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Death Snow Poems | Death Poems About Snow

These Death Snow poems are examples of Death poems about Snow. These are the best examples of Death Snow poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Quatrain | |

Where The White Rose Blooms

The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.

He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.

This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.

The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.

With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.

His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.

The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.

The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.




November 25th, 2013


Details | Free verse | |

STILL WINTER

Dead Winter Stray~ By: Poet Destroyer

Nearby paces, Combatants lost under the cemetery walls,
“Blessed Men and Heavenly Remedy Women of Ages,”
Feelings of dance at the beginning of nightfall,
Scenery of fire, sadness passing this history page,
In that distant curve, somewhere nears the sundown stream.
Far away from the vision of mortal eyes,
A child plays as beautiful and pale like the sunrise.
She plays on the coast this beautiful but pale, sun raised child.
Pursuing nature, in a hushed angelic lucidity,
“In hushed angelic lucidity!”
Fragile fastened, to those adequate bones.
Profound deepness beneath the snow winder dust,
Below the memoirs of her floating vessel,
Reminisces of water drowning down rivers and streams,
A shattered female kneels in salvation.
An anvil so heavy it troubles the mind.
Lost in profoundness, in what might have been.
What was, for a moment in this period?
The grimness of her weak vessel dwells.
A lifeless winter strays around. 
An album so old and dusty,
A christening gown not ever embraced.
Infinite, the woman and pale child of sunrise,
Soften footfalls beating out the torments.
Countless nights seeing the day of unspoken headstones,
Feelings of dance will never rest this heartache.
Eternity, in a dance of unconditional need,
Their hearts unite as one...
A closing of mother and child…     
~BY: PD~

Dead Winter~ By: Catie Lindsey 

There walks Warriors in that graveyard,
Holy Men and Medicine Women of ages;
at night you can see their Spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner, up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snow drifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her body afloat
down rivers and streams of Remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight on a burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was, for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers,
in a dead winter of the unborn,
on page forty-nine in the family album,
in a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance,the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance, The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one...
the woman and the child.
~By: Catie Lindsey~

(for Catie's: Re-write contest..) 


Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

Abbey


Amid the woods and snow he saw her form,
predestined oracle he sensed this was,
her recollected glance, was lone in storm,
outside the chapel she became first cause .

Lit were the chandelier's ocher chandelles,
his heartbeat thrummed an airy rhythmic spell,
the forest snowstorm reeled - shaped ghostly belles
invited him beneath the ringing knell.

Their Angel's bliss, his soul received in flames,
adept and kind the whisper of her voice,
"- Forgiveness calms those who indulge in blames;
devoutness is the prelude of free choice."

Outside he stepped beneath the Abbey's knell:
His voice dispersed above the snow and mass,
in cold embraced the iron wrought of bells,
- as waxen light passed through the chapel's glass.

His mind and woods enjoined in forceful prayer,
spells sacrosanct and numinous instilled,
in abstinence the sanctified abbe,
abandoned Convent life to years and thrills.

Escaped then he, to meet the woods in dark,
amidst their sovereign heights he was her groom,
continuum of time and space to arc,
his childhood's wraith became in mists and tomb.

© G. V. 01-04-2012 All rights reserved
(Iambic Pentameter)


Details | Verse | |

Chilled Dawn

She is shadowed by fuzzy cobwebs of a morning without coffee,
while dust motes mingle with the mold of time.
Gazing out to the yard, through dingy glass, and fog, 
into a dismal January, she hopes to catch a glimpse of the paper boy.
He travels through rain, sleet or snow, how could he understand, 
(this teen-aged Paul Revere), that in this decrepit old house, 
she is longing for a sign of youth? It has been a weary night, watching an old woman hang on by threads of life, that had worn thin years ago. 
Watching and waiting, while cold winds blew and snow was falling,  
and death was hoping to make a house call.
Any diversion, life being lived,... one brief eclipse of life in motion would be a relief.
To observe him toss the news into the sky like a Frisbee... not a care in the world
How would that feel...has she ever known? Has anyone ever been so young?
She thinks she may go mad with death and dying, with weariness, with waiting.
She suddenly shivers from a dreaded draft of frigid air, slithering in,
like a sneaky, uninvited ghost, slinking in around the rim. 

       nor'easter winds                                                roll top shoe box...
      splinter the silence..               --                     debutante' caught in amber
        a cataract view                                                   frozen sepia  

Grabbing a handful of a thread-bare doily,  she polishes the cold glass, 
rubbing vigorously in circles against the grime, 
making figure eights, in spite of frozen, stiff, fingers.  
Satisfied, that she has a decent view of the blanketed yard,
and can see clearly where the muddy, gravel driveway,
bends gradually, curving to mate with the snow banked road,
at last, she spies the old Jeep coming, and watches with automated eyes, 
yet, with some expectation, and strange excitement. 
Then, as she might have guessed,
the teenager drives hurriedly by, barely slowing down, tossing the news,
and leaving her gaze and her thoughts, splattered by dark murky water, 
while the slinging gravel that has been pitched into the sky, by his screeching tires,
falls like the pieces of the old woman's lonely life upon the pristine snow. 




