Thursday Tidbit: Winter, A Poem

Image contains: Abbie, smiling.With the season having officially arrived here in Wyoming, here’s another winter poem, this one from my collection, How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver. It’s about my disastrous attempt of a winter sport that most of my family enjoyed.

Although it reads like poetry, it looks like prose. This is what’s considered a prose poem. You can click the Play button below the poem to hear me read it. Enjoy, and happy winter.

 

Winter

 

On a cold, cloudy day, we strap on our skis, boots, head up the trail. I inch along, sure I’ll fall at any minute, as my skis slide through the packed snow. “Left foot right pole right foot left pole. See if you can go faster,” Dad says. I prefer to keep my slow, plodding pace.

At the top of the hill, we retrace our steps. My feet slide out from under me. I land flat on my back. “Smile,” says my brother, as he holds the camera.

“Stick that camera where the sun won’t shine,” I want to tell him.

“You’re not falling right. You could get hurt,” he says. I remove the skis, walk the rest of the day.

 

My Books

 

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

How to Build a better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

We Shall Overcome

My Other Links

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Like me on Facebook.

Winter Through the Senses, Poetry

Image contains: Abbie, smiling.After a mostly brown Christmas, we have a white New Year, so I decided to share the following poem of mine that appears in the current issue of The Weekly Avocet. Click on the Play button below the poem to hear me read it. Happy New Year.

Winter Through the Senses

 

In the silent snowfall,
see flakes swirl.
Amid white-covered streets, sidewalks,
feel snow crunch beneath your boots.
Hear the rumble of a distant snow blower.

Indoors, feel the warmth of slippers on your feet.
Breathe the aroma of steaming cocoa.
Savor the flavor of its frothy, chocolaty goodness,
safe, warm while snow keeps falling.

 

 

My Books

 

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

How to Build a better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

We Shall Overcome

My Other Links

Visit my website.

Like me on Facebook.

Saturday Song: Snow

Last week, our weather started looking a lot like Christmas, so I could finally identify with the sentiment in this song. It’s from Bing Crosby’s epic White Christmas. If you haven’t seen this movie, I highly recommend it. In any case, enjoy the song, and have a great Saturday and a merry Christmas.

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Author Abbie Johnson Taylor

We Shall Overcome

How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

Click to hear an audio trailer.

Like me on Facebook.

***

Abbie’s in Love

Abbie-1

No, I haven’t found another man. Although my late husband Bill has been gone four years, I still love him. This Valentine’s Day, while others celebrate love for those still living, I still love a man who has left this world.

In light of Debbie Reynolds’ passing, I thought it would be nice to sing her 1957 hit, “Tammy,” during my performances at Sugarland Ridge and Westview last month. I now realize the song is also about me but in a different way. The following poem illustrates this. Click on the title to hear me read it.

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I’M IN LOVE

 

Like the whispering cottonwood,

hooting owl, whippoorwill,

murmuring breeze,

melting snow dripping off the roof announces it.

The crow in the distance caws it.

The sun in the sky shouts it.

The cold winter breeze sighs it.

Although he’s no longer a part of this world,

He’s still with me in spirit.

I long to be in his arms

where I’ll sing for joy.

 

***

Now here’s my rendition of “Tammy.” Happy Valentine’s Day.

***

Author Abbie Johnson Taylor

We Shall Overcome

How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

Click to hear an audio trailer.

Like me on Facebook.

 

Letter to Mother Nature

Abbie-1

Thanks to Alice Massa for inspiring this post.

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Dear Mother Nature,

 

Since the week before Thanksgiving, all we’ve seen, here in Wyoming, is snow, snow, and more snow and bitter, bitter cold. At first, it was great. It got me in the mood to work on seasonal music for my performances and write Christmas letters and holiday blog posts.

Then, it got old fast. This year, thanks to you, Sheridan had a white Christmas, with ten inches of snow dumped on us and plenty of wind. For me and others not traveling out of town, it was okay. For those needing to get home the day after Christmas, it was not so good, as road closures abounded.

The snow and freezing temperatures continued after the holidays with no sign of warmer weather. Two days after the first of the year, as I was flying to Florida, it was so cold the pilot had to rev the engines several times to warm them, and I couldn’t help wondering if the plane would get off the ground.

