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…
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..)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
I wake to a world of tin,
white and pewter light enters my soul,
all is quiet, muffled, wrapped in cloud.
And the trees are no longer proud;
they are brown withered old women,
I have never seen them so before.
This season must be sacred
that it can drain the world of life.
How long can my heart survive this great freeze?
The sky, too, seems to be dying -
it is still and completely colourless.
Dolorous bells chime; they carry on the wind.
The world shivers;
the gutters run like rivers,
carrying, in their ice-curdled currents,
sweet wrappers, crisp packets,
and the mouldy stench of dead bracken.
There is an unfamiliar harshness in the air.
Raping the hill the wind's chill
gusts into my face, seizing my breath.
A flock of breathless leaves
assaults my body,
swarming like bees.
My five once-proud apple trees
are bunched and gnarled to five brown fists.
The brittle grasses rattle
and the hawthorn
proudly exhibits its prickles.
An orange spark unlooses itself
from a pile of burning wood
and ignites the colourless sky.
The flint light stares me down:
the icy iris of winter's eye.
Grey sky, grey river, two grey, drizzled walkers.
The last roses are over
and gardens are in their death throes.
The white light of winter dazzles me,
the wind gags me with my wild blown hair.
on the needly boughs of the spruce.
I have your telephone number in my drawer.
It is the old dead bit of mummy cloth
of an old dead relationship,
coffined in its coldness.
There is a nobility to all this, an impressiveness,
in the face of it I am beaten small.
This I have to beckon me through the winter:
mud in ruts, and the frozen earth of March.
Meanwhile, amorphous clouds pass over
Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2011
I stumbled through twisted tinsel streets,
oblivious to ice and seasonal shouts,
muffled by snow-silence, a mannequin moving through mists,
quietly fragmenting behind frost-fragile walls of frailty.
Bleak winds blew open the hinges of my hypothermic heart,
wailed a wintry lament only I could hear -
ice-shrapnel words blown to lodge in my ear: you've lost the baby.
Those four words were spiked icicles, glacier-cold.
Hope disintegrated like snow-powder as they pierced me.
Streets seemed pregnant with the plumpness of babies,
their little doll faces reddish and cold,
their pink, gummy mouths demanding, demanding.
And my breasts were frozen roses,
too iced to feed their tiny need.
Snowflakes trembled like butterflies blown from the Arctic
or the feeble flutter of a failing foetal heartbeat.
The town became a barren expanse of white:
cold crystals drifting, acres of snow-diamond light.
But shops shimmered with heat, bulged bauble-gaudy
with the fatness of consumerism.
And I was reed-slender, my womb a hollowed-out tomb.
Everywhere, babies bloomed, precious as poinsettias,
mouths like petals, squirmy with hungry red cries and squalls,
echoing, echoing, as I squinted into the white squall.
And a ribbon of milk unloosed itself silently,
sudden and scalding, like a fountaining of tears,
a lacework trace soaking my shimmer thread sweater dress;
a single, small, white thaw as I silently unravelled,
stumbling through streets that spooled like silver yarn -
Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2013
the shortest day
but longest night
within a memory
of my four seasons
Every cell in my body
Your amorous glance
Your ardent touch
Your effervescent kiss
and even your last whisper
a careless whisper
which sickened my thought
and pained me with grief
Every breath from my lungs
remembers your absence
How can I forget it
I live with it
I die inside of it
It surrounds my existence
You -Solstizio D'Inverno
Where is your promise
of new beginning
Where is the light
of what was pure
I know you!
I know you
enough to know
You still feel me in your bones
I know you!
I know you
enough to know
You bury me in your soul
Then you dig..
You dig crazily
beneath poured dusk
which fills the hourglass
beyond your veins
You dig deep
to find me
You find me
You hold me
I know you!
I know you
enough to know
You hold me
to your heart
I know you!
I know you
enough to know
Your love travels
as far as the stars
as distant as God
and undiscovered orbits
But was that
For how long
should this candle shine
How dim its glow now
Low is the voice
which calls the sun
to rebirths prisms
Weak are the footprints
which mark our path
on moonlit snow
I should stop walking
I should stop calling
The sun sank
in the stillness
of a crimson horizon
In the solitude
of the tide
never to dawn
in these eyes again
my coldest verse
My longest night
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014
The old screen door still welcomes me
as if it knows me, from before...