__________________________________________
For Deb's Contest: "Mix It Up"


Details | Elegy | |

Son of War

The snow fell on bloody ground
turning the white to red, eating the silent
flakes till they disappeared into red dust.
The hand lay still...hopelessly bound
in death. Warm red snow was not meant
to melt and cover white life with lust.

No breath melted the blanket of white
dancing playfully on the mother's son
who lay coldly quiet 'neath nature's cover. 
He had wanted to stay...not feel the splice
of war...taking him beyond the red sun
atop the earth where the hawks hover.


Details | Elegy | |

Snow Angels

Twenty sets of footprints
scattered in the snow.
Twenty wings that flutter
as the breeze begins to blow.

Twenty peals of laughter,
Twenty toothless grins,
Twenty eyes that twinkle
as their journey begins.

Twenty desks left empty.
Million hearts that mourn.
Six will join to guide them,
unsung heroes born.

Twenty little angels
playing in the snow
dropping tiny snowflakes
on those who stayed below.


Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

Ice King

Ice King

The blade is frozen - feels like ice,
arcane the skies of winter's war,
'the Valkyries' bold entice
today to fight alongside Thor.

This great of days is best to die,
the snow, white shroud, persists around
to slowly muffle his war cry,
on skyward Kingdom he'll be crowned.

© G. V. 07-27-2013
(Iambic tetrameter)


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Tragic Feather

Oh, tragic feather what is thy tragedy
No longer freedom gay or certian loft
How is this thy new translation
From a majesty, unto a wing thou hath mighty dropped

Were thou thus, shunned, cast away 
Or merely, cut out or off
As limb from downward spiral angel
Perhaps, a troubled finch or insanity in wayward hawk

Lie, if thou must, be it amidst a deafening silence, lonesome soft
But, I plead, please tell me fallen feather, what hath befallen thee
Thy tuft to ne’er evermore touch again
What life should be, warmth of the summer's breeze

Sleep, sleep now 'neath the alley's gutter greys 
Catching Weeping Willows damning drops
Adrift as the drowning lily dying
In seas of the myriad scattered rots

An accomplice I shall say, within a winter's willing white
And alas, buried ordinary in this doth the corpse delight
Far beneath the crowds held at bay and forever lost
Now thou hath become the naked grove of wicker and then...
                                   the more of naked souless crops


Details | Rhyme | |

Devil's Cocaine

        make no mistake
snow flakes are not angel
lace
or the tapestry of miracles
they're devil 
blades
drifting to earth..
to 
set the metal in the mind 
to 
spinning
turn life into
a pair of pit viper eyes
slide you into the grave 
before you've made peace 
with your maker?
       snow flakes are white leeches 
bloody lips anchored to shovel and spade-
twisting ancient backs 
into candy
canes
rip the heart from its throbbing  
cage...
daggers of misery 
hanging like devil snot
from christmas trees
freezing little fingertips
churning eyes to charcoal
turning ponds to  blue ice crypts
       at night when all is asleep
they dance-chant in a swirl
white witches
hiding their black ice sins
knitting snow white caps  
to warm your tombstone...
snow flakes - the devils cocaine.


Details | Couplet | |

Darkness Sleeps

Single file in a row
bare feet freezing in the snow
in a pile, bodies burn
all wait fearfully for their turn
ash and smoke clog the air
ringing with screams of despair
moving closer to their end
their minds begin to slowly bend
the snow is stained with crimson red
drinking in the blood they've shed
in the trees, starved ravens wait
to feed on those who've met their fate
more bodies burn, the bells tolls on
the moon reveals a scarlet dawn
as all the corpses burn in heaps
just for now, the darkness sleeps

By Morgan Mise
Written December 3, 2012


Details | Ballad | |

L'Avalanche

With the furious rage of a thousand Winters,
A sea of injustice, waiting at the spout.
Like the irritated bite of a good man's splinters,
That swindle and split when sweetly plucked out.

The frost-fangs froth into an empty grave,
And leave all, cowering below, to their bitter end.
Sovereign cragsmen, smothered as slaves,
Like a crumbling ship, so desperate to scend.

The mighty Alps, now a fresh garden of bones,
As its prey lie tangled in the ghastly web.
Listen to the innocent and their soft, muted moans,
And slowly keep climbing from your cruel misstep.


Details | Free verse | |

Somber Song

Whilst sitting at her piano,
A tune it just came out,
It was so full of sadness,
We all had so much doubt.

Lydia was her name,
She was on the way to fame,
Her music was a special gift,
And gave us such a lift.

The townsfolk they all gathered around,
To greet this girl they'd found,
And she became an idol,
In this little country town.

