A Snow Smoke Poem by Richard Blanch

Monte Cristo No.2

Whiteout. Snow. Glowing smokers swirl
Smouldering in their own whirlpool,
Hissing crystals heap them high.
These scholars do not stir.
Their brown gleaming texts
Wise leaves, libraries of treasured
Moments, furnish them with banished pleasures.
Their defiance rises mildly to the sky
Knowing golden eyes shine
Slow and hot in their gentle icy grip.


One sees the lonely snowman. Finds
A burning twig to stick between his lips..
The snowman smiles.