HIS THIS THE WORLDS TALLEST SNOWMAN

The world’s tallest snowman — 113 feet, 7 inches — was built in this western Maine town back in 1999. In the photo below the tallest snowman, “Angus, King of the Mountain”, stands tall over a crowd of people gathered to attend a ceremony in Bethel, Maine, in February, 19 1999.

Now the Bethel Area Chamber of Commerce will attempt to build the world’s tallest snowman (snowwoman) again. It is told that the work will start on Jan. 22 and take up to 20 days to complete, said Executive Director Robin Zinchuk.

“We definitely learned a lot the first time around and that’s helping us know what we need to do. We really didn’t know what we were doing last time,” Zinchuk said. The giant snowman was named “Angus, King of the Mountain” in honor of former Gov. Angus King. Angus was so big that his nose was 8 feet long, his hat was 20 feet in diameter and the scarf around his neck was 120 feet long. His eyes were 4-foot wreaths, and his smile was made from automobile tires.

There was also a raffle as to when Angus would melt, which with our Maine weather, was anyone’s guess. The official melt date was June 10, 1999. The raffle was divided by 22 winners. Fashion ideas being tossed around for a giant snowwoman include making a skirt out of snow, adding a pink scarf and painting tires lipstick red for her mouth.

Jim Sysko, the chief architect and engineer nine years ago, will again lead the construction team. He’ll be assisted by an engineer and a longtime snowmaker from the nearby Sunday River ski resort, which has a new snowmaking gun that could help ease the effort.

For a name, the chamber is considering holding a naming contest. The giant snowman was named by a radio station disc jockey. “I haven’t heard from Angus (King) yet, but I’m sure he will be thrilled that we’re doing it again. He’s all about doing fun things,” Zinchuk said.

Detail of the to-be-dethroned tallest snowman are:

• Height 113 ft. & 7 inches tall
• 9,000,000 lbs
• 200,000 cubic feet of snow
• 4 ft. wreathes as eyes
• 6 ft. of chicken wire & muslin for the carrot nose
• 6 automobile tires as the mouth
• 20 ft. fleece hat
• 120 ft. fleece scarf
• 3 skidder tires for the buttons
• 2 – 10 ft. trees for arms

The snowman’s hat was made by seventh graders at Telstar Middle School. His six-foot nose was made by local elementary school students and as a special touch, has the imprints of the student’s hands.

Maine’s governor, Angus King, whom “Angus, King of the Mountain” was named after, came to participate in the ceremony to honor the citizens of Bethel who achieved their goal and “made it” into the Guiness World Book of Records for the World’s Largest Snowman. He stated he felt honored to have had the snowman named after him, but wondered if “Willie Melt” might not have been a more appropriate name! (source )

The snowman is listed in Guinness Book of Records 2002, page123.

CAN THIS BE THE TALLEST SNOWMAN

Summer

Days start to get shorter as the seasons change

Each has what they feel is their favorite time

Whether Spring or Fall, Winter or Summer

Voicing that preference is not any real crime.

 

Winter has to be my least favorite season

The sun can be pretty reflecting on fresh snow

Drinking hot cocoa and cuddling, curled by a fire

But unfortunately I can’t stay in 3 months, I know.

 

Spring and Fall give a change that is welcome

But they don’t seem to last long enough for me

The gentle rains on the roof as you try to sleep

Just hope there is no damaging weather to see.

 

Summer will always be my favorite time of year

Sure it gets hot, but so much better on my bones

Lay by the pool or straddle the bike for a day trip

Not to mention bodies in all those tanning tones.

 

I recognize others have their reasons for a choice

Whatever season they prefer that differs from mine

Guess that us just another example of personality traits

 

Enjoy what you will, let me have months of sunshine

Charles Townsend

THE MIST

It rolls over the hills,
A mystic splendour to transform,
Like a mantle of gossamer beauty,
As the night gives way to the dawn.

It engulfs the spider’s web,
Glistening in the morning cold,
Jewels of exquisite beauty,
Bedecked with silver and gold.

It creeps along the greenery,
Then freezers in the night,
Jack Frost pays a visit,
To create a carpet of white.

It moves in ghostly silence,
To swallow everything around,
Like a phantom possessed,
I t visits without a sound.