One day whilst they were walking,
The lane was deep in snow,
The townsfolk came across this girl,
It's the way she wanted to go.

So now when they hear a piano,
Their thoughts all turn to her,
And so this Somber Story,
Still causes their heart to stir.


Details | Free verse | |

To Where a Snowflake dies

A war in heaven reluctantly concedes
To the lullaby's in the night singing softly
Covering us in heavenly whisper blows
As feathers falling light so intense and gracefully 
Escaping God's whitened watery coves

And somewhere up above
I believe there are angels also grooming
Thus, for the twilight showing, shedding as they rush
The world as such, always in a hurry
But, for an instance and out of nowhere
An avalanche of marvel captivates the hush

And in my distant mind I most certainly can relate
As to the stars and ancient sands of grain
My tongue tasting these miracles of wonder
Reaching further to acquiesce
In greetings, to miniature designs
Crafted out of God's very hands of great

While, celestial bodies move
Constant shadows consume
Around assumptions of the human mind 
Thus, begins the dusk and ends 
To the place where a snowflake dies

Look around
Who is it that seems to care
Or thinks to ponder the manual labor input here
With hammers, chisels, nuts and bolts
Never to witness to a mere mistake
Or upon discovery any kind of error

Yet, I listen… to the silence…
Extracting all its pleasure
Before, another million frigid seedlings ashen
Met with daunting fate
And in the still of tranquil
Neither snowflake cries out or offers up complaints

For a day
Or merely several nights evermore
A complex purpose
Or to thus, a simpler existence
Then, I pause...
Unto supposition, as I meditate the message

Guesses drift off, into what's last unknown
Of the never ending knowing
Embracing their provident life
Watch as they embrace each other closer
In a bank of ice, waiting for the melting




Details | Ballad | |

The Sailor with the one-eyed look

'Twas a cold wintry day
the road was frozen white and gleamin'
a pale sun stood over the clouds
watching them float lazily by
in the corner of a street
on a flat stone, so to speak
sat an old man, bearded and bare
he is the sailor with the one-eyed look

Sat as straight as a ramrod, did he,
back to the blizzard, now astride
with fingers so numb, eyes dim to see
getting a ha'penny from a passer-by
tramps and urchins flocked at he,
told them stories of the seas, he did
with arms a'waving like sails, you see
a gleam of joy in his eyes show'd

For he'd been to the wars
sailing on the ships of Her Majesty
seen it all, he's did, and lived,
came back home to muffins and tea
t'was on the seas he lost an eye
plucked out in an enemy fight
wounded and left behind to die
but didn't, and now home and dry

Retired from Her Majesty's service, he'd
now homeless, helpless, this once proud sailor
left with neither coin, nor a roof over his head
forced to the slums, living out of the gutter
t'was a piteous sight to behold, fie it!
would'a loved to chomp on choicy bit
displayed in the streets like in mama's kitchen
but not for his palate, just to be seen

Then it came, one bright sunny day
oh, what a bliss from snow and hail
tramps and children, out to play
free from the fear of icy pain
but alas! no sign of the sailor
save a snowy effigy, and on it his comb
for while snow lasted, the snow tailor'd
a snowy covering on him; it was his tomb!


Details | Rhyme | |

Worn Mail


Her image fled among the trees,
twas strange that time when fates stepped
in painful dreams - pictures inept,
of soldiers killed, legion's trustees.

Was ordered to serve by conscription,
and in the camps for many years,
ascertained was that the war's fears
his mind dismissed by proscription.

The coffee in cup on mountain's glen,
in plain night darkness of midwinter,
his fingers warmed - tasted bitter,
the M16 A4's his friend.

He stayed with it for two decades,
cannot describe how time was lost,
cannot recall him being a ghost,
that fled to slopes and pure cascades.

But he recalls that March first morn,
she sent a note, with drawn clovers,
close to the grind of tanks' dozers,
- pure words and tears on paper worn.

He never knew to phrase answers,
and also thought that she wouldn't wait;
an empty-strange was quantum of fate,
the stardom called the shot advancers.

On molten snow stream her worn mail goes,
a paper boat that trails afar,
his stare followed - he was shot hard,
upon the snow two qubits froze.

© 01.27.2013


Details | Free verse | |

Of Demons and Wolves

     Far above the ice and Snow
     An Eagle circles waters blue
     Wolves are silent as they run
     While talons grasp a Salmon's scaly skin.

     The twilight Shadow; wolf growling heard.
     Prey is scarce, the earth is hard.
     The meadow. The brook.  In Forest realm.
     A glint on Snow forms stories old.

     The hunt; circling.  The Stag now knows.
     With hunger pangs and snapping maws;
     The chase.  The turn.  The leap to throat. . .
     Red eyes in twilight as the wolves do feast!

