the santa anas are blowing again

an arctic clipper is blowing in

turning california into a tinder box

turning minnesota into an ice box

ashes fly wildly in the blast furnace

snow swirls madly in the arctic blast

if the woods burn we may die

if the wood won’t burn we may die

woke up to dark clouds

casting fear on our land

apocalyptic propaganda

has our destiny planned

the horsemen draw nigh

so we must take a stand

self-fulfilling prophecy

leaves no reins in hand

with freedom of thought

and apostasies banned

each day now we witness

the flames of hell fanned

woke up to dark clouds

we were heading

to our wedding

and were sweating

clammily

for to falter

at the altar

would insult her

family

she suggested

that we rested

and ingested

our champagne

while her noted

poise eroded

she was loaded

once again

in the aisle

all a-smile

she beguiled

all her clan

but they dissed her

when she missed her

mark and kissed the

preacher man

barely a seed

it starts deep

in your soul

it springs up

and blossoms

quite out

of control

it zigs

and it zags

shuffling into

some verse

and it bleeds

on your paper

for better

or worse

it may be

an epic or just

‘home, sweet home’

but whatever the case

you’ve been used

by a poem

the snow cobra lifts

his head from the drifts

with his hoodie to keep

him from freezing,

and pythons get heat

from the bunnies they meet,

with their hugging

and snuggling

and squeezing.

on clear, frozen lakes

are the friendly ice snakes,

sometimes used

by the locals

for skating,

and the right time of year

makes the wolf snakes appear

as they hiss

at the moon

before mating.