by Grace Christine Doucette (My mom)

It’s cold in New England, ice is King
The flowers are sleeping, waiting for spring.
In my heart, memories are deep
Waiting for old promises to keep.
I planted seeds of love early in life
They’re not dead, buried by strife.
Just waiting for the big thaw when
I’ll see blossoms as never before.
The rose in a grandchild’s smile
The bloom in a hug that stretches a mile.
Yes, my seeds have sprung into life
And bloomed in my garden
Through all the icy strife.
Life goes on, it never will end
When you plant your seeds
In the heart’s of your children and friends.




Standing on ice
watching the cracks
spread beneath her feet.
Swan dancing on ice
slipping and sliding.
A million more
cracks appear.
She keeps moving
until she stands in the
center of the frozen lake.
Fractured ice under her feet
no matter which step
she chooses to take.
She walks carefully.
She walks slow.
It’s so lonely.
It’s so cold.
Standing on ice…
watching the cracks
spread beneath her feet.

Mountainburg Mountain

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Sitting in the dark of Mountainburg…
waiting on life’s spark to ignite…
moon hidden amongst clouds…
in trees bare of their leaves.
I write one last winterous scene…
dry counties surround me…
three shades to the wind…
no rum, no whiskey, death of my frisky…
washed out this girlie, angel dusted pixy…
awww sweet Jesus…
gave her prayers final answer…
no rum my daughter, no whiskey.

by Jodie Lynne