     The moon is high where the wolves have stopped.
     An Owl swoops down to then next perch.
     Exchanges, leanings, teaching what?
     A wolf starts howling in the cold Moonlight.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ninth Fable

 Ninth Fable 
Ninth Fable 
 
Tragic Love 
 
Internet Love 
 
The Love eye have for ewe is just the same as iff we wed. 
The feelings that she gives me are never filled with dread. 
But nothing she can dew would make me ever want to wind up dead but the 
living do the love they do the life time instead. Eye could walk the halls of memory 
and get depressed or eye could become a nun in convicted pleasure and rest in 
convent until death can dew us part death can give me rest but what of love. How 
can a man get so excited at a little green dot a few mouse clicks and then a cold 
white chat box. The ink is never wet upon mye crinkle paper yet there it is its love. 
When she smiles at me eye smile when she frowns eye weep a river of the 
stuffins kept inside it all comes flowing out to make a wrongful death seem 
somehow write the words upon the mended heart depart from worry and from 
woe and take the brand new start and soon it all works for love. Snow White she 
ate the apple and then fell to fast asleep but Charlax came to kiss her and 
awakened her to live. Prince Charlax kisses good. 
Live upon the creek bank fishing for dragonflies in a house of love. Mending heart 
of Charming. Making love in heart. Mye snow white turtle love my pookie 
pochoucntous love my internet thrall. We can have it all just hold on to my 
namme and love. 
Researchers have now proven that love can mend a broken heart. 



Details | Rhyme | |

Dead Winter

Watching as the snow covers her stone, A tear forms from my heart's deep unknown. Slowly, it fades off my pale, and frail face, Only to be replaced by death's cold, and frozen embrace. I fall to my knee's, Silently begging "Please!" The ice in my soul is beginning to grow, But i still feel her love, from six feet below. All that's left now, is one snow laden rose.


Details | Verse | |

To Where a Snowflake Dies

A war in heaven reluctantly concedes
To the lullabies in the night singing softly
Covering us in heavenly whisper blows
As feathers falling light so grace intensely  
Escaping God's whitened watery coves

And somewhere up above
I believe there are angels also grooming
Thus, for the twilight showing, shedding as they rush
The world as such, always in a hurry
But, for an instance out of nowhere
An avalanche of marvel captivates the hush

And in my distant mind I most certainly can relate
As to the stars and ancient sands of grain
My tongue tasting these miracles of wonder
Reaching further to acquiesce
In greetings, to miniature designs
Crafted out of God's very hands of great

While, celestial bodies move
Constant shadows consume
Around assumptions of the human mind 
Thus, begins the dusk and ends 
To the place where a snowflake dies

Look around...
Who is it that seems to care
Or thinks to ponder the manual labor input here
With hammers, chisels, nuts and bolts
Never a witness to a mere mistake
Or upon discovery of any kind of erring

Yet, I listen… to the silence…
Extracting all its pleasure
Before, another million frigid seedlings dare
Met with daunting fate
And in the still of tranquil
Neither snowflake cries out or offers up complaints

For a day
Or merely several nights evermore
A complex purpose
Or unto thus, a simpler more existence
Then, I pause... unto supposition
As I meditate the atmoshere of message

Guesses drift off, into what's last unknown
Of the never ending knowing
Embracing their provident life
Watch as they rely on each other ever closer
In a bank of ice, waiting for the melting


Details | Rhyme | |

cycles of love

my mark is fresh like snow in air
brisk and mist will crisp on hair
fists ball up from risk to care
whisper and stare but all is fair
love and reason, flow like seasons
the endings blending and quite seeming
parts of hearts, tho awake or dreaming
half is seeing, the other believing
eyes align and beats will sync
eyes a line for heat to sink
taken quickly for a fall
lovers stroll through memories' hall
echoes stir sight and scent
my senses flight keeps suspense
until logic teaches what it meant
all good things come to an end
summer lighting longer days
more hours to burn for lovers lay
precious tokens we hope to stay
from constant change or parting ways
spring into action to save those astray
a few more years can cost a pay
with lives and sacrifice displayed
perhaps tomorrow will be okay
years can fly like clouds in sky
feelings revealing what to decide
and just like that were back to try
to love the same until we die


Details | Free verse | |

BURY ME IN BRAMBLE


The stones speak so softly that I need to strain to hear their words,
a recital of names and dates that barely give a hint to those still living.
Tablets provide little insight into the moments that brought their days

luster and I can not help but wonder whether that last breath was held.
Peace taunts with the house finches that croon from the old, red maples
and the water fountain, aptly shaded, cradles lost feathers and leaves.

I walk the path of one who has grieved, but granite glints in sunlight, 
Bouquets on these solid sentries seem bridal, blooms that surely believe
in the sanctity of seed, the true marriage of sun and soil, the sudden mercy 

of rain, things man takes for granted until that killing frost of winter white.
Sedation perfumes the air, a fragrant sigh from roses and tender lavender, 
All is meant to ease sorrow’s bite, yet it strains at a leash most unnatural.

