The Mountain in Winter (original poem by me)

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The path winds through the trees.
Snow highlights bent branches.
The snow falls as the squirrels

 leap across the bare branches,
serving as their little highways.
Bare trees expose mountainside,

vulnerable to snow and wind
leaving nothing to protect it.
For three months, the mountain

asleep, with the grass hibernating
under the frozen accumulation.
Wind blows tops of evergreens,

as the circle sun struggles to seep
through the white, overcast sky.
Animal tracks dot the undisturbed

layer of fresh snow on the ground,
blanketing and protecting the
waiting and dormant vegetation.

The birds land on posts in search
of food, blue jays and chickadees
argue to get the most of the seeds

Soon, the winter wind will stop,
and the buds will turn into flowers,
 and the leaves will grow in and turn

green, as spring takes over the season.
After all has grown in and blossomed,
the now green mountain will awake.

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The Green Hornet (an original poem by me)

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A change of pace for once: a friend of mine suggested I post original pieces in between book reviews to create variety. I have decided to try that today. Here’s one called “The Green Hornet”

A 1980’s Buick Century, an ordinary car in a light green color
With one horizontal red stripe as a taillight
The last thing I would see as my dad drove down on the street on his way to work
He called it the Green Hornet
Bringing home my brother when he was just a newborn
Lasting almost a quarter of a million miles
The rust spots, a symbol of the trek
Covered up with a can of touch-up paint
Knocked over by a 2-year-old boy, that forever left a green splotch in the driveway
Bringing my mom to the hospital to have me

Replacements
A gas tank to fuel its energy, new brakes to help it stop
Both came in handy when it ran out of gas one day coming back from Corning in the morning,
Just a green speck in the middle of the highway
When the day finally came
It broke down in the middle of the street, with my dad and a 7-year-old in the backseat
In 1996
A myriad of memories in one simple vehicle
It’s successor, a red Volvo station wagon called The Red Baron