Humorous blizzard?

Blizzard?

My path is white by blinding snow;

Cold stabs me like a knife.

Needles of ice the wind doth blow;

Blizzard threatens to take my life.

Against the wind I stumble and fall;

Knees bruised on the frozen glaze.

Path blocked where it’s safe from all;

My cold mind fogs in its arctic haze.

Tortured fingers have lost their feel;

Through frosted glasses I try to peer.

Hardened feet of icy stone I must deal;

This terror in winter is near fatal I fear.

 “Come,” calls my wife a voice of grace,

“Dummy, turn the snow thrower from your face!”

Icy weather coming - time to go backpacking?

Ice Storm Backpacking

Fog and light mist greeted us in the forest;

Dew clung to pine trees seemed scattered there for us.

Fresh winter air filled our lungs at the trail head.

Pointing downhill, "There's the trail," Millard said.

We dreamed of a  hike certain to bring happiness,

And we strapped on our packs with a feeling of bliss.

The group hug was tough because we were all a yard wide;

The packs, you see, kept us from being side-to-side.

We bounced down the trail with gusto and vigor

Up hill and down dale a coupla creeks we crossed over.

Galloway Springs we looked over and paused

At the water bubbling from an outcrop it caused.

Its peaceful and quiet there's been no one on the trail

Surely there are others way out here without fail.

Could it be that the ice storm has kept them all away?

It's damp and it's freezing, but is this a bad day?

At lunch on a large log where the trail makes a "Y"

Millard points where I got lost long ago one July.

And it was nice to take that darn weight off my back

Jimbo pointed and said, "that sure is a big pack."

Jackie nodded quite smugly, "I see. Oh do tell."

John wanted to know if I had brought a hotel.

No way I could admit I lugged far too much gear,

Though it was plain I was also dragging my rear.

Millard hinted a camp just after crossing a creek,

I wonder, did he know that all our boots leak?

Most shucked off their shoes and waded ice water,

Wincing at sharp rocks on arches grown tender.

In a place called Cord Hollow we set up our camp,

And hoped to dry out all the stuff we got damp.

A great bowl of chili came from a community pot.

Who lugged all the canned goods I really know not.

A big crackling fire warmed heart and sole,

But a full day of hiking had taken its toll.

Most stayed up and told stories until it was late,

I heard next morn the yarns told were all great.

Too soon came the new day clear, sunny and cold

But finding ice in my boots forced me to be bold.

We soon broke our camp to go off seeking more fun,

(Or at least we got up on the ridge in the sun.)

I was troubled that my achy sore legs tired much faster,

Couldn't wait for lunch break; should I carry corn plaster?

Jackie told me I'd soon catch on to what not to pack,

Each in the group took from my ample lunch sack.

All covered with leaves the trail was much less used here.

Which trail was for hikers; which trail was for deer?

Has any one seen one of those trail marker things?

Nevertheless, we eventually found Hellroaring Springs.

Millard said they were doing some work on the trail,

But he thought it was going at the pace of a snail.

The trail disappeared - we slid down the hill on the ground;

Those orange and pink markers are where bodies were found?

At the end of the trail John and Jimbo were strong.

(I think sprinting with backpacks is fundamentally wrong.)

I chose not to show off and feigned exhaustion complete,

I made everyone wonder, is he dead on his feet?

I have never been out with a group so prepared,

To miss something you need was what no one dared.

Even though at times it seemed to be ten below,

Jimbo and I both carried snake kits, you know!

With a finer folks you could not choose to camp,

Or a better woods than Mark Twain which to tramp.

Winter trips in the Ozarks are a harsh way to train,

Give me two weeks to warm up and I'll go out again.

Funny story - Christmas nuttiness.

Christmas Nuttiness

Have you ever watched a squirrel on a fall day scrambling around gathering nuts?  They dash from place to place frantic to gather all they can.  They cram acorns into their cheeks until they look like fuzzed up electrocuted rats with goiter. Nuts!  Just plain nuts!  It’s all that’s on their mind.

My wife is a lot like that at the holidays - particularly the frantic scurrying around and nuts part.  Nuts remind me of the panicked call I received to dash to the store to buy nuts while the cookie recipe was still in the mixer without the necessary ingredients.  When I came home we went nuts with joy at being rescued from the nut shortage crisis contrived from the nutty idea we should start making cookies without all the necessary ingredients.

Today my wife took the cookies to the grandkids' daycare so they could decorate their own Christmas cookies.  These were the cookies, of course, without the nuts because who knows if one of the little darlings would be allergic to nuts.  Go figure.  I wasn't supposed to be involved in this project, but in a panicked rush to load her treasure trove of cookie decorating goodies, she forgot the cookies on which the frosting would be smeared.  I save the daycare day with an emergency cookie delivery.