Its one of natures many gifts,
That bedecks this world of ours,
She spins a web of beauty,
That covers the trees and flowers.

It creates a blanket of secrecy,
Of everything it has kissed,
Clings to Mother Nature,
That’s the toil of the mist.

Malcolm G Bradshaw

A Farewell to Winter – Promote Yourself

Light leaks; layers the early eastern hills
Butter-yellow and fresh-squeezed tangerine.
Breakfast colours. The cold skinny breeze fills
The space between birdsong with wild green
Scents: Fynbos and firs, precocious perfumes
From hedgerows hued in blazing blue and red.
A premature promise of summer blooms
Before the last frost. When frozen and dead
These petals will carpet the trail toward home,
Marking the certain seasonal parade,
A farewell to cold, an end to the poem
That was winter. As dawn’s grey starts to fade
I stop to look back on the path I have trod
And offer myself to my Creator God.

Christopher  Leach

I am a 40-something year old living in the tiny village of Bathurst in the Eastern Cape Province, South Africa. I grow flowers and vegetables and work in a local restaurant on weekends. I have spent most of my adult life travelling; I have an RYA Yachtmaster ticket and a lot of my journeys involved delivering sailing yachts. After a happy seven year relationship with an amazing women, author amongst other skills, who tragically, died in a airline crash in Tripoli in 2010, I decided to move back to the area of my childhood and put down roots. Living close to nature has inspired me to start writing again, hence my use of a WordPress blog to share my writing with others.
Christopher Leach

An early start

I woke early in the morning and nothing could be heard

But as I listened carefully I could hear the singing of a bird

It was the early morning chorus bidding welcome to the day

And listening to its singing that bird was heard to say 

Wake up, wake up everybody the sun is on its way

Daylight will soon be breaking, prepare to meet the day

Don’t lie in bed a’sleepnig, when there is so much to do

Rise early in the morning, take the opportunities life gives to you

They won’t last forever, they will quickly pass away

The time is ripe to take them at the beginning of the day

If you miss these opportunities it could bring sadness to your heart

So take example from the birds and make an early start

RON MARTIN

Read more: http://www.thisisnottingham.co.uk/poems/story-18502990-detail/story.html?oo=10001014#ixzz2OSvWYoWr
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THE WILLOW’S BRANCH

Your touch,
like the gentle dip of the willow’s branch upon the water,
sends ripples through my being.
And I am stilled.
Your kiss,
like the landing of a winter snowflake down upon my flushed skin,
speaks to my worried mind.
And I am silenced.
Your breath,
like wind on the prairie rushing to some unknown place,
cleanses my soul.
And I am renewed.
Love?
I will quietly cease – should you ever leave me.
Stay close.
For your presence is all I require to survive the spin of this blue green orb.

Shelley

In the bleak mid winter your favourite Christmas poem

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man

I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

Christina Rossetti

1872

On This Christmas Night

 

The snowflakes glisten

The children listen

For Santa on his sleigh

Church bells are ringing

The choir is singing

On this Christmas night

The Christmas tree

Stands dressed in gold

With presents

Sparkling and bold

White carpets of snow

Lay all of aglow

The stars sparkle bright

On this Christmas night

The mince pies are out

Next to the pint of stout

Awaiting Santa Claus

On this cold winters night

As children wait

For the night to unfold

When all of their dreams

Will turn to gold

 

Gillian Sims

Snowland

Like tear-drops

Freezing upon my face

Snowflakes form

Like crystal lace

Icicles hang

Like frozen fingers

Noses and toes tingle

On sleighs up and down

Blankets of snow

Put the land to bed

I see the prettiest picture

I have ever met

Gillian Sims

SEND IN YOUR POEMS TO: poetreecreations@yahoo.com

Christmas cards

 

 

Christmas is here once again

Brings memories of the past

The times we were together

I am alone again alas

 

Dusting down the Christmas cards

Placing them for all to see

The house is now empty

Since you were taken away from me

 

I miss the way you smiled

I miss you being there

I miss the warmth of your embrace

As I talk to an empty chair

 

Christmas can be a lonely time

When a loved one passes on

The sense of loss is painful

When you realise they have gone

 

As I read those Christmas cards

I thank God for all the years

That we both shared together

Through happiness and tears

 

I am going to enjoy Christmas

And toast our life with Champaign

Because I know one day

We shall meet in heaven again

 

