Poems for Visual Verse 2024
1. Snow Boarding by Dianalee Velie
SOME THOUGHTS ON SNOW BOARDING AT AGE FIFTY-FIVE
Ouch,
right on my tail bone again.
My waterproof skiwear is so saturated
there are rivulets dripping down my legs.
Poof,
where did my breath go?
I’ll just lie here on my belly for a while
trying to breathe,
truthfully,
I can’t get up.
My unmerciful, baby-faced instructor,
the one I have labeled, Attila the Hun,
placates me with paid for supportive platitudes.
“You’re doing fine. Dig in your board.”
“Push up with your hands to get up.”
OK, OK, so I will ignore
the pain in my shoulders.
“Get up and balance, gentle now,”
he commands as I slide
for less than a foot and crash.
Ouch, ouch,
do I really want to get up
only to drop down like a dead dinosaur?
This bunny slope will take an hour
at this painful pace and then
there’s that awful chair again.
Just once, just once, let me get off
the chair without raising a spectacle
and taking every tot and teen within ten feet
down with me in humbling tumbling.
Ouch, ouch, ouch!
My foot looks funny twisted
that way. Maybe it’s not broken.
I need aspirin, aspirin, aspirin,
an aspiring ancient snowboarder’s best friend.
I’ve resigned never to strap
this horrid thing on to my feet
again, when I am gliding, shifting
my weight ever so subtly, pointing my
board down hill, covering real distance,
then I am going goofy. Goofy: a goofy terminology
for wrong foot forward, which spirals me into an unplanned,
unexpected, almost graceful, 360-degree turn. Oops, I’m down
again, but smiling, though no one can see because my face lies buried
in snow. Righting myself hastily, radiant with snow burn and accumulated
humiliation, another glow creeps into my cheeks as my aristocratic, intelligent,
young snowboarding coach, slaps me five and yells,
“Wicked funk! Now, get up Grandma Dude and ride.”
2. Hiking by Sandra Little
THE HIKE FROM HELL
Hiking this great area is such a treat
Abundant trails with views can’t be beat.
So how does a half day hike go wrong?
I’ll explain it now, so follow along.
Several years ago - it was in the Spring
My daughter had a great idea, to do this thing -
To hike Mount Sunapee with her friend.
Taking their time, staying here and to spend
Memorial Day weekend hiking Andrew Brook Trail
Which she had hiked before, they couldn’t fail!
But this was after a bad winter with severe ice storms
That toppled many trees with trail markers - not the norm!
You may now guess how this hike went from great to bad
As they, indeed, got lost so things turned from fun to sad.
The worst situation for a parent, at the time, far from there
Is getting calls when her cell signal bars would randomly appear
Her Dad tried to help her giving directions left or right
But Lake Solitude, by this time, was well out of sight.
Now thankfully, as a hiker, she had packed for the day...
But a compass wasn’t on the list – what can I say???
So off they went with a call now and then
As the day waned quickly, we worried how would it end.
We did speak to Officer Brad of Newbury PD
Who said he’d call them and go get them – easy, you see!
What Brad, now Chief, didn’t know ‘til they spoke, Holy Cow!
They had gone the wrong way and were out of Newbury by now.
So NH Fish and Game rescue teams were called in to prepare
For a rescue while poor mom and dad were pulling out hair!
They’d hiked far over to Pillsbury State Park - a really long way
After finding a trail to follow thinking they’d be okay-
They came to a hut with a name, Moose Lookout, I think
It soon started getting dark as the sun begun to sink,
Staying put was the plan, they knew help was coming didn’t hurt
While huddling in the lean-to trying not to worry about dirt!
They wrote in the log with stick figures beside
The many complimentary notes of people who’d previously tried
This particular trail while our daughter wrote ‘This is the hike from Hell!’
So the good news is that they were indeed rescued – but it was well
After midnight when the team reached them and our daughter’s pal
Who she convinced the noises they heard were squirrels, that was all!