But after this...who'll pass this way?….
Will they use the rug and wipe their feet?
Erase away the grime and sleet?
.....Or will they even care?
I feel my pulse and lungs collide
then, take a breath...and step inside
She had lived alone, the last to go
one somber dawn, in the old brownstone
No other sign her time was near
and silently, without fanfare....
death tiptoed in on hard wood floors
and took more than a glimpse of her
I've been asked to come, to clear the house
to organize, and set it right…
This all seems wrong….
to trespass on the throne of life
that was softly lived, behind the gate
where thirsty roses bloom, and wait…
to disturb the lace on drop leaf tables…
disgrace the quiet of the gloom
open drawers, snoop and sort, ….a pruning,
of the good, the used, from worn and torn
My hands are able, but my heart declines..
what isn’t mine, to toss, to find, to mark, and label…
Echoes of her old straw broom
still follow me through every room,
while dust motes in the window light
are like glitter in the afternoon…
Where is the charm that used to be
where cozy logs had offered light
keeping the long nights warm?
The whirling sound of winds outside…
whispered breaths of weaving looms
old treadled sounds of sewing hems..
peddled feet, and bustling, rustling
and those of clattering pans and potting blooms…
There are questions I want to ask
tho’ I can’t recall just what they were
no matter now….with no one here
I must be focused….on my task…
it must be done…
And now, …as doors of dark close in
I see, somehow, that fate has planned….
I am glad that I, with my two hands…
have witnessed with a smile within,
this cherished life, until the end
Within four walls, I hold it all
and now I know, what mattered most
Her life is held in loving hands
I stand here in the halls of night
content, I'll leave without regret
companioned by a day well spent…
I've been within …her company
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011
I Am Winter
I am cold – not heartless,
nor do I wish any harm.
This is just the way it is,
my gaze - a shivering chill,
my kiss - a frosty sting,
my breath - a numbing touch.
I come alone – uninvited
to lull to sleep the cycles
that need rejuvenation.
I am angry – for you fear me -
shut your doors, lock your windows,
deny me but your harshest looks
wrap yourselves in layers
lest we touch.
I am saddened – thus I whine
dancing around your houses
bending low the cowering trees
weeping sub zero tears
that never fall.
I am Winter –
and when my time is done
you will rejoice that I have gone
never thanking me –
for the beauty that awaits.
John G. Lawless
Submitted to PD’s – Winter Poems #1 – Poetry Contest
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014
Somber is the color of the day...
Window glass distorts the view, of the dreary afternoon
Prisms of light cavorting outside, are reflected from the dew
and rainbows are splashed, from an old pewter lamp
as if to divert me of my mood
While quietly, I sit, and ponder it all, my pen is close, my chin in hand
Pinned back, my strands, a sweater, old, is pulled around the chill
woven in colors, of various yarns, as varied as thoughts that take me away
My mind is lost in a wakened dream
While trees are tossed about in winter wind,
and leaves lay dead beneath the snowy mounds
a fire glows, and a storm now keeps me bound
One shard of light from a neighbor's home
across the hill, a distant mile
The dimness in a room from winter sighs...
then something sparks a word ...a line, .. a verse, ... a lullaby ...
The day is sadder than the words I had found...
so somber is the day that keeps me bound
I hide away this moment....a cup of tea, a Golden Lab for company..
One peek beyond the distant hill, a touch of sun
A glimpse of mountain, pastures deep, my dog that sleeps...
A momentary chance to free my soul
In just a brief, but deep departure from the ordinary...
I explore my thoughts, search my heart, wonder what this day will bring...
I watched old memories, long kept cold, ...unfold as if a dream
Unsort, relive, those worlds untold....
Exploring new words, I now have found
Stumbling through my mind, unintended
Watching the words tumble as if unattended...
Unfolding, exploding, and falling in chaos
Paying no mind to the reader's conception
Cleansing, pleasing, as my soul fits the pieces...
Beneficial.... to the reader...will it matter? Who knows?...
