John Street, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

John Street

The ice cold steel chains
Across the white blanket strains
To clear level paths
The monster with angry growl
And its language pretty foul
Rusty dual stacks
Puffing clouds of grays and blacks
Refusing to yield
The red monster makes its way
Pushing ahead not to stray
Flakes of white scatter
Recklessly from where they were
Soon to be corralled
The plow making dunes of white
Mittens wave with much delight
Towing my wood sled
It sheds rust moving ahead
John Street is our goal
It’s a mountain of a hill
Sure to give me quite a thrill
My feet used to steer
Showing not a bit of fear
Over the hill’s crest
There will be no stopping now
Speeding down I scream a wow
The ride is over
Wishing it was much longer
Looking up to see
The distance I have traveled
A smile for I am baffled
Life is like my ride
As did my sled time did slide
The sun is setting
It’s time to be heading home
Of this ride shall not bemoan

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bobsieczkiewicz

Husband, Father, Grandfather, Lover of all beautiful things. I love to read and write poetry. My favorite hangouts are libraries and museums and yet I love being outdoors. I am a dreamer of things that could be.

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