Of course it did, and Florida provided a welcome respite from your brutality, with plenty of sunshine and 70-degree days most of the time. When I ended up spending the night in Denver on my way home because of a flight delay, I was pleasantly surprised to find no snow on the ground. I hoped you were showing our neck of the woods the same courtesy, but that hope was dashed the next day, as my plane approached Sheridan, and you created a great deal of turbulence. It’s a wonder I didn’t lose my breakfast. Soon after my homecoming, you gave Sheridan another eleven inches of snow.

I don’t know why they call you Mother Nature. You’re definitely not my mother. My mother would never have made it almost impossible for me to walk anywhere by depositing a multitude of snow and ice on the ground and not letting it melt before dropping more. She would never have frozen me to the core with sub-zero temperatures, then mocked me with sunshine that gave the impression it was warmer.

Why couldn’t you have given us the same treatment as Denver, warm winds and sixty-degree temperatures? I know Wyoming isn’t the only state you’re bullying, but places like California are still in drought, yet you ignore them and give the rest of us moisture we no longer need. I’ve just about had it with you.

 

Signed,

Frozen in Wyoming

***

Author Abbie Johnson Taylor

We Shall Overcome

How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

Click to hear an audio trailer.

Like me on Facebook.

 

A Winter Poem Revisited

I posted this in July of 2012, but since it’s Groundhog Day, and I don’t have any more brilliant ideas, I decided this poem was worth a second look. It was published in Emerging Voices in 2012, and I’ve made some revisions since then. You can read the original here. It’s not as cold now as when I first wrote the poem so I look back on that day with gratitude. Click this link to hear me read it.

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FIVE WAYS OF LOOKING AT COLD

 

1.

 

At a quarter to nine in the morning, it’s seventeen below.

Waiting for a ride, I stand inside the kitchen door.

Sunlight shimmers on frosted glass.

I rub with gloved hand but make no dent,

hear the car pull into the driveway—

its tires crunch on frozen snow.

 

2.

 

“I don’t have the heat on yet,”

she says when I get in the car.

“It needs to warm up first.”

I don’t complain–

walking would be a lot worse.

In the YMCA locker room, my nose runs.

 

3.

 

Water exercise class in progress,

“North to Alaska” plays on the stereo.

Why would I want to go there? I’m cold enough—

as water’s warmth surrounds me,

I move across the pool–

my mind unfreezes, opens.

 

4.

 

Driving home isn’t so bad.

The car has absorbed the winter sun’s warmth.

When I get home, the temperature is four degrees above.

 

5.

 

The groundhog did not see his shadow today.

Will there be an early spring?

The late afternoon temperature has risen to twelve above,

feels like twelve below.

***

Abbie J. Taylor 010Author Abbie Johnson Taylor

Front Book Cover - We Shall OvercomeWe Shall Overcome

Cover: How to Build a Better Mousetrap by Abbie Johnson TaylorHow to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

Order from Amazon

A Brown or White Christmas

Abbie J. Taylor 010Author Abbie Johnson Taylor

Walking in snow and ice can be treacherous, even for people with good eyes. Needless to say, I don’t do much walking in winter, now that I’m older and more fearful of breaking bones. Since I enjoy walking, I’ve often wished our winters could be without snow and ice.

A couple of months ago while strolling on a beautiful fall day, I was thinking about this and came up with a little ditty to a familiar holiday tune which you can hear Bing Crosby sing at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGAosOoKFMs . I’ll paste the lyrics below and then a link to where you can hear me sing it with piano accompaniment.

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BROWN CHRISTMAS

I’m dreaming of a brown Christmas

so I don’t have to slip and slide.

Then I will be walking and won’t be talking

to folks, asking for a ride.

I’m dreaming of a brown Christmas

where snow and ice I will not fight.

Then I will be merry and bright.

In my heart, my Christmas will be white.

***

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I must admit, though, that Christmas isn’t the same without snow. Where will you be this year? Do you think your Christmas will be brown or white?

***

Front Book Cover - We Shall OvercomeWe Shall Overcome

Cover: How to Build a Better Mousetrap by Abbie Johnson TaylorHow to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

Order from Amazon

Order That’s Life from Finishing Line Press.

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