They got ATV-ed out with a happy-ever-after ending but one could tell
It still was, for all of those involved, the hike from hell!
3. Row Boating by Joan Doran
ROWING REFUGE
Sometimes, I turn my back on strife
and seek a lake, a little boat,
sky, wind and water, wild life,
those times I turn my back on strife.
I go where lasting truths are rife,
rest on strong oars, let myself float—
It’s when I’ve turned my back on strife
I find that lake, that little boat.
Joan T. Doran, New London NH
4. Cross Country Skiing by David Balford
CROSS COUNTRY SOJOURN
I glide with robust strides across great fields and seldom traveled ways
smooth runners breaking frigid crust that rests upon the land,
to witness Old New Hampshire’s wintry majesty
and thrill to mighty vales and hills that pass with each stride taken.
Miles flow beneath my skis, poles planted firmly in the graupel
snow fields yield to singing blades traversing through the tundra,
in afternoon sun starts to fade through breaks between the branches
causing strides to quicken, pulse to thicken, beads to break upon my hurried brow.
Now’s the time to head back home
but first to pause, to tarry,
to savor every granite mountain scene
as daylight fades then flickers .
I did not seek the road less traveled but chose instead to wander
through field and glade midst mighty pines enticing me to amble,
while traveled ways may have their place, the rough way round is grander
though “easy does it” may make sense, the blessing’s in the ramble.
5. Dog Walking by Nancy Marashio
BEING WALKED BY DOGS
Gold Green
rays immersion
descend. surrounds
Tail Poodle
waves. bounds up.
Trained Humans
pause, human
offers waiting,
anticipated beside
pre-walk bench.
cookie.
Blue. White.
Rescues Tracks
tangle reveal
leashes bear
pause. passed.
Rescuer Samoyed
untangles - inhales,
again. peers
Three ahead,
converge. hoping.
Gray.
Downpour
enfolds
walkers.
Hurry!
Goldens
yank,
drenched,
puddle-
enticed.
6. Kayaking by Catherine A. Feeney
Kayak Adventure
I'm a Newfy pup in the mood
for adventure. I ask Mom
if I can play on the beach
In that spot right by our boats.
Mom snaps on my new life vest
And tosses me a yellow ball
That bounces right
into our bright red kayak
So of course, I pop in, too
Mom is jumping up and down
So I jump up and down like Mom
And it's then magic happens
The kayak edges off the shore
Help and Stop she tells to me
Why won't that woman listen
When I tell her that my breed
Is made for water fun and rescue
Cries of "Help!" are without need
I wear this life vest to humor her
It's she who needs some help
Humans get so nervous
I'm a busy skipper of my ship
I'm looking super cute and fluffy
Exploring Lake Sunapee's shore
Big rocks of granite help to keep me
Navigating in a fun and happy way
Splashing waves from motor boats
Is a delightful way to cool off
I think I might have found my sport
But hey, where's that yellow ball?
A birdwatcher looks quite surprised
As I come in close proximity
Again, I've caused some jumping
A little boy with fishing rod says Hi
Darn, I wish he could come aboard
A fleet of boats on the horizon
Full throttle through the white caps
They're all headed toward my ship
As usual, the humans behave oddly
Waving and yelling Sit and Stay and Sit
What kind of party is this?
I sure do love all the attention
But a party it turns out it's not
A boat zooms up right beside me
And a human scoops me up
Lots of hugs and treats are served
I could get used to this
The humans think they rescued me
I'll go along with this for now
But we all know it is ridiculous
Unbeknownst to Mom
I am planning my next trip
Yellow ball and kayak all I need
Perhaps a little boy to serve as crew
And I, once again,
I’m the skipper of my own ship.
7. Snow Shoeing by Jennie Pollard
A WINTER’S DAY
I always forget how new snow sparkles,
how winter light slants across snow’s surface,
how nearly silent is our walk by snowshoe.
We cross the field to find tracks
dancing from everywhere and follow
the upside-down deer hearts until
a fox’s straight line intervenes.
