Tag Archive | winter

Icy Treats of Winter


***** Snow and Fantasy

Soft and still, fantasy
angels in it lie,
spread with wings
that cannot fly.

It’s dry and high, or
it’s heavy and wet;
its’ shoveled and moved
however, with great fret.

Digging out all day are
busy bodies leaving drifts; they
uncover sidewalks and driveways
with panting, breathless lifts.

Ice blocks rise and fall
as the temperature dictates,
and the sun beams over all
while neighborhoods participate.

Fluffy white days go by;
children on old sleds of charm
slide down hillsides that
meander across their farm.

Hard and frozen and stiff,
the snow will long stay
if ice-glazed top, or fantasizing,
keeps it from melting away.


Poem and Photo from the personal and copyrighted collection of Barbara Anne Helberg


Demise Of A Riverbank Tree


***** Ode to A Riverbank Tree *****

Once I stood tall and strong,
mighty among the riverbank throng.

I ruled like a King,
bloomed lushly each Spring.

Came days of many Summer winds;
my trunk ached in stormy dins.

Aged branches spit and cracked
with the wind’s heavy whacks.

Low I bent, blue, abashed,
ready to break at each crack.

But through the windy days I’d last,
now certain I’d survive any blast.

Alas, the winds of Fall brought more tests,
beating torturously upon my breast.

Huge gusts were too much to bear;
twisted and broken, I gasped, “Not fair!”

No longer mighty, split as by
the woodman’s axe, I stood less high.

As Winter’s ice and cold came in,
I cried and mourned each loss of limb.

Spring again and the final act of fate:
my last upper sprout now a bare, twisted mate.

Roots spiritedly anchor me to riverbank’s tress,
but it’s true: by Mother Nature, I’m much less.


Poem and Photo from the personal and copyrighted collection of Barbara Anne Helberg

Lost Love

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***** Lost Love, East and West

He’d long abided in Vermont’s winters;
she arrived from Ohio in mid-May.

There never was a doubt,
fiery first meeting to end,
they would lose a final bout.

They were as different as night
is to day, as marble is to clay.

New Englander, Midwesterner,
in love after second glance, were
doomed to a romance’s chance.

They never could survive, even as
Autumn’s sunset touched their lives.
Still, they plunged together.

Days relinquished Autumn hues,
dwindling into snowy December;
they moved to May, ignoring clues.

Differences of mind fired red-hot
in their aching heart of hearts.

Their arguments were unrefined,
struggles of strength beyond reason.

In Green Mountain winter woods
their babies were born, a blue-eyed
son, a dark-haired daughter to mourn.

Days went gray around the child
who remained, not the cause
of their loss, but neither the cure.

Their deep love, unstable at best,
could not somehow last the rest
of the year of their daughter’s death.

Their agreement to part was hard
fought, as any of their days of rage.

Love’s cruel loss, their choice
from the start, closed before the ebb
of another May. All was past.


Poem and Photo from the personal and copyrighted collection of Barbara Anne Helberg