Gentled by lawns and flower beds, the markers obey, become ornamental.
I happen upon a girl’s grave, my shuffling tread belongs in a distant nursery
as though I approach a silent crib, yet if she’d skipped through this cemetery 
 
she could not peer over the perfectly pruned hedge, so very young was she.
Perhaps she’d search for fairy thimbleweed, snow in summer, snapdragons.
But this place has been completely tamed. Groundskeeper, oh, the travesty!

When it is time to lay me low, forget the casket, do not dare imprison me,
Bury this poet in bramble, invite close the crow, and banish the sentimental,
I long for roots to bind my hands, tickle a loose spine. Come, baneberry!
 
Let be the field thistles and fragile ferns, blanket every bone with ivy, 
Allow the muffled dead to tell their wild tales, hush every mourning dove,
Pay more heed to those restless below and less to those resting above. 




*thimbleweed, snow in summer, snapdragons, field thistles and fragile ferns are Ontario wildflowers, as is the baneberry, but the baneberry is also poisoness.


Details | Ballad | |

Euphorianah'

The sapphire sun of what-were dreams
Setting in the forsaken east
My winters' desperation clung to your silent voice
Let death be a choice
Dusk revealed your truest nature
Before her argentine eyes
'Tis the darkest of tragedies, romances' maladies
Let your forgiveness be la Vie In this frozen air
The wings of my deepest despairs

Friend or foe?
The dagger close to my heart--
If your forgiveness is nigh
Let me know--or is this all a lie

Lilyheart Swain
Please don't give into your pain
You hold my soul on Eden's Edge

Your innocent flesh
Cradled in my broken arms
Forever you will be mine, forever you will stay
The snow caressing us as we tangle in deathly embrace
This darkness fades into amber innocence 
Hatred no longer exists
Forgive me
Come back my only
Euphorianah

The winterwind tears carress me
With whispers, (of) Someone I Once knew
Calming the fears inside
But the pain remains
--hallcunary rains 

Dreams fading with the Enya in your eyes
With the darkness of your hands
The silverfears of the pale moon
Shine on you

Lilyheart swain 
Please don't give into your pain
You hold my soul on Eden's Edge

Your innocent flesh
Cradled in my broken arms
Forever you will be mine, forever you will stay
The snow caressing us as we tangle in deathly embrace
This darkness fades into amber innocence 
Hatred no longer exists
Forgive me
Come back my only
Euphorianah

Your eyes search for mine
Oh how they shine, blue 
Sacrdice has a price
Heaven is calling us tonight

Cursed In shadowed illusions
Shall we dance?
Would there be a chance
Euphorinah 
Forgive me now
I will rip out every nail 
Of your coffin
I don't care if it's God it will offend

Lilyheart Swain
Please don't give into your pain
You hold my soul on Eden's Edge

Your innocent flesh
Cradled in my broken arms
Forever you will be mine, forever you will stay
The snow caressing us as we tangle in deathly embrace
This darkness fades into amber innocence 
Hatred no longer exists
Forgive me
Come back my only
Euphorianah


Details | Blank verse | |

The Red, Red Rose

A drop of red in a field of white,
A single red, red rose standing above the snow.
Why it didn't freeze, no one knows,
A patch of hope in the barren land.
A small glimmer of light. 
A single red, red rose.

The last piece of humanity left, 
The last of life the Earth will see.
A single red, red rose above the snow,
The very last of nature's beauty,
Why it didn't freeze, no one knows.
A single red, red rose.

As time goes on, the rose will die,
The light will fade,
The hope will be no more
The Earth will come to pass away,
As the petals, from the rose, are torn,
But for now the single red, red rose,
Stands above the frozen snow.

Unless, the hope can be restored,
With love and care, the rose will grow.
It will shimmer like a light,
And it will spread it's seed,
Spread it's hope.
It will stand above the snow,
And finally, why it didn't freeze,
People will know.

The cold and barren wasteland,
That is covered with snow,
Will become green again, 
And it all started with, 
The single red, red rose
That stood above the snow.


Details | Free verse | |

Unrequited love

It was a cold winter’s eve,
     The stars had been scattered across the night. 
          I lay there, for I had tried to take my life….
      The crimson against the snow glistened like liquid ruby
As the… 
   World …
      Began… 
    To… 
  Spin…

