In the spirit of yesterday’s poem, I found this one on my hard-drive and thought I’d share. I actually wrote it on some hotel stationary in Korea when I was there on my stop-over in January 2011.

But, here you go, anyway.





Isn’t soft like people tell you

In poems

Or how it looks in a photo.

Its crunchy

And hard.

Like a driveway of sparkling white gravel

Not a downy-feather quilt.

And those curves and mounds that undulate so prettily?

That call and coo, ‘come lie down’, so silkily?

Points and edges

Too tiny to see.

The ends of a snowflake are sharp, cut out of bright white papers by children’s scissors

And they sting if you get too close,

Prick your sides,

Stand you up to attention quick smart

‘Cause you better believe

There’s no snooze button here, buddy.

Its up and at ‘em, George McAdam.



There’s no warm breeze,

Sighing me to sleep.

The cold wind sticks in like pins

Through my ‘completely inappropriate clothing

For the weather.’


(In my mind,

Those are my grandmother’s words,

Scolding as my summer skirt

Is dragged out the door by an autumn wind.

Though, in truth,

She only every said,

‘Do you think you’ll need

A cardi?’)



Even your limbs can’t slack off,

Get away with wandering

With shuffling


Every few steps

I kick up my feet,

And slam them down hard

To get the blood flowing,

Scattering the shards of snow

Like a giant on a rampage.  


I jump in circles

And laugh like a child

(Or a mad woman)

At the hard lake and

The ice-locked boats.


The snow makes everything Quiet,

With a capital ‘Q’.

(except for the crunching, with a capital ‘C’)

Though, early morning Songdo,

Would be quiet any way.

It feels like

I got the wrong address

Or someone slept in

And everyone forgot to come to the party.


A single Korean man

Driving a snowmobile,


As I run and sing and scream in joy,

‘Its fucking cold!’ 


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