December Blog—Deb Loughead
Ever since I picked up
a pencil and started learning to make words and sentences, I began to fancy
myself as a writer. My mother read stories to me and told me stories from the
very start, mostly because I was an antsy little girl and it was the only way
she could ever get me to sit still for longer than a few minutes. Which might
explain why I always lived with an insatiable desire to create my own stories.
Inspiration was everywhere, as is evident in the poems
and stories I was writing as a preteen and have saved for posterity (just in
case I’m ever famous lol). Like so many fellow wordsmiths, I’ve always been
enthralled with the whole concept of the changing seasons, so many of my
earliest poems are based on the natural world in all its various marvelous
vestments throughout the year. But what inspired me the most was winter and
Christmas. They excited me every year and sparked the wordplay in my brain.
Snowflakes and snowscapes, bring it on! Sleigh bells and
church bells, music to my ears! Christmas trees and old Saint Nick, welcome to
December! There are so many diverse ways of appreciating the season of snow and
frost and ice. In fact a couple of my earliest published poems were winter
based. And Christmas too. I was obsessed as a child and, well, I guess I might
be called a bit of a Christmas freak. Annually by mid-November a few bits and
pieces of Christmas decor begin putting in an appearance around my house. Time
to deck the halls!
So, in keeping with the spirit of the season, here are
three of my earliest published poems.
Snow
Sliding
Swift
snow sliding,
cross-country
skis,
quite
trails through
sleepy
winter woods.
Snow
dusted evergreens
ice
crusted stream,
and
swift snow sliding…
Hush!
Into
whose realm
do
skis intrude?
With
swift silent leaps
a
red fox hurries away.
First
published in Spires magazine,
December 1978
Winter
Morn
A
frosted, glittering world
greets
the sleepy eye
the
morning after a blizzard.
A
quiet bright world.
an
unfamiliar,
muffled
white world,
where
rooftops glisten
gift-wrapped,
where
sidewalks glimmer,
fleece-napped,
where
fence posts glister,
snowcapped,
and
fir boughs low bow
with
the weight of their
sparkling
robes.
The
backyard is almost edible,
with
its gleaming ice-cream
snow
drifts,
fancy-iced
hedge cakes,
and
twinkling tree-stump sundaes—
landscape
unforgettable.
The
crisp air is alive,
awhirl
with a flurry of
shimmering
flecks.
Show
showers on a sunny winter morn—
A
winter reverie newborn.
First
published in The Atlantic Advocate,
December 1981
And There’ll Be Clowns
We’re going to the Santa Claus parade.
That jolly old elf, himself,
is coming to town.
And there’ll be brassy marching bands
and flashy floats
parading up the streets and down,
Kids decked out in costumes
shiny bright,
and there’ll be clowns…
Interesting poems.
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