Malcolm G Bradshaw

A visit from st Nicholas – Your Favourite poem

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

Attributed to Clement Clark Moore 1823

Probably written by

Major Henry Livingston 1808

The Snowman

There’s a strange man

In my garden

With top hat and tails

He is looking rather pale

He’s been standing there

For some time now

Just standing and staring

And looking all around

He very often smiles

But doesn’t often frown

The squirrels and the fox’s

All adore him

As they pass by

He lifts his hand

To wave at them

And smiles to say goodnight

Thomas and Gillian Sims

A different Christmas poem

 

 

 

A Different Christmas Poem

 

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold..
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
“What are you doing?” I asked without fear,
“Come in this moment, its freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!”

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
Then he sighed and he said “It’s really all right, 
I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night.” 
“It’s my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ‘ Pearl on a day in December,”
Then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.
“My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘ Nam ‘,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue… an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.”

“So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”
“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
“Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,
For being away from your wife and your son.

“Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
“Just tell us you love us, and never forget…
To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.”

PLEASE, Would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our U.S.service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities.  Let’s try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us.

Innocence – Promote Yourself

As you lay your head upon my chest

and gently fall asleep,

I cannot help but hold you tight

and feel a sense of peace.

 

Such tiny features

so beautifully created,

I cannot fathom how your life

could ever be debated.

 

You bring immense joy

into a world full of pain—

a shining light,

growing brighter every day.

 

A gift from God,

you bring hope into my life,

teaching me how to have faith

and to let go of strife.

 

In this depraved world

you outshine the rest,

possessing what most have lost:

 

God’s blessing of pure innocence.

 

Lauren Heiligenthal

http://aletheiaword.wordpress.com/

A winters night

A Summer’s breeze

A Winter’s night 

A Spring leaf An Autumn bright 

These are the things I no longer see,

Due to the things that haunt me

A torn limb, shattered bones,

Broken dreams and awful wounds

Why should one forego these scenes?

Learn again to live your dreams 

Cooling breeze on a summer’s night 

A roaring fire, curled up tight 

Dew drops on flowered fields 

Falling leaves into piles I can dream,

I can hope For old scenes to help me cope

One new day I shall see,

Old welcome memories

 But for now, I can only see,

new scenes that taunt me

In my dreams, in my head,

haunting things full of dread

Of a life lived too fast,

Wishing to regain my past

Something good and something fresh

A bright new view for me to look to,

A whole new world for my future……

Dan Fry

NOTTINGHAM POET

MY LITTLE VISITOR

Hello little robin
wearing your scarlet red vest
how dainty yet proud you are
seeking food for your nest

the feeders are flowing
fresh seed to the brim
so go call the others to come delve in

Now perched on the bird bath looking fully fed
surveying surroundings for your next daily bread
please  please visit again little bird for you
  bring comfort I feel safe
with thoughts of someone so loved and missed can’t come

      sends you to me in his place
               x

By Sandra Cameron

NOTTINGHAM POET

Ice and Snow

People never tell of ice
Or the snow that glitters nice
Or of the icy crunchy snow
Of that most people do not know
The crunch that sounds beneath your feet
As your sole and ice compete
When in the morning as you wake
You see a single white snow flake
You look out of the iced window
The look out seems so very low
Because the snow fell all night
It has left behind its sheet of white 

Helen Windass

Jack Frost

The door was shut, as doors should be,
Before you went to bed last night;
Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see,
And left your window silver white.

He must have waited till you slept;
And not a single word he spoke,
But pencilled o’er the panes and crept
Away again before you woke.

And now you cannot see the hills
Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane;
But there are fairer things than these
His fingers traced on every pane.

Rocks and castles towering high;
Hills and dales, and streams and fields;
And knights in armor riding by,
With nodding plumes and shining shields.

And here are little boats, and there
Big ships with sails spread to the breeze;
And yonder, palm trees waving fair
On islands set in silver seas,

And butterflies with gauzy wings;
And herds of cows and flocks of sheep;
And fruit and flowers and all the things
You see when you are sound asleep.

For, creeping softly underneath
The door when all the lights are out,
Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe,
And knows the things you think about.

He paints them on the window-pane
In fairy lines with frozen steam;
And when you wake you see again
The lovely things you saw in dream.

Gabriel Setoun