Turkeys trot beside us and suddenly
disappear with delicate wing marks in the snow.
Little mice or vole toes appear and dive into soft holes.
I imagine them saying, “nope, not spring yet.”
We walk on into the woods where snow
tucks in every branch. In the breeze,
the pines throw snowballs at us.
From deep in the maples,
the sap beneath the trees is golden,
smelling of spring. Tracks converge here
as even the creatures know the sweet treat.
We head home with the idea of something
warm to drink beside our old wood stove, so
we prop our snowshoes against the wall
for another winter’s day.
8. Golf Bill Tighe by New London NH
GOLF IN THE REGION
Kearsarge and Sunapee, where courses abound
Welcome Golf aficionados to play a full round
The courses all beckon, at two mountains behest
Lakes and countryside, bring out the best
Drivers, Woods, Irons and Putters, keep up the pace
Birdies and Bogies, even a Mulligan has its place
Fairways and Bunkers, and of course the Rough
With Slices and Fades, and Divots enough
Bring along your clubs, your Tee times are near
A good round of Golf, will always be here
9. SWIMMING by Kathleen Skinner Shulman
Sunapee State Park Beach
Yellow skies slip beyond the hills
Laughter ripples soft swells
Children dig the sandy beach
Hold hands and splash into
Cool blue magic
on a warm summer afternoon
Swimming here, I imagine
Clear waters
Soothing
Summer visitors
who return home with
Sunapee in their heart
Long shadows fall
I drift slowly
Suspended just beneath the surface
Gaze at the pink clouds
Suspended in time
Listen for the cry of a loon
10. Canoeing by Mary Blohm
THE OLD TOWN
How dare the crocus claim to be
the harbinger of spring.
This honor belongs to ice out
when the boats appear.
In the boathouse overturned
resembling some beached whale,
restrained by tarp and bungee cord
the Old Town waits to be unearthed.
So, let’s launch that green canoe
and paddle across the narrows
to a lighthouse or an island
come thou worthy sailor.
11. Soccer by Ala Khaki
Episkyros
The only way forward
is on your feet.
On a green pitch,
your battlefield,
you are a titan.
You fight, evade
ten moving obstacles
made like you,
all worthy opponents,
as you chase, dribble
a taut sphere
of skin as tough as yours,
launch it like a fireball
from the barrel of your kick
into an open tent,
soft as a cotton net
hard as a fortress,
sentried by a demigod,
hope to score more
in a ninety-minute battle
of endurance and wit
that begins and ends
with a whistle,
and try, try
to keep the fire alive,
stay humble in victory,
undefeated in defeat.
Ala Khaki
©2023, Ala Khaki
12. Tennis by Melanie Chicione
Love
is not empty, is ready to serve another
chance to return from the break
to the point – blind to advantage
or fault – set to forgive errors
as we watch the back and forth,
the approach, wait for the call
from the stands – we seekers
of victory – familiar with the court
while breathless we rally with promise
she won’t cross the line, willing
to let be, to challenge, to lose
a game but not the match.
13. Figure Skating by Patsy Barrett King
INFINITY
Skating the figure of eight as I flow,
faster yet faster and then I don’t know.
What am I? Who am I? Where am I now?
I’ve risen dimensions, I do not know how.
Light as a snowflake descending in air,
of all my worries I don’t have a care.
Tracing the figure I glide on the pond,
within sight and sound touch the beyond.
The past fades away as the future recedes,
all is the present as the figure leads.
Rounding the circle I quiet no thought,
only immerse in the peace I have sought.
14. Bob House Ice Fishing by Douglas R. King
BOB HOUSE REFLECTIONS
Through the hole in the ice
I saw a bird in the sky.
“What bait do I use?”
I wondered why.
I put a worm on a hook
and sent it up through the hole;
where it floated around,
trying to entice, to cajole.
A duck came along
and circled the worm,
then stared down at the hole,
making me squirm.
He landed on the ice
and walked over to me,
“Quack!” he said
trying to be friendly
“Why am I under the ice
on such a fine winter day?”