I am as afraid of going to a daycare center where preschoolers are armed with plastic knives and green frosting as a squirrel is crossing a four-lane road.  This is nuts!  It is frightening to see squirrelly four-year-olds with sugar sprinkles and waving frosting covered knives like Zoro.  Still you gotta hug your grandkids.  Now my clean jacket is covered in frosting and red sprinkles.  Aw nuts!  Merry Christmas, dear wife!  I’ll tell her when she stops scurrying around.   

Humorous essay written when teenagers lived at home

Kids and Cars

I can remember the day thirty-five years ago when I told my Dad I wanted a car to drive on a date.  My peach-fuzzed and freckled face beamed in anticipation of the certain moment when he would reach in his pocket and toss me the keys to his car.

            Dad said, “Great son, go get one.” 

            Following a moment of contemplative silence, while I tried to figure out the meaning of his words, I realized that Dad’s keys were in his pocket to stay.   Dad went back to his paper and I went to the back yard to kick the heads off dandelions out of complete frustration.  Eventually I scrapped up seventy-five dollars and bought a rolling death trap with paper-thin tires and four-barrel carburetor.  Dad looked it over with aloof detachment and allowed that it might need some new rubber.

            My kids have a way nicer dad.  He is intelligent, thoughtful, warm and understanding …er…I mean… gullible, dumb, blind and apparently with excess cash.  When the time came for my kids to drive I told them to go get a car in just the same tone as my Dad used with me.  This time, however, the blank stare came from my wife who clearly signaled with her eyes that I was a thoughtless dinosaur.  The kids, each in there own tone of incredulity, simply replied, “Ya right!” 

            My wife explained with firm exasperation that the kids could not go buy their own cars because they needed help locating, financing and insuring a safe and acceptable vehicle.  I always thought my Dad had the right approach until my wife began to explain how little we, as underdeveloped males, understood about automobiles and the requirement they are safe and dependable.  She is right of course.

            So, I have bought enough cars to start my own used car lot.  Fortunately they are not all at my house at the same time.  My teenage son ensures that.

            When it comes to cars my son is truly a multitasking sort of guy - multitasking in the sense that it takes three cars to keep him mobile.  At eighteen years old, he is a magnet for car problems.  It must be an elevated testosterone level that attracts car problems.  Someone sideswiped his pickup while parked in front of the house.  While he was pushing its replacement out of a snowdrift, a friend driving made a mistake and blew up the transmission.  The next car had the brakes fail while it was sitting in the driveway.

            I have, as a father of kids driving, developed survival skills.  I know a guy out in the country north of town who does inexpensive body work.  I have a buddy out in the country south of town who does major mechanical work.  When I was a kid, a Sunday drive in the country was a treat but now it means we are going to get one of the cars repaired.

            My brother who lives in balmy Biloxi, Mississippi is also a big help in keeping my kids' cars running.  Over the phone, he will tell me that some mechanical problem is a minor repair.

“That’s easy to fix,” he’ll say.  “Put that water-pump in last week in twenty-minutes.”

Deluded by the notion that I can do anything my brother can, in a ten-degree garage with frozen fingers, the wrong tools, no skills, no experience and a bad temper I spend two days on the same minor repair.      
            So what’s the point, you might ask.  If you have teenage kids about to drive, move to a tiny island with no roads.  If that won’t work, just send the kids.     

Poetry Sampling

Poetry Sampling 

Dad’s Apparition

Last night Dad appeared in my room.

The stiff, slow walk of an old man,

Plaid shirt tan jeans and the same smile.

He sat on the edge of my bed.

“Dad, I am so glad to see you.

It’s been such a long time.

You died.

It’s been fifteen years.

I’ve missed you.”

His face was peaceful understanding.

We stood and I gave him a big hug.

Then we walked silently to the door.

He got on the elevator and stopped me while

Pointing, “You take the stairs”.

And was gone.

Poetry Reading

Poet looks poetic.

Sounds poetic.

Image matches expectation.

Thoughts in shorthand.

Meaning there?

Sometimes hidden.

Stories in shorthand.

Understanding?

Sometimes.

Few nod cognition.

All polite.

Mostly blank stares.

Above Platoro

From the desert basin we bump-grind

up the ungraded mountain pass.

The high Aspens are

not yet fully greened.

Our tent stands erect;

a rationalization of security in gossamer.

Cups of hot tea - later Scotch

radiate tranquility.

The fire glows warm.

Stars burn holes in the soul.

The morning snaps coldly.

