the bed is not very big

a sufficient pillow shoveling
her small manure-shaped head

one sheet on which distinctly wags

at times the weary twig
of a neckless ******
(very occasionally budding

a flabby algebraic odour

jigs
        et tout en face
always wiggles the perfectly dead
finger of thitherhithering gas.

clothed with a luminous fur

poilu

        a Jesus sags
in frolicsome wooden agony).

it is winter,
still
although warm days
deceive us

dead branches
brown lawns
desolation

now, finally, in a winter's
black night
giant, sodden,
perfect
snowflakes
drift

the sky clouded
     full of snow
to make the night sky
     day

we stand
each wielding a shovel
working

sharing the joy
in this
perfect
winter
moment

         in which
the universe once again

seems to work

yet,

it is the bond
of the shared moment
which generates an
intensity of
closeness

a perfect understanding
between souls
strung out along
the driveway


shoveling snow
in a cloud of grey
steam

multimedia macramé
sloshing propaganda sewage
on the unsuspecting public
***** lice infest ****** hill folk
west Virginia outbreak threatening the world
as we know it
flesh altering nonsense explicitly graphed
charting movement of microbes
on air, land, and/ or sea
global currents the new deliverer of death –
infected immigrants sit smiling
internment camps providing nutrition
never before experienced
as non-natives negotiate freedom
by submitting to vaccinations baths
and the standard delousing powder –
paranoid hand-sanitizer users
glued to the **** tube
spray their shoes with disinfectant
praying to an absent GOD for health
while shoveling GMO corn chips into ever widening
mouth holes
pharmaceutical companies lick lifeless lips
as Congress recognizes their humanity
while rejecting the concerns of the poor
…..no money in it –
outlandish claims of outbreaking Ebola
flood the mainstream outlets
fear: version – infinity
one more plague plan to stimulate new legislation
more law
no touching
even looking at the infirm can be cause for isolation
radiation treatments
courtesy of Fukushima, reactors 1-4 –
new found focus on fracturing the shale
releasing new oil reserves
and old bacteria
dinosaur killers
free-radicals
radically changing the genetic code
humanity altered
once again –

"Do you know who the prime minister of Canada is?"

"Hmmm isn't it Tim Horton?"

Sweating, shivering, and shoveling snow,
Looking up with relief as the flakes begin to slow.

Starting our mornings with pancakes drizzled in gooey sweet syrup
And greasy, cheesy, poutine being our last meal we eat up.

We hike up a green lush mountain just to see the view
And shoot down the slopes of silvery snow and feel as if we flew.

The rascally beavers are our vandals, the loons are our song,
The cougars reminding us that we are strong.

We are Canadian, eh?
But would we really want it any other way?

Depression,
I caught you swimming in my sorrow, you were drowning in
my tears.

There in my mind I laid down
my life but you stole my heart instead and I lost my mind amongst the shadows.

In the battle of my chemical imbalance I fight for my right to be happy again.

I am dancing in the dark
with myself, my heart beats
in the shadows as my breath
stands to the side, whispering
to me keep dancing.

Exhausted and frade sorrow
follows me, my flaws abuse me,
my mistakes scared me.

Society forgot about me,
I faded into the pitch of nothing.

A void of me, frightening memories
of taunting accusations from a
devilish monster.

Those eyes of blue devoured
my hopes and dreams,
he had no love for me.

His teeth bit into me,
his harsh lashing of accusations
embodied hate and broken ideas,
from the narcissist who said
he loved me.

The narcissist invaded my dreams,
with grinding bones from the
skeleton's he stored in his closet
of screams.

Scratching my brain with his
narcissistic rants and shoveling
wants trying to steal what
I achieved for himself.

The narcissist knows nothing of
love and passionate embraces.

For the narcissist only
knows how to break things.

A narcissist gaslights until crazy
devours everything.

©️ 2022 By Amanda Shelton

blizzard passes
fluffy snow left
deep footprints

sun comes out
melting mountains of snow
night falls

cold descends
ice freezes hard
top layer of snow

now hard
feet don't
fall deep

owing the universe
a mountain of shoveling
shovel in hand

off i go.....

a rewrite of When the Levee Breaks that was inspired by a hideous snowstorm a few years ago*

If it keeps on snowing,
Tree limb's going to break
If it keeps on snowing,
Tree limb's going to break
The street is icy  and
cars don’t have time to brake

All last night
Sat on the A train alone
All last night
Sat on the A train alone
The train don’t move
And I’m trying to get home

Plowing won’t help you
Shoveling won’t do you no good
I said, plowing won’t help you
Shoveling won’t do you no good
When it keeps on snowing,
Mama, you got to move

Don’t it make you feel bad when you’re trying to get home and you don’t know which way to go
Cause the power line’s down and the wind’s blowing hard and you can’t see which way’s the road

It’s coming down now, it’s coming down now, ooh ooh

Closed heart
Closeted mind
Apart as one
Closely fine
Stitched seams
Loosely tight
Everything's great
And not alright
Fighting internally
External bruises inflicted
Carrying burdens
Heavy
Even oxen
Wont
Bear
Spooky night
Haunting chills
Souls taken
Upon thrills
Oh closeted heart
Closed eyes
Gouged
A sight
To devious to view
Do you think of me.
For i dream of you
A love
So lustful
Sexually taunting
Welcome sensual spirit
Goodbye wanting
Shoveling fears
6ft under
Lightening
Shocks of thunder
Pul me down
Closely fine
TO far from  me
Near being mine
To hell i go
For i truly know
Demons stich me down
Loosely tight
Moments right
Shoveling fear
Laying burdens
Hard to care
The end is here

Murray

We are young men buried in books
Shoveling words every day
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Ours minds drained deep in the pools
Of knowledge. So they say
We are young men buried in books.

We find ourselves caught in hooks
Of wisdom seekers shall we pray?
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Exhausted, some will turn into crooks
While we proudly remain grey
We are young men buried in books.

We bear fruit of hope from the roots
Of pain so follow the rules we lay
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Are we zombies in schools?
In our paths we never stray.
We are young men buried in books
As we are gradually shaped into tools.