A rhyming poem about Louisiana's recent wintry weekend (January, 2017).
Here in Shreveport winter paid a visit
this past early January weekend.
It’s not nice for us to complain, is it,
but we wanted the 30-degree days to end.
Thankfully Shreveport quickly has returned
to the mid-70s for daytime highs.
For our tulips in bloom we were concerned,
but they all still thrive, much to our surprise.
My wife and I stayed safely hunkered down inside
for the duration of this brutal winter blast.
A fire in our seldom-used fireplace did provide
to the poet inside me pleasure unsurpassed.
The fire’s reddish-orange flames danced and licked
the air; each newly added piece of wood crackled
and popped in protest at having been picked
to die in the war in which the fire was embattled.
The fire’s heat and glow soon warmed our home’s den
as my wife and I enjoyed the splendid display.
The scientist in me recalled bygone times when
fire from burning wood had been Mankind’s way
during months of winter’s coldness for survival
as he huddled forlorn in his castle or cave.
To my wife and me having a fire wasn’t vital
but was merely a pleasant memory to save.
My concern here in Houston was our inadequate preparation for two nights of lower 20s that devastated our tropical plants, doing so well in the moderated, temperate and tropical climate we have been having the last few years (except for the drought lasting two years).
We have not used the fireplace since we almost burned the place down with the damper closed many years ago. We did employ an electric heater to heat up my bedroom. It is a poor substitute for watching a crackling fire burn.
And now we are basking in record temperatures reaching 80 for the next few days. While I don't place much blame on these, sometimes unusual, climate events, the signs of global warming are here and should not be politicized at all, but addressed by government, industry and corporations as quickly as possible.
I'm sorry, but living in northern Ohio, 30 degree temps is not brutal. Now, having said that, I awoke to a temp. of 58 degrees this morning, and pouring rain. We have flood alerts in our area today. And then the low for tonight's forecast is 23. And people still deny there's climate change taking place. At any rate, it was a cute poem, and I enjoyed it.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
A people’s heart can be found in their poetic words. In history men and women have stood firmly upon their soapboxes and street corners, rallying the deepest beliefs of people to rise up and be heard. The poetrypages.com has offered that voice a new
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We have not used the fireplace since we almost burned the place down with the damper closed many years ago. We did employ an electric heater to heat up my bedroom. It is a poor substitute for watching a crackling fire burn.
And now we are basking in record temperatures reaching 80 for the next few days. While I don't place much blame on these, sometimes unusual, climate events, the signs of global warming are here and should not be politicized at all, but addressed by government, industry and corporations as quickly as possible.
Ron