But a satisfying journey traveled and found
by myself....and for myself, ....as the one who's creating...
Looking out from blurry windows...a dark day continues ...
on a somber colored day, that kept me bound.....
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
autumn is here.
of the rain
and blossoms spring.
the snow shapes
the crisp cold
ices the wintertide.
the sand sculptures
a childhood summer past.
the seasonal airs
stimulates the senses
and the memories they carry.
in the glee,
in the hopes and dreams,
in the human spirit,
lives the miracle of life.
voices in every pitch
deep and resounding,
of echoes and whispers – uncut.
Any Old Poem Will Do - Contest
For Skat A
Entered: August 29 2014
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
A harsh wind bites.
The signals are there for those
who understand; those who can
read the fauna and flora like a map.
Navigating through the forest…
Acorns are being stored under a
Shards of light pierce through
Evergreens wrap themselves
in a nice warm coat.
The snow arrives on iridescent
wings, stretching it’s arms and
cloaking all in sight.
A silence creeps in, it’s heart
slows to a single beat of a
dying honey bee…
Copyright © David Williams | Year Posted 2015
Icy cold rain floods the brutal cold air
forcing many to seek shelter in their homes
Inclement weather indicates the arrival of Winter
as people seek comfort in warm temperatures
Children watch in glee as snow falls elegantly
running outside to build snowmen and for snowball fights
Snow is like life, so beautiful - until people trample over it
comparable to the life of the homeless who have no where to go
Cruel judgement leads to them being shunned and alienated
but did you ever look into their eyes? They are human!
Complaints that they are drunk - but the alcohol keeps them warm
Do you think they choose to be destitute?
Why judge what you do not understand
They are displaced by life's hardships - searching for refuge
While you sleep in your warm comfortable beds
spare a thought for those freezing tonight
Defeated, depressed, hungry and freezing cold
they will sleep rough again - hoping not to wake up tomorrow
Winter contest by Broken Wings
The Silent One
14 November 2015
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015
With my soul at peace and my thoughts at rest,
standing in this winter wilderness,
I whisper words of heartfelt bliss.
Come with me and walk this path.
Together we tread against the freeze,
and find the warmth of tender grasp.
My devoted being shall forever be,
a place of strength against chilled winds,
a brilliant light only you have seen.
Our lives have met in this quiet space.
Let sky meet land and rivers merge.
Forever, harmony I long to taste.
We have summoned light from darkest days.
Heat returns to melt still ice.
Each day length now brings stronger rays.
The deepest snows cannot hide the facts.
Beneath these layers life holds fast.
Newfound joys spring from bleakest past.
Let's rebuild life from broken dreams,
Where life restarts with each new spring,
the snows will melt to feed fresh streams.
Like this land, my passion runs free.
Walls have come down with earnest words.
My unblinded eyes now see.
I ask for your hand without ounce of gold,
or shiny stones dug from filthy earth.
My eternal love cannot be bought or sold.
Under peaks reborn of volcanic scars,
In night's serene and starkest silence,
I pledge love to outlast the multitude of stars.
Solitude I turn from on this ride.
Today and tomorrow let's walk in stride.
Promise to be my utopian bride.
Copyright © Wayne Hill | Year Posted 2013
do not forget among the loss of flowers
beneath your death of snow
do not forget that bird of sun
the trees gave down there bending branches
to light the grass where love made little flowers
do not forget my love
the lights most fragile gift the sky
bowed low to give a blushing praise
to the joyful dance of star and moon
do not forget the nesting hope of spring
the freed sparrow of your fingers
the silence more deep then words
remember me in the summerless field
the slender moment bereft of rain
before life and you became
Copyright © orphani ..........o | Year Posted 2009
My breath becomes visible when I exhale
into the chill of the still, winter air
but, I do not mind the cold.
I hear nothing, but the solemn sound of silence
as I stand in the middle of nowhere, with no one,
looking straight up into a gray sky
and seeing nothing, but a million snowflakes coming toward me.
Tumbling, dancing, drifting, and finding their way to the earth.
No, they are not just frozen raindrops.
Each one is a miniature ice sculpture
intricately carved by the hand of a master artist.
Can it be, within the billions of snowflakes that fall each year,
that no two are ever alike?
