poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Hard Lard

The lard was too hard.
“Thar wor a winter so severe
we ‘ad ta tek a bleedin'
pickaxe to it.”
I dream of building igloos.
Gleam of white outside,
interior wall would ooze,
dripping like dew.
Eyes stare through steam
to where fat fish stew,
while we dream of Easter
where winter will blow itself out,
snowdrops parch,
among the bleak ides of March
Meanwhile days chip away.
Light lengthens, glistens on a lawn
daubed with frosted mist,
while the ghost of last nights lard,
congealed  in the pan,
tightens its fist like grip.

13 Feb 11

Rated 10 (10) by 1 users.
Active (1):
Inactive (0): 10

(define the words in this poem)
(938 more poems by this author)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha


uh uh
 — unknown

S3 is a winner

(not larry looking for a 10 lark)
 — unknown

thats the way uh  uh uh uh i like it uh uh uh uh

Larry uh uh uh uh Lark (unknown to almost everybody)
 — larrylark

Go on unknown...you know it makes sense

Larry senseless Lark
 — larrylark

Recent Best (expand)