Poetry Picnic Week 18: Snow, December, Winter Vacations, and Wildness

Welcome everyone!  It's me, it's me, Kay Salady!  I am so proud and happy to be presenting this week's picnic at the Gooseberry Garden. 

It’s a glorious feeling to dream of drifts of winter snow, families together spending quality time, or the thrill of excitement when days spent indoors conjure up adventure!  What an exciting assortment of topics to write about!  I can’t wait to read what you’ve written!

Yours truly,
Kay

THE SOULKEEPER

Her smile was nothing if not doomsday
curling around a crackling cigarette
the same way kids hold onto jars
full of fire ants versus army ants
She said she used to bury fairies alive
in shoe boxes with secrets and Christmas tinsel
Nobody needs to believe they ever existed
not scientists or parents, they were just for me
She hung dream catchers above her bed
collecting nightmares and butterflies
pulling off their wings, praying with mantises
watching them die under weeping willow trees
Her voice was a holy man deserted by God
burning itself in protest before reaching her mouth
her words deliberate and slow
like whispers prying lids attempting to flee
She is the pouring rain that comes after dark
a dictator’s grin that fades with changing maps
scarred by wars, famine, shrinking borders
and the unlucky souls she never set free

REPO’D BY BETH WINTER

Twas the fifteenth of December,
the bank payment was overdue.
With elves and gifts to remember
and wrapping paper all askew,

Santa forgot to mail the bill,
though he knew he would pay a fee.
For the good he tried to instill,
he thought the creditors would see

that gifts for kids had to come first,
a task that was Santa’s alone.
His worries went from bad to cursed
on the night he was to have flown.

Santa’s sleigh was repo’d that night,
and taxi fares reached a new height.




SMACK IN THE MIDDLE BY TERESA MARIE

Smack in the middle

My life’s a riddle
Little girl among boys
With baby doll toys
As the song plays
I continue to fiddle
With the lyrics trying
To adjust them a little
For these blessed are
The progeny of me
I want to dance
As the fiddlers three
So when to thoughts
Of me they turn
They remember this tune
From me they learn
And I pray they will
With a smile pass along
The new words of lyrics
They’ve added my song
As through generations
This one to the next
There will come another
To add their own text
And so my life’s song
Will be without end
As long as another
Comes ‘round the next bend!

Methods of Submission:

Share your work using InLinkz below, and leave a comment in case it is your first time! It would be super fantastically great if you could link back to us on your blog.

Weekly poetry collection starts on Sunday, at 2pm (CDT), and will stay open till Wednesday, 8pm (CDT), 78 hours for you to share your poetry with us..

What About Next Week??

For Week 19, we will have theme "Forgiveness, Gift, Holiday Songs, and Traditions", Hope that you spend time dig deep, discover treasury writing or posts from your blog, and share...Happy Holidays.