Closing my eyes, I heard your footsteps in the snow.
  You pulled me to my feet and wiped away my tears.
      But I could not look at you, for 
         Although my voice cries for redemption,
      My soul begs for deliverance,
And as you swore I’d be okay, 
The sight of my blood in the snow
   PROVED…
      YOU… 
   WRONG…
You saw me the other day, broken on the floor,
My wrists slit, choking as I begged the Lord to let me go…
You stood there and watched me, waiting for me to pick myself up.
I did.
  Slowly, I seemed to recover as you held out a hand.
     I took it.
        Never again…
For since you put the water to my lips, I swear you gave me sweet poison,
Then you gave me a rose. 
   A black one.
       “To give you courage,” you whispered in my ear as I held onto you for sweet life.
BUT LIFE’S NOT SO SWEET, BE WARNED!
 You sweep the hair from my face as the icy wind blew harshly on my skin.
You smile at me, but again, the 
        World …
      Began… 
    To… 
  Spin…
You let me fall to the cold ground, 
  I gasp as the pain shot through my wrists,
My cold, dark blood began to curdle to ice.
  I began to cry as you knelt beside me.
You took my dying head in your hands and kissed me. 
   “I love you.” I choked.
You smiled cruelly and lay my head in the snow and throw the rose onto my chest.
    “Fare ye well.”
I reached out my hand as your blurred shadow walked away. 
I called out your name, but you walked on. 
I got to my knees and crawled three steps, 
   But….
….I collapsed 
         In the snow,
      The ice hit me hard.
    Darkness, 
Then-

 


Details | Cowboy | |

Ghost Town Church In Snow

Guess it was ‘bout mid-December
And a winter storm was howlin’—
Was roundin’ up strays I remember
And my belly start to growlin’.
I come upon an ol’ ghost town
I’d rode through many times now past—
There were some ol’ buildin’s left round—
I reckon most things jest don’t last.
Yet there in whirlin’ snow and haze
Stood the remnants of an ol’ church,
That had once seen much better days—
Its cockeyed cross carved out of birch.
A coat of snow made it all clean,
Made it full of hope for mankind—
The whiteness gave it a new sheen
Now at the end of its long line.
No one remembered the town’s name
Or the people that once lived here—
Its history had been reclaimed
By time and heavy snows each year.
As I straightened up that ol’ cross
And thought of folks singin’ inside—
I remembered all that we’ve lost:
Those that lived and loved and then died.
If there’s a moral to this town
And this snowy church all alone—
It’s be content with what we’ve found
At the place we humbly call home.

  


Details | I do not know? | |

the masteries dream

“The masteries dream”
Every night i seem to have the,
The seem masteries dream.
It begins with snow and ends with rain,
And has sun in between.
I start in the snow by a house,
So big and grand.
It’s look like i have been crying,
But i still don’t under stand.
I see a guy in the distance,
And the snow begins to stop.
I begin to smile,
 As I can see a guy smiling back at me.
I can see his face but not for long,
As it begins to fade.
It doesn't matter what happens in this,
House but every thing seem to drain. 
But than the sun begins to shine,
As a new day has arrived.
But the house has gone,
And so have i,
And there are mourners by a my grave.
Aah then i wake up of fear,
To check if i am alive,
Before going back to sleep,
 to see the terrible dream inside.
As the weather has change again,
As now it begins to rain.
All i could see was a little girl,
swing on a chair with a cat between her feet.
Singing a song of loving treats, 
And about her mother never,
Giving up in defeat.
So that was my masteries dream,
As it always seems to fad at the end.
If it’s ever comes true, You will be the first to now, 
As i never give up in defeat.


Details | Light Poetry | |

No New Colors

With no new colors
Pure as driven snow
White water
Washes my deserted
cuts clean
Same as before
Same as it ever was
Cue the exit music
For the family
branches 
Are wilting again


Details | Rhyme | |

Snow White

Sodium chloride! Snow white! White death! 
The dear old red gum fell, with a handshake out of hell.
The years spent exploring, subsoil, clays and loam,
Became uncertainty, when clearing stole this red gums home.

Depressions, already in lowland, allow the water table now to rise.
Summer sun dries out the surface, leaves what's dry to crystallize.
Prepares to strangle life, that dares to grow above the ground,
For there are too many parts per million, encroaching that abound.

The old red gum's still standing, though dead for many a year.
A silhouette for every sunset. Leafless, stark and clear,
Standing still as king with lifeless limb, rotting with decay.
Another sad reflection, for snow white passed this way.

A look across the wheat fields, they too are moving on,
Snow white has reached their arteries. They too will soon be gone.
A forever-creeping wasteland, bleached where little stays alive.
Left to it's own devices and avoided, ‘tis straggly saltbush which survive.

Wind blown seed will sprout then shoot, intend to procreate,
Then yellow off and whither quickly, before choking to its fate.
The fallen giants will petrify, entombed in their crusty bed,
For snow white that denies life, will still preserve the dead.


Details | Couplet | |

DEATH OF THE SNOW HEAPS

DEATH   OF   THE   SNOW   HEAPS


Like full-bodied youngsters they ruled the street
For a while - rude, unchallenged strength sweet;
Their short life  -    immaculate seeming. 
Hard heartless shells  -   cold, gleaming.


Now skin shrinks  to a nothing-life-span,
Revealing cigarette ends,  rusty beer can,
Chewing gum,  mud-and-dirt:  a  midden  -
Lifetime-accumulated  and  temporarily  hidden.


