This poem made me miss the Oscars

And it could still probably use a couple more drafts, but fuck, it was due at 10 pm.

Anyway, here it is:

The Backwoods
-----------------
A burst of air on fingerprinted panes--
A sigh! evoked by memories spiraling past
my eyes like blithely dancing snowflakes, born
to taste my blinking lashes, clouding sight
for seconds, forging icy sky-born tears.
The kiss of chilled creation strikes my face
and leads my mind down sunny forest paths
toward windmills shaped like dragons, days of youth
where scrapes and grass-stains caked our Sunday Bests,
crusader's scars from tours in savage lands.
The Writhing Creek that snaked and snagged on rocks
while sparrows sang above its whistling streams;
The Arcane Pond with frogs at water's edge,
who leapt and squealed with fright at every stomp
the monsters made (with bulky Grandpa boots);
The Screaming Patch where briars tore at flesh,
and rabbits danced beneath the barbs and burs
to teach their children secret rodent routes
we tried to ape and failed but tried again;
The Barren Outpost loomed with creaking arms
amidst one-hundred fearful fort-less trees,
concealing men who wait for careless prey,
one step, then Bang! white tails explode and fade,
the slumping thud, and blood--
We watched that day.
Now what? Hup, Two! Hup, Two!
A motley gang, like Locksley's Merry Men,
we'd vainly march across those verdant fields
with cardboard scopes to spy on phantom rogues,
who meant to pillage bending sunflower stalks
that sprang from earth like solar-rockets, blast
exhaust clouding our brightened eyes with dust
and salty pebbles. Calvin drew his blade--
"We'll fight like men and live or die with pride!"
But Hobbes had crafted maple sails for ships,
so forest warriors dropped their swords for oars
and climbed aboard---"Thar's choppy seas ahead!
Lift high the planks against the starboard rail!
Yer captain's comin' through, so clear a hole!
You hear that, men? We'll dine with Davy Jones
before we'll lose a seaman's race, yo-Ho!"
A mermaid's kiss was prize enough to stir
the sailor's hearts to war, to feed the flames
that leapt with rising swells against our decks--
to kindle yearnings deep in glabrous chests.
For she, a creature delicate, sang hymns
that quelled the gravest miens, abducted hearts
and tortured dreams; (it helped her grace
that she alone would join these pirate games.)
A blast of spray engulfed the boats and swept
the men ashore to meet a Kraken's scowl;
She paused to smirk--and my lips froze, perched
an inch from maiden's cheek!
Mom rushed me home.

The Backwoods are but icy twigs; they'd snap
if forced to bear my dreams. But I recall
those days when once they cradled heroes' schemes.