While I do not have the answer, I enjoy pondering the question.
I stand perfectly still, as if frozen in time,
as the snow falls down, and sticks onto my hair,
instantly aging me as my golden-brown locks turn white.
Yet, I feel much younger than I am.
I feel like I am inside a snow-globe that has just been shaken.
I can feel them gently landing on my face,
these delicate snowflakes tickle me
as they get caught by my eyelashes.
I just close my eyes and smile.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013
Upon ice clear - frozen window pane
A single breath remains, captured warm - then dissipates
Beyond - whipped by season's song
Somehow, beauty mixes with fury
Living white smoke snakes across grassy fields
Powder dunes shift aimlessly
Seeking their space to claim
No sign of life...
The landscape foreign - engulfed as prisoner
Inside I feel much the same
But..now beside fire's glow
When winter has had her say...this sand will pass
....give way to spring's soft plush green grass
© Donna Jones
Copyright © Donna Jones | Year Posted 2015
I can feel him in my bones.
A chill has descended on my world
I can see him in the breath that forms a mist before me.
I can hear him in the wind that whispers to the pines.
Barren trees flex their skeletal fingers
While wasted leaves plummet to their death.
His presence is betrayed.
I am not alarmed.
I have met him before.
We oft have locked in struggles between seasons,
I have fended off his frozen arrows
Beaten back his snow filled storms.
Broken his sword of ice and forced surrender.
I have left his broken spirit
To wither in the pristine fields of spring.
Knowing that his soul has not been vanquished.
On the morrow, the ghost of winter will return
And I, like a worthy foe,
Will wait to challenge him again
Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2011
The wind blows and rattles
the loose louvers of my windows.
Occasional thunder rumbles
and rain floods my garden.
How quiet is the house today
despite the crackles of burning wood.
No crying babe requires nappy change.
No tiny feet run around the rooms,
no sound of cartoons from the TV,
no rap music blares from upper rooms,
no one is at work in the kitchen
preparing milk and stews and soups.
All is deadly silence.
So I sit alone and ponder.
What do we really live for,
Now that everyone is gone?
I frown in perplexity.
I know too well about life.
It is not the here that is important,
but the eternal after.
And I am prepared for the journey.
Let winter do its worst.
I fear it not.
14 July 2016
New or Old Poems
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016
Shallow edged with twigs, and sodden leaves
The odors of the earth, green moss and peat
The roots of quiet trees and rotting logs
The crumbling bank where cattails wash their feet
Where tiny minnows dart with lightning speed
Among the roots where wild ducks come to feed
The very core and essence of the earth
Born of melted snow, and sleet and rain
Of birds who roost amid the tree tops high
And breathe the wholesome fragrance of the sky
Trees that sway and swoon along the bank
Shedding leaves of amber, rust and gold
Like ashes left from burning autumn dreams
To listen, standing guard on either flank
O'er twig and stone, with watchful eyes so keen
While shading coves where angler poles have been
Across it's face, a restless ripple seen
Where tangled grass and weeping willows lean
Upon the shores where struggles soon will cease
This place to spend in nature's splendid peace
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009
Of beauty untold
The glacial summer.
By painful slumber.
Eyes of silence,
Cold lips of fury.
Auspice of death
The twisted tongue
The vile plunging
Of raging sleep
Of sweet revenge.
The immortal with life
As it closed its eyes
Copyright © Varise Duxbury | Year Posted 2005
Biting winds and swirling flakes of snow had finally abated
We surveyed the deep drifts, which lay on the fields
The silvery moon peeped through the clouds and lit our way
It was bitterly cold, but the pitiful sound of bleating spurred us on
Some friends and neighbours had joined us – we had no time to lose!
Grabbing our spades we worked tirelessly throughout the night
Digging out the sheep and tiny lambs one by one
Their fleeces were matted with tiny icicles
As dawn broke we had rescued all but one of our precious flock
Suddenly our trusty sheepdog Shep started barking
We trudged to where he was frantically pawing at the snow
Our hearts lifted as we pulled the final sheep out alive
At last it was time for us to return to the farmhouse
In the distance I could see gold and silver lights sparkling
and scintillating on the Douglas fir tree in church in the village.
