day or so


Finding a landing zone, Harry watched his fellow nomads

Outside they acted cordial, putting on a mask of civility

Under that mask, Harry could see kindred spirits

Now a sincere smile spread on his face

Despair loved company.  Harry had discovered his tribe.



Footsteps on the Moon

The soft white snow made crunching noises as Clarence walked across its pristine surface.  Looking back at his own tracks, he wondered if Neil Armstrong’s footprints were still on the moon.  What would it mean to leave such a mark on another planet and human history?  Clarence looked up at the full moon, trying with all his might to see if they were still there, but he knew the gesture was futile.  Still, for a moment, he thought he could glimpse that history.

A sudden wind gust swept across the landscape, snow leaping into the air and dancing to a mad tune that could only be heard in the whipping air.  Clarence shuddered at the chill north wind and closed his eyes to its frolicking snowflake dance partner.  Just as suddenly, the wind lost its melody and the snow sat back down waiting for the next number.  Clarence looked around him, the landscape had changed in that simple moment, erasing its memory of his passing.

Clarence looked back at the moon.  Those footprints might still be there, but that was a dead tidal locked rock island in a large space ocean.  Even though it chilled him to the bone to think about his own mortality, he was much happier to be here where he could watch the dance around himself, even if it meant his mark on this place would eventually be blown away in the symphony of change.

Clarence continued his walk, not worried about the footsteps he was leaving behind, but about the warm glass of mulled apple cider that was yet to come.