Pause For Poetry:
Michael Hawkes /39

Slow Snow

A poem by Michael Hawkes

February 3, 2022

If one has fallen as slowly as snow flakes
From the height of a lowering cloud
To land on a pillow of soft fluffy mates
One feels glad to be back in the crowd.

Unbruised, unblemished and still a fine crystal,
At rest among others as equally proud,
One hopes to be drifted, fused, frozen solid,
Un-snow-blown or peed on and ploughed.

Until, come the spring, one melts in a pool
And joins with ones’ friends in the flow,
Energetic, aerated, and still kinda’ cool
But missing the slowness of snow.

 *  *  *  *  *

If lucky you’ll be one of those who rises wraith-like
From a lake into the sky;
Up to where a high wind blows
To move the cumuli.
Where molecule to molecule clings for heaven’s sake
Until it’s cool enough again
To start falling as a drop of rain
Then metamorphose as a flake.

22/12/21 –  Hawkes


logo Centre des arts de StansteadThe Centre des arts de Stanstead is pleased to present indigenous poets Marilyn Dumont and Andrée Lévesque Sioui who will read from their work in a bilingual online event taking place Tuesday, February 15 at 7 pm, on Zoom, with host Shelley Pomerance. For tickets visit

Feature image: Egor Kamelev from PexelsBouton S'inscrire à l'infolettre –

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Michael Hawkes -

Michael Hawkes is an 80-year-old survivor of all the world’s wars. He learned (and loved to rhyme) by torturing the hymns he had to sing at school. A retired West Coast fisherman living in Montreal since 2013, he is an unschooled Grandpa Moses writing an average of five poems every week.

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