Now,  shrunk and cracked like old men’s skin
As they lie  and die dissolute  and thin,
They will soon be forgotten by all talk
As they bleed water  across the sidewalk.


Their pile of dirty secrets will  soon  be
Exposed in the sun for all to  see. 
The spotless snow  was a  perfect concealer.
Death the leveller is also death the revealer.


……………………………………


NOTE

City snow heaps in the streets,  lasting from November to March,  become 
filled with hidden trash, which is  only exposed when the heaps melt  in spring.


Details | I do not know? | |

Ode To Winter Longing and Snow Rememdy

Sheets of nimbus cumulus, a damaging blue gathering colour mix
A grey filler sky as no birds seem to waver within a angered skyline
Beyond ahead, is spects of glass, artistic flakes choosing its place to stay?
Whitest shine of frozen water float in a reserve flight of upwards
Swifting in a promising dance to make it to the gracious dance below.
Dancing in the air circulating, making the coldest love happen.
These sudden blankets is now pelted, smashing agravating until scarf white.
No sight to see! No sight to be with frozen nimbs to climb through the flakes.
Walk through the ocean of white which is making compound on the ground happen,
togetherness family no colour, Little children delightly tongueing and stealing a little
The no taste of a source of water ala natural, smiles and activities ensue,
Sled down with dampery of heavy clothes, the ski, the snowmobile hummer, the extreme of board.
Newest winter does Old mother mature gift us, its sweet sorrow cold,
Its pantomime of beauty to lands so smileing for a cold sleep.


Details | Free verse | |

At The Very Least, The Snow Came Down

At the very least the snow came down
Two feet in front is all I could see
A blanket of white has covered the ground
As the trees stand layered in icicle dress
I started to roll a ball of snow
Quite big, I was impressed!
~
   The second ball left me feeling queasy
Lifting it onto the first
Then rolling the last, now that was easy
When I placed it on the second snow ball
And as I looked around
The snow continued to fall.
~
   The snowman looked a little silly
Yet still was like your dream
I made the eyes out of two lilies
The smile from ruby gems
A marshmallow made the pipe
With a Dogwood wood twig for a stem.
~
   It was so heartfelt that day it snowed
Yet fit your description of your dream
You and I under the whispering clouds that glowed
Building a snowman together by the stone
Rattling off with giggles
While singing home sweet home.
~
   Such beautiful love I felt, playing in the snow
The snow angel? Well that made me cry
As I knew it was time to go
I brought a dozen roses that day
Placed them in the arms of the snowman
Who is now, watching over your grave.
~
~
     By:Darren J McMurray
        March 3, 2009


Details | Cowboy | |

Face In the Snow

Sly had him no love for Christmas,
It was just another day—
When the devout celebrated
And weak-willed cowpokes did pray.

Old Sly, he weren’t all that bad—
No, by gosh, he sure was not—
He never did shoot him a man
That he didn’t think need shot. 

Sly Stern was just an old drover
Who outlived his friends and time—
That was headed nowhere that day
Without a care or a dime.

So it was Christmas that morning
As he crossed the Mummy Range—
Heading higher and still higher,
When he felt a little strange.

He’d crossed these old mountains before,
But never on Christmas day—
Yet now he felt a bit confused
And he couldn’t find his way.

The wind and the cold grew fiercer—
Snow hit his face with hard slaps,
Sly knew he needed some shelter
As one hand froze to his chaps.

But all he could find was a ledge,
A wind break with icy sage.
He unsaddled his horse gently—
For the first time felt his age.

Quickly, Sly gathered up damp wood—
Built a fire to heat his soul—
Christ seemed nothing in a blizzard
As the snow soon took its toll.

Hours passed and so did the fire
As white snow whirled and then screamed—
For a moment he saw a face
Or so that old drover dreamed.

The blizzard grew stronger that day,
The worst in thirty odd years—
Covering the whole Mummy Range:
A Christmas with joy and tears.

With numb hands and ice-cased whiskers,
Sly took bullets from his belt,
Gently arranged them in the snow
To spell out just how he felt.

For in those final dear moments,
One face appeared in the snow—
The face of the Lord of this earth,
A face that he would now know.

Two months later his friend found it,
Next to his rock-frozen hoss—
The old drover’s bullets laid out
In the rough shape of the cross.

Though his saddle and gun remained,
There was no trace of old Sly—
It was as if he’d been taken
Away, far up, in the sky. 


Details | Blank verse | |

FIRST SNOW

"What neighborhood is this, we are passing?
I ask the New York Yellow Cab driver.  "Queens,"
he replies.  "I've been a lot of places," I say,
"but I've never been to Queens," where rows 
of houses, identical two-storey rectangles,
rub shoulders in urban sprawl, lining the road
to the airport past empty playgrounds--
their trees like December scarecrows, 
draped with scarves of snow.  