He said,” You’re the mirror image
of the guy who passed away.”
15. Diving by Anne Sarkisian
SPLISH SPLASH
Splish
Splash
Kerplunk
From atop Grampy's boathouse
We learned to dive and jump
Having exhilarating fun
In the glorious sun
As we dive and jump
The day away
Splish
Splash
Kerplunk
16. Sledding by Pat Whitney
TOBOGGAN RIDE CIRCA 1950
It was 30 degrees, afternoon, barely warmed
by a low pale sun, when the idea was charmed
by my dad’s uncle, “Unkie” who, put chains on the wheels
of his old army jeep, with its hitch just ideal
for a 12-foot toboggan and a 50-foot rope
and a ride that would rival the slipperiest slope
this homemade contraption he towed on the ice
did all of my family, and neighbors, entice
to pile on, and we’re off, at a pretty good clip
he turned and stopped short, thus cracking the whip
and we flew, hanging on to save dear life and limb
in a circle of speed that was more than a whim
it was hairy and scary, and fun and pure magic
with never a thought that it could have been tragic
to this day I remember what it felt like to fly
the glide, slide and pride of my first real high.
17. Camping by Dan Allen
THE OLD CAMP
We drove long through ald’rs that would road reclaim
then trod the path that leads so far up North
‘cross three-pole bridge or’e Branch (you’d know by name),
‘long path, through firs, til round a bend a swath
and where a rustic camp rose by the glade,
a hav’n so distant from the road and manse.
Bear-claw’d asphalt shingles did bear dissuade
from access to this sanctuary by chance.
Not large nor grand, thirteen by same the size
with cast iron sink and stove with vent of tin,
two bunks of steel, and table did improvise
as space for food, cribbage, yes tales would spin.
When more than two the floor was bed for kid.
The prying wind would chill thirty degrees,
with blasts the tar-paper on camp floor did
arise, float, curtsy each new gusty breeze.
The Coleman lanterns provided light and stutter.
Low mice did push so hard for their empire.
We fought with traps we baited with peanut butter,
the mattresses were caged in mesh of wire.
The battle raged; we trapped but never won.
The suggestions of enclosure where mice nest
were spaces they filled with what we could not shun.
The awful smell so forged great hate for pest.
So wild the scene in winter when snow piled
o’re ridge and snowmobiles placed tracks up there.
Oh dig one must to enter cave; we smiled
at quiet and dark, this cool but comfy lair.
Spruce bud worm came and changed the valley,
the deer without big winter yard declined.
A truck bridge spanned the torrent alley
then cars could ride roads fed’rally refined.
Moose made a big invasi’n and ate so well,
but worst of fate befell the camp; mice did
best man and changed our heaven straight to hell.
The acrid camp replac’d, the smell then rid,
the old camp lasts ‘til mind dost quell.
18. Barn Dancing by Ellen Pysz
FIFTIES BARN DANCE
Saturday night square dance, Bradford Arena
Overhead colored lights on wagon wheels
Steel guitar, fiddle, squeeze accordion
Honor your partner, honor your corner
Overhead colored lights on wagon wheels
Do-si-do. Swing your partner ‘round and ‘round
Honor your partner, honor your corner
Petticoats, cinch belts, and baby-doll sleeves
Do-si-do. Swing your partner ‘round and ‘round
“The moon shines tonight on pretty Red Wing”
Petticoats, cinch belts, and baby-doll sleeves
Allemande left and twirl grand right and left
“The moon shines tonight on pretty Red Wing”
Flat tops or ducktails, chinos and loafers
Allemande left and twirl grand right and left
“Oh, Peggy Sue, if you knew Peggy Sue”
Flat tops or ducktails, chinos and loafers
Two-step or waltz, on a sawdusted floor
“Oh, Peggy Sue, if you knew Peggy Sue”
Schottische, polka, rock and roll. “You send me”
Two-step or waltz, on a sawdusted floor
Stay in the dance hall at intermission
Schottische, polka, rock and roll. “You send me”
“Oh, duck for the oyster, dive for the clam”
Stay in the dance hall at intermission
Promenade your partner all the way home
“Oh, duck for the oyster, dive for the clam”
“Young love, first love, filled with true devotion”
Promenade your partner all the way home
“Save the last dance for me”. Cheek to cheek
“Young love, first love, filled with true devotion”
“Forever and ever, my heart will be true”
“Save the last dance for me”. Cheek to cheek
Steel guitar, fiddle, squeeze accordion
“Forever and ever, my heart will be true”
Saturday night square dance, Bradford Arena
Pantoum by Ellen Pysz
19. Fly Fishing by Jody Wells
HUSHPUPPIES
Early morning mist clings to the Lane River
that flows between my house and my Grandmother’s.
