Mr. Winter Gayle

 Not sure if the fiddle music Victoria was listening to while baking influenced this one?...😉

note; this photo was an 'easier to ask forgiveness than permission' shot:)
I told her I'll remove it if she likes but she has now given me permission to
'not worry about it'!

Third Round of his rumpus within a week!

Take a break already!!

He breaks from his tether; a busker of breeze

Ruffles the feathers of fellers and trees

Without form he storms the earth, reckless and bold

Playing the streets like a fiddle of gold

No crowd kindly gathers; no clapping hurrahs

No nickels tossed with purple knuckles because

He is a wild rolling, bone-chilling bum

Playing the earth like an old tin drum

He is no crooner; he frazzles the fell

Tromping with trombone of highland and dell

Daring the dreamer to dance all alone

Playing the stream like a glass xylophone

Blue-lipped, he must be, but no one can say

He keeps the fans of his music at bay

In his own right, an infamous super-star

He plays the sky like a steel guitar

Mr. Winter Gayle, no one swings wide their door

To hail your carriage or plead an encore

But from windowed bunkers we watch you perform

While you play your number one hit; Winter Storm

© Janet Martin

On Saturday he forgot himself for a while

and played a soft snow-globe serenade...

 simply lovely!

For Old Man Winter's Shining Hour

 I found the above old book a few months ago, 

a chapter for each month written by a woman (after my own heart) in Connecticut...

but very relatable in Canada as well!

Weather certainly has come in capital letters this week!

Hubby is in Winnipeg with a brand new truck and frozen fuel!

Fellow, famous for your grit

For our love or hate of it

You don’t seem to mind a bit

Owning center stage

Seething in each crease and crook

Stirring love for tea and book

Making home the sweetest nook

While your tempers rage

While you tweak cheeks, nose and toes

While you shake Nature’s repose

While you make yourself at home

Right outside each door

Tumbling, rumbling, reeling g-r-r-r

Big, burly, breath-stealing b-r-r-r

Sparkling stillness, starred silver

Want and wonder war

Season of quilted desires

Frozen water-pipes, home-fires

Icicles like crystal spires

Fringe each rooftop’s edge

Where earth’s frozen floorboards creak

Where our hasty footsteps squeak

Where the birdie fills its beak

With God’s seeded pledge

Shovels, skates, skis and snow-shoes

Landscapes draped in hoary hues

Vantage filled with varied views

Of you, foe or friend

Old Man Winter, shine your hour

Flaunt your frigid super-pow’r

For with each day you devour

You hasten your end

While you leap with cold, bold stride

Fling your fortune far and wide

We smile at your foolish pride

Knowing one sure thing

With each flurry that you flail

With each fierce frost bitten gale

Slowly, surely you unveil

Earth’s rebirth, sweet spring

© Janet Martin

Praise For Winter Days

The snow reminds me a little of the sea; so many shades and textures!

With white-laced frills

And ice-glazed chills

And landscapes silver-starred

With buildings tucked

In clouds soft-shucked

Just like an old postcard

With mug ‘o hot

And hug from tot

Swaddled in winter clothes

Where all our skin

Is bundled in

Save eyes, pink cheeks and nose

With crackling log

And sparkling bog

And plup-blup-porridge-poem

With luxury

Of family

All happy to be home

With polished brooks

And bookish nooks

And vistas, clean and grand

We raise our praise

For winter days

And winter’s wonderland

© Janet Martin

Happy First Day of Winter (or Happy-days-will-start-to-get-longer)

In keeping with The Times, the rain outside the window is trying hard to turn into snow.

Last night's rain dissolved the last clinging traces of white,

So after all that snow we've had, we're back to Dreaming of a White Christmas!

Happy Winter Begins!

Season of boots

Coats, mitts and hats

And smoke and soot,

And fireside naps

And steaming mugs

And ice and snow

And sweater-hugs

And cold gales, oh,

And dazzling sweeps

Of green forgot

And shoveled heaps

Of you know what

And fuzzy socks

And small-print books

And crisp, brisk walks

And pillow-nooks

And scrabble-boards

And poetry

Some without words

Like stars set free

To tumble-twirl

In soundless lilt

And tuck the world

Beneath down-quilt

The barren tree

A work of art

Its melody

A tug-of-heart

The dormant lea

A Master Peace

The cup of tea

A sweet release

Season of grays

And fresh-baked Yum

Of humble praise

For Home-warm-home

Of breath-cloud b-r-r-r

And frost-starred glass

Of winter, shiver-

Come-to-pass

© Janet Martin

Canadian Hope-Spring

 

The bank cold-heaped where storm-wind blows

Will soon be steeped in golden snows

Of wild primrose and butter-weed

And winter-hours gone to seed

© Janet Martin