A small-town aura resonates in the archives 
of childhood, calling up the small town 
that shaped me.  Yet, Queens is no uncomplicated 
place, remembered in the sinews of the soul.  
Mystique covers this country of Sunday streets
where we have not cleared Customs, where 
no one we loved sleeps in cemeteries, 
flashing by car windows as fast as our lives,
their miniature necropolises dotted with grayed 
minarets, toy skyscrapers, scraping no sky, 
unlike in the city we have just left.

I've been to honor someone lost, stricken
with cancer, dying on the day we revere Pilgrims,
sit at feasts, not funerals. I  would like to know 
where you have gone, Pilgrim friend.  My 
driver cannot take me there.  He wears black, 
but has no skull face.  As we drive, he falls silent, 
listening to the static-y, disembodied voices 
on his radio.  There is no road map for where 
you are now. The eulogy has been spoken--
your ashes borne away.




Details | Name | |

Over The Phone

She was so terrified,
A phone was continued ringing,
She didn’t dare to pick the receiver,
She ignored the ringing and went to bed.

He had a break down,
When he checked his pockets,
He was strange to know,
He forgot his ballet at home.

Early in the morning,
Someone knocked at the door.
She removed a curtain and looked outside,
Everywhere snow was covered.

She opened the door 
And let police to come in.
Your son last night, 
Stocked in a snow storm,

We tried to give him a first aid,
But terribly found, he was dead,
We recovered his body; 
You can look at him.

She was weeping bitterly,
And crying for his husband,
If you don’t terrified me,
I never thought you are over the phone.



Details | Free verse | |

White Death

Who said snow is beautiful?
It is like poison.
It slowly stings,
Like a carnivorous swarm of bees.

White pellets slice through air
Razor sharp;
A blizzard would be mild.
Pale oceans rise where grass once stood.

It piles up.
And piles up.
Until finally—
It stops.

And remains.
Like the laundry of a dead man;
Lifeless,
It lingers for far too long.


Details | Free verse | |

One Sabine Woman

The conquered land is eroding. 
The driven snow is melting 
Because the blue flame is burning, 
Probing through the rampart, 
Penetrating the fortress 
And pillaging the village. 
The mighty are falling 
And the weaker being ravished 
Trying to kick the pricks, 
But unguided passions 
With shortlived victories 
Violently possess! Then dispose. 
As the blue flame wanes, 
So goes the tyranny... 
Until morning. 
Rancidness, rancor, degradation 
And loneliness remain 
After the land is trampled. 
After the snow is defiled, 
There's a want for nothing, 
A need for everything: 
Love, hate, forgiveness, revenge. 
Then a cry for childhood 
Extending for knowledge of this hope 
Reaches without taking hold, 
So the four remain 
Until the four are gained; 
And the land still erodes. 
The snow still melts 
Because the blue flame burns. 
It yet probes.


Details | Free verse | |

Wintertime and the Last Leaf

The last leaf
Gold with fire red tips
Falls to the ground
Blown by northerly winds
Carrying snow from a frozen
The leaf falls silently
Covered by a shroud of the purest white
The skies turn dark as if in mourning
The sun never again shines
The last vestige of beauty is gone
The world becomes grey and dreary
The tree
The mother of such beauty
Stands alone
Cold and frozen
Her branches droop as if she were crying
She waits throughout the deepest winter
Hoping to see her baby again
Eventually the sun returns
The air warms
The snow melts and flows away
The tree returns to life
Still looking for her lost child
But making room for the tiny bud
Another child comes into view
Growing spreading her wings
She becomes strong
And her shadow is cast upon the ground
Where her sibling once laid
Now there is nothing but grass
And the memory of a beautiful gold leaf
With fire red tips
And the beauty that it shared with so many


Details | I do not know? | |

White

White
A celebratory color
representing all the positive things:
 peace,
 virginity kept,
a waving cloth of surrender.
A symbol of serenity,
 white innocence and holiness.
The color that cloaks supremacists who govern prejudice,
and the white of aging hair as vitality 
wastes away.
The color of powder that rimmed your nose,
dusted white like the headstones on a cold winter day.
The color of an addiction
that decayed the inner structure of your nose
and decayed the structure of your life.
The white that inflated your brain
with thoughts of what you wanted me to be.
A softened substance,
the color that dulls any hue.
The color that tore us apart
and into a whitened place;
sharp hallways and numerous series of rooms, 
sanitized a Godly white,
and twisting into an indefinite vanishing point. 
Drained of vitality and emotion,
absorbent white that swallows colors and life.
Your body lying upon stale bleached sheets
and bodies disguised beneath similar shrouds.
As visibility decreases in this snow storm
inside the white room,
your body, lies undisturbed by the monitors   
that toll down our time.
Beneath the freshly laid snow blankets
now only your pale foot is visible
adorned with a tag,
a boarding pass for you
to leave this whitened haven.
As my feet crunch down on the snow,
my eyes squint to protect themselves
from sharp crystalline flakes.
Distressed and semi-blinded,
I am relieved to find your headstone,
glazed with fresh layers of white powder.