I raised my eyes to heaven and gave thanks.
A Winter Poem
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
silver, gold, sparkling, flakes, icicles, drifts and spades
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
Sitting on this roof,
seeing the colored lights in neighboring windows
finding frosted panes in abstract happiness,
as winter’s wind howls about my face
Speakers blare in cramping holiday tones,
(What’s so wonderful about it - this time of year?)
Shingles damp and slippery,
still I hold on for dear life
Fingers numb but clinging,
for without my seated sadness
on this peak above chimney ash
watching streams finding the edge
how else would those muddied
tear drop icicles form?
Then I hear it on shivering vibrations
A voice from - out there - somewhere
A shadow beneath a flickering street light
Footprints in circles about the square
Moving in my direction
My silhouette on white cloud shimmies
A little to the side, for a better view
Wings - it has - she has wings
I blink a frozen eyelash - she is sitting next to me
A warm, feathery quilted wing about my shoulders
Chilled cheeks burn as I smile
and my heart melts as she whispers to me
“No more icicles”
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
Winter let's us hold our breath,
and pause just inside the door,
we spend more time at window frame
watching the snowflakes fall.
The slumber of trees and cars
softens the noise on our ears,
we slow, inhale, exhale, and wonder
how every snowflake is formed.
The painted days of softened hues
blues on grays and faded yellows
are an artist's muse and a friendly cue
to wait for the coming of spring.
Every hurried step may lead to a fall,
every hurried kiss may lead to goodbye
every hurried minute forfeits the surprise
of crow squawking or coyote sniffing
at the base of your door and the base
of mind where questions need research
and answers are hard to find
and death and forever, wait like hunger
to leads us elsewhere, lead us forever
into the embrace of new, will we survive?
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2010
When winter enters the heart,
snowflakes gather in rosy chambers,
like ghosts of crows-every breath throbbing
sluggish songs of longing and loneliness...
Over time the crows pile on,
my-my how they live to pile on,
like bones of long ago loves...
leaving only an avalanched refrain....
but the soul is still flowing and howling
like an early winter stream
nobody dares to cross
those icy blue eyed thinning veins.
but there is a flock of warmth
in every winter heart,
buried beneath dead songs of crow and time,
they just need a pinch of flint and pine
to release the warmth from the glowing...
my-my how they beat to release rose budded songs
from a million springs ago.
Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2013
beneath skies of topaz
infinite in depth and clarity
the clouds had fallen...
a soft white cushion
just for us
we lay back
and made snow angels
**for Nikko's 29 words contest
30 words in total, 29 unique words. 'and' is repeated once.
Copyright © Sharon Tideswell | Year Posted 2010
The season's first snow
just a dusting but enough
The kids and dogs
delighting in the
new found flakes,
not too cold yet.
On the other side
of the world
the day's first drones
The kids and dogs.
but no one
not too cold yet.
Revised 9/8/2014; first written soon after 11/09/2001. I changed a specific county to 'the other side of the world' and 'missiles' to 'drones', but not much else has changed.
Copyright © Dave Will | Year Posted 2014
It’s cold here in Central Texas
Winter has laid its hand upon us
The night is clean and pure
With just a whisper of oak and mesquite fires
Burning on the hilltops
And villages of old German hopes
The coyotes are calling
Packs move in the night
Instinctive without knowing the reason
They find their way into town
Old men with rifles sit on porches waiting
But nearly always miss
For winter is the friend of the coyote
And the bones of men
Are appendages meant for warmer climates
Civilized cravings or hunger drives them here
Or maybe it’s just an Comanche tear
That fell in this place
And stained the ground forever
What ever it is I welcome them here
For they are clean and pure
Of what burdens men
Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2013
Rarest of beauty is she the ice fawn,
Grazing within the ice meadows in crystal
Fields of frozen cloves, as the star lights
Flicker in brilliance shinning, all about her.
A shy creature of gentleness, made of ice
And snow, unique amongst the polarized canvas,
Alone in perfections glittering diamond dust,
Of winter’s mystical enchantments.
Drinking from the pools of the moon,
Warmed by the twinkling shades of the rays,
Casted in the Aurora Borealis