Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the tag “cold”

Frozen Pride

There’s a northern sense of pride
in battling winter and surviving
minus forty, minus fifty,
icy fog and snowy drifts. We
soldier on in our uniforms;
long underwear to keep us warm,
and scoff at tender souls who live
in milder climes and shake and shiver
at minus five and have to close
the city down for an inch of snow.

We post the current temperature;
a brag of what we can endure;
a challenge to post a lower number,
to northern soldiers in other bunkers.

Year after year we earn our stripes
through furnace fails and frozen pipes,
when trucks die and the power goes out
you discover what cold is all about.
We’ve fed the woodstove through the night
and melted snow by candlelight.

We’ve earned our medals in the ice and cold
but the years roll on and we’re getting old
and we’ve paid our dues and we’ve fought our fight
and we just want a little bit more sunlight.
It’s not retreating, just retiring
to a place where the temperature is higher.
I leave the struggle to the young
who have the strength to carry on.

Old soldiers who’ve battled winter and won,
Deserve their moments in the sun.


Dreaming My Cold Away

When I have a cold,
when I’m stuck in bed,
I close my eyes and dream
I’m somewhere else instead.

Sitting on the beach
with my toes in the sand,
a cool glass of something
sweating in my hand.

Or I see myself gardening
Planting hopeful seeds,
tucking in the plantlets,
and turfing out the weeds.

Or maybe I am drifting
on a lake in our canoe.
My paddle dips and dives
like the loons and loonlings do.

While I’m lying in my bed
trying not to swallow
there is no shining memory
I won’t pull up and follow.

Till the microscopic menace
loosens up its fetters
and I can truly say
“I think I’m feeling better.”

But until then I’ll close my eyes
and dream my cold away
with ideas for summer projects
and plans for sunny days.



My Cold

Juice, jello, gingerale, vitamin C
Homemade chicken noodle soup, fireweed tea
Echinacea, bed rest, heating pad, naps.
Tissues, Vicks and cough drops. Feeling like crap.

Hot bath, soft blanket, well fluffed pillow
hot lemon honey and a couple Advil. Oh
nothing’s getting done till this cold takes a hike.
Good books, good movies, good grief, goodnight.

The Cold War

Some enterprising cold germs occupied my throat today
in an over night incursion  –  in a stealthy, sneak attack .
While I slept they planted flag poles, declaring their intention
to conquer and to colonize my respiratory tract.

I can feel them making forays as they do a reconnoiter
gathering the intel that they need to make a play
to revoke my immunity, to throw down my defences.
I need a secret weapon to throw into the fray.

So I douse them down with grape juice laced with Echinacea.
I rest and I drink fluids and eat vitamin C pills.
I’ll not further the imperialist agenda of these cold germs
by going out and coughing  and making others ill.

I’ll fight this battle on the home front and I will give no quarter,
as the advancing forces offer no quarter to me.
As soon as I’m victorious I resume my place among you
but til then, wish me luck, I’ve put myself in quarantine.



Change in the Wind

It isn’t you it’s me, I changed but you just stayed the same.
I don’t know how much longer I can play this silly game
and look the other way when you rage and act so cold.
My heart is getting harder and your temper’s getting old.

There was a time when I could handle all your flighty ways,
the long nights were a novelty that made up for the days
of unpredictability, of blowing cold then hot.
Back then it made me feel alive, alas, now it does not.

I know you’re never going to change, it’s more than I could hope.
So I’ll just have to be the one who has to learn to cope.
I think we need some time apart, a trial separation.
Perhaps a few months on our own, separate vacations. 

When we first met I thought you were the only place to be
This snug nest ‘neath Northern Lights, this lovely Peace Country.
But now the nest is far to thin when nights are cold and black
This Snowbird needs to stretch her wings, don’t worry, I’ll be back.




Weathering the Weather

We spend ten months complaining the weather’s too cold
and a month that the weather’s too hot.
And the couple of weeks that occur in between
Are the closest to perfect we’ve got.

Is there any place anywhere here on this earth
where the weather’s predictably fine
and the primary topic of all conversation
isn’t whether the sun’s gonna shine?

I’m tired of being climatically-centric
I will not indulge speculation
The weather’s not altered by my puny input,
or by my  anticipation.

So starting today Weather’s all on her own,
Don’t talk to me of predictions.
Short range forecasts are just wishful thinking
and long range are just science fiction.

There’s no sense in discussing the weather, my friend,
It’s not like we have any say.
The only thing we can be certain of is that
there’s sure to be some kind of weather today.



In a Cave by a Fire

I can’t really distinguish
Between twenty five below
And minus thirty three.
At some point it just feels
Cold and I wonder
If there really is a difference.
Before numbers were invented
was there just cold, colder, damn cold,
and ‘stay in the cave by the fire, Stupid.’
But I don’t have a fire anymore.
Just a looping video of a fire that
I can play on the fifty inch screen.
No hauling wood or ashes but no
actual heat either.
So what if the power goes out one day
and never comes back on?
Back to the cave by the fire, Stupid!



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