Day lights the high peaks

gathering strength to melt the frost.

Our nylon womb is sympathetic.

But the cold fist of dawn

presses our bladders.

Discomfort is warm and cozy;

relief is freezing.

Wood smoke burns our eyes

but warms our hands.

Coffee fortifies existence.

Sun on the valley below

warms the heart.

Long Drive

Far looms the mountain

Endless two-lane center lines

Will they ever meet?

By the Pale Moon Light

By Monument Lake in the Spanish Peaks,

In whispering pines, by babbling creeks.

We set our camp in the towering spruce,

For modern convenience we have no use.

Thin mountain air has flushed our cheeks,

Unwind we must, of work no one speaks.

We wander, explore, and hike the main trail,

Searching for wild flowers dainty and frail.

For pine cones, chipmunks and trees that are old,

For white shiny rocks that we hope will have gold.

We climb to an outcrop after quite a travail,

And scramble down quick when a storm brings small hail.

Damp misty air has chilled us to the bone,

We truck back to camp to the place we call home.

But, a stones throw from camp we find lots of spoor,

Big piles of dung, this place has lost its allure. 

What digests Cinch Saks and has freedom to roam?

Have we invaded his space?  Will we have to atone?

I don't tell the family of what I afear,

There are really big critters, I am sure, that are near.

Our camp stove I've lit and it glows hot and bright,

We need to have supper before we lose light.

A grandmotherly camper wanders by, "Oh my dear,

Last night did those nasty old bears come by here?" 

"Bears? You said bears? We just got here this morn,

We drove all night long."  I musta sounded forlorn.

She said, "Now don't worry, Hon," as I stirred the hash,

"Those bears just come through and get into the trash.

I've camped around bears since before you were born,

Just keep your camp clean and nothing gets torn."

So I stashed all the food out of reach of the bears,

Don't feed the beasts is the rule everyone swears.

I can't stay awake - thirty six hours without sleep,

(Remember, last night we drove here in the Jeep.)

My wife and the kids watch the fire with blank stares.

I'm tired.  Let's sleep.  Let the bears come. Who cares.

Some time after midnight there went up an alarm,

Down the road, cross the creek, a few screams, but no harm.

It will take more than screams to get me full awake.

Its been days since I slept.  Leave me alone for Christ's sake.

"Where's Mom ?"  my son asks, his nails dug in my arm,

He's alert and perceptive, but at midnight lacks charm.

Fresh mountain air, couple Cokes and you know,

Sometimes in the night a person just has to go.

She wandered around by the creek near the falls,

Just to find the right spot for when nature calls.

Just then I saw movement in the creek bed below

"There's bears out there Dad," my son says soft and low.

Sleep walking in camp, she was really a sight,

Dropped her drawers, shot the moon in the pale moon light.

They both were there squatting, their backs to each other,

"My dear God!  Don't look son.  Oh my Lord!  It's your Mother.

Just then fell our lantern and we startled in fright,

And from off in the brush came two gasps in the night.

They spied each other from over their shoulder,

Mother took off one way, a big rock she crawled over.

The bear musta had the crap scared from him too,

Cause he bolted the creek and ran down long the slough.

"If you don't come in now, you won't grow a day older."

Tomorrow night I will sleep at the Best Western in Boulder.

North of Home

Smooth gravel road

Ends at the 4-way

Must manage ruts north

Anticipation builds

So close to the farm

Old barn on the hill

Evening sun glints off roof

Sides once red

Kids bounce on the car seats

Turn at the lane

Jackie and Julie at the end

Pink boulders to the left

Trash ditch to the right

Both drifted with snow

Windmill turns slowly

One light on the pole

Dog at the car window

Jack breaks bales for calves

Looks up and runs

Park in front of the house

See Janet just inside

Separator whirls

Pails of milk and cream

Jeannie coming from the barn

Julie close behind

Struggling with buckets

In the dark

Cats at the door

Manure covered coats hung near

Rubber boots in a line

Frost covers the farm house windows

Silhouettes in the kitchen

Something good inside

Smell it in your mind

Fresh cut cedar for lights

Leans against the wall

Best part of Christmas

Arrival

 Limericks 

There once were two lads from the wheat lands,

Who went looking for trout and fine gold sands,

But from drinking too much,

(and influenced as such),

They saw hills as small Tetons at hand.

There once were two boys from the plains,

Who thought they were mountain-type swains,

But in looking for gold,

(and trout we are told,)

They decided sleeping was best when it rains.

There are these two guys that you know,

To find gold and to fish they did go.

Out West to the mountains

To camp in the high lands,

But all that it did was to snow.

Copyright © 2013Tom Ellis. All rights reserved.