Snowmen
As if he had awakened
from the strangest dream
or dreamed on
without end, he crossed the frozen stream
into the blizzard's worst
and braced
for the bleak night. A starved howling burst
from the spectral drifts tight
against the blistered trees. Ridges tossed and turned
like men
in white fatigues
who could not sleep but burned
with a desire
for sleep. And bushes bundled
in snow, like snowmen, quiet, deep, were shivering
in a row. These snowmen, none
like he had known, would cheer no child,
adorn no Christmas scenery, their stance so stark and wild.
They were the bitter storm personifying itself,
a glittering sculpture
of harm
in league
with the scrawny wolf.
Ken Anderson is
from Decatur, Georgia, USA. His publications include The Café Review, Club Plum, Coffin Bell,
Dash, Dawntreader, Hole in the Head Review, Hyacinth Review, Impostor,
The Journal, London Grip, Lotus-eater, Lullwater Review, Modern
Literature, Neologism Poetry Review, Oddball Magazine, Orbis, Penumbra,
Rudderless Mariner Poetry, Sangam Literary Magazine, Sein und Werden,
Toho Journal, Verbal Art, The Waiting Room, and Willawa Journal. His poetry books
are Permanent Gardens
(Seabolt Press, 1972), The Intense Lover (Starbooks, 1995), and The Goose Liver Anthology (Red Ogre Review Books, 2024).