Small circles become large as trout rise for mayflies.
My floating line with its long steel leader sways in the current,
a flash of water
and now I have one on
zig
zagging
heading for the weeds and soon another
to stick through the gills on a forked stick.
Smiling, she greets me on her front porch.
First, she breads them in flour and cornmeal,
careful not to get any flour or grease
on her summer dress and apron
as the butter sizzles and spits in the cast iron pan.
After turning them once, they warmed in the oven.
Another dollop of butter, the hushpuppy batter is spooned
into the skillet. We sat at the kitchen table and
she’d say, “Be careful of the bones. You swallow one
make sure you take a bite of hushpuppy.”
20. Down Hill Skiing by Stephen Redic
DOWNHILL
Last Night,
The snow was falling
as the sparks popped
In the fireplace.
Now, this morning,
I stand at the top of the slope.
Looking down with the
Sun at my back,
Turning the snow
Into piles
of perfect
Diamond shine.
My breath comes out
In pale clouds
As the cold
Becomes my friend.
With one mighty thrust,
Poles pushing off,
Leaning into the gravity,
I begin to carve my path
Downhill
First left, then,
with a slight lean
Right.
Each time
gaining a little more speed,
Until finally...
I head straight downhill
Like a twig over a waterfall,
Completely free,
Flying,
With my skis
Barely touching,
Skipping, swooshing,
The powder below.
On the ride,
Back to the top,
I see my trails
down the hillside,
Like the contrails of a jet,
Leaving its mark in a cool blue winter sky.
21. Gardening by Loa Winter 2023
Gardening
One of my favorite exercises is gardening.
Early on, in my sincere efforts to ‘Tidy Up’
The forest edge for a new garden.
I carried soil and water
Up to the ‘Ridge’ with a handmade ‘Yoke’ with two buckets on each end.
Dreaming of the bright yellows, blues, pinks and violets
that would bring joy to the eyes,
I learned the hard way how to select the right plant for the right place.
Considering the light and the soil conditions as I was observing how the Native plants thrived.
Moving granite rocks to support and complement the garden space.
The composition grew so did the thrill of creation.
Maintaining a garden, weeding, shoveling, digging, watering and raking
Continues to strengthen my body and mind as my garden grows.
22. Swimming by Cynthia Jones
SWIMMING AT WINNEPAUKET
Faces flushed, we race to reach our dock
pound hard across the wooden planks
arms high, leap out above the waiting pond
with giddy screams and glistening splash
plunge down through shivering cold
to plant our feet, to push up fast for gulps of air
scamper on the dock to leap again.
At last played out, sink slow
to sit upon the golden sand
linger, watch the bubbles rise.
Like sunfish, eye the murk beyond
imagine bigger fish, cruising pickerel, bass
a massive snapping turtle on patrol.
Yet still return above to jump again
to swim all day if just allowed
stay in until our lips turn blue with cold.
23. Horseback Riding by Florence Millett
THE JOY OF RIDING
Carefree as the wind are we, my horse, Bud, and I.
With not a care in the world, we ride into the wide-
Open spaces of farmland, acres stretching as far as the eye can see.
Having been a wild mustang from South Dakota, Bud and I have learned many lessons together, though today will
be a fun day with no school.
I challenge Bud in a game or two and watch for his
Response before we stop for lunch, my sandwich
And his bale of hay.
I glance for a moment in awe of the far distant mountains painted with fall colors that remind me that autumn will
soon turn to winter.
Our rides will then take us to the indoor ring
Where Bud feels right at home and will carry me
Effortlessly, his having learned to follow my lead
As we achieve harmony.
Florence Wiltshire Millett, New London
24. Water Skiing by Amber Crowtree
ADRENALINE-ZEN ON WATER-SKIS
I am all balance
and intuition
on manmade white waves.
The scenery whips by
my peripheral-eyes
until all I can see is the vessel
I must trust.
The handle I cling-to
is my pulsing heart, this
I will not let go-of
or give-to anyone
but this water-body
once I am all done.
25. Leaf Peeping by Sherrill Crow
A SURPRISE REVELATION
It was a beautiful, cool, but with a zip in the air, fall day.
The sun in its blue, blue sky was brightly shining over everything.
I was on the top of one of New Hampshire’s prettiest mountains.
The scenery begged the observer to look down and ahead,
The fall foliage was stunning!
Each tree or bush contributed to the brilliant display.
No sign of civilization was visible...
Just beautiful leaves and dark green conifer accents as far as one could see.
I sat on the deck and just enjoyed the vision.
All at once I realized what the picture looked like and reminded me of.
With all the different sizes, heights, fullnesses of each tree’s girth,
And each nearness to all the other trees on every side,
It looked like a bright, colorful, lumpy, quilt.
A quilt that a child would enjoy jumping and playing on.
It looked soft and bouncy and 3like a fun place to play, or nap,
Maybe even for an adult?
I have lived in Maine or New Hampshire all of my life so far,
and I have no plans for moving.
We who live here are the lucky ones.
We don’t have to go somewhere or work to save money for the trip
To see the magic change of the leaves.
We just go to the closest window and open our eyes and look.
We can enjoy the colors on our way to work, or the supermarket,
Or the bank, or the post office.
They are all around us, all Fall.
26. Summer Hiking by Natalie Davis
A MORNING IN MAY
Splendor is a morning in May
Pools of silver shimmer on the path
Two deer move with ghostly tread
Turtles rest on a log and drink sun
Pools of silver shimmer on the path
Pink lady slippers reign
Turtles rest on log and drink sun
Sweet trills of the winter wren abound
Pink lady slippers reign
Trees garbed in shades of green
Sweet trills of the winter wren abound
A white-throated sparrow calls Peabody, Peabody
Trees garbed in shades of green
Two deer move with ghostly tread
A white-throated sparrow calls Peabody, Peabody
Splendor is a morning in May
27. Snowmobiling by Thom Smith
DASHING
the snowmobile is like a one-horse open sleigh
with a two-stroke turbocharged engine;
like a motorcycle on ice or snow, propelling you on
whichever trail you wish to go;
ride and glide when the treetops glisten,
except whoever listens will note the
roaring revolutions - not the jingle of the bells -
and whoever rides will not inhale the smells of
the chestnuts roasting or the boughs of holly, but
the smells of the 91 octane fuel will be part of the
jolly rise of adrenaline inside the snowsuit-covered skin;
racing through the never-Christmas Narnian tunnels
partaking in stimulating serenity, the horse-powered
sled will funnel you to invigorating views of crystal fields
and mountain tops, as moose and deer watch you
from the copse of trees; feel the peppermint breeze
and the snowflakes pelt your cheeks, and as dusk
turns to night, turn on your custom red-nose lights
and know what Han Solo felt like in the Millennium
Falcon, know what flying is like for a peregrine falcon,
and with miles to go before you sleep, no stopping is
needed for deep Robert Frostish contemplations
for the liberty from the winter ride, and the lullaby
of the soft reverberations, and the scope of the magical
observations can
also create
awestruck words
of exultation