Recounting NYC Blizzard Poem

 The recent snow storms in New York evoked memories of my six years living and working out of the city that nevers sleeps. Until moving to New York snow had been something of a rarity. The nearest snow fields being a three hour drive from my coastal home near Melbourne. To experience snowfall measured in feet was beyond my experience.

 The blizzard of 2006 delivered in excess of two feet of snow and my wonder and awe was off the scale. I felt compelled to write about the experience at that time and also took multiple photographs. Poets respond to the world around them. This incredible natural event was not to be denied. My response at that time employed a classic rhyming structure (AABB) with four line stanzas. I only occasionally write in that style these days.

I feel compelled to recover the poem and share it before it melts...

Snowstorm Scenes in New York

The city, wrapped in twilight's quiet glow,

Became a blur beneath the falling snow.

New York, so loud and restless just before,

Fell silent as the storm began to pour.

Two feet of white, cascading from the skies,

Blanketed streets, where chaos often lies.

It veiled the cracks, the grime, pavement scars,

And lights transformed to distant, muted stars.

The rumble of the trains, the cabs' harsh roar,

Swallowed by the storm and heard no more.

Footsteps, once fast, were now rendered slow

As the city’s famous rhythm surrendered to snow

Central Park, a wonderland of white

Branches bearing winter’s sudden bite

A dreamscape mask, muting all

So still beneath this massive fall

Children's laughter echoed through the park,

Their breath like smoke, their eyes now sparked

Sleds carved paths where pigeons once fed,

And snowflakes kissed each passerby instead.

Snow kept falling, cloaking all in peace,

Each flake a promise that city noise could cease

Its rush, its grind, its endless, frantic pace,

And for a while, there was stillness in its place.

For now, the city slept, its heartbeat slowed,

Wrapped in a blanket, nature had bestowed.

And in that hush, so rare, so complete,

New York was beautiful beneath our feet.

Alan j  Wright

It is yet again, Poetry Friday and our host on this occasion is Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche. Margaret presents three poems,  employing tricube and golden shovel forms, in response to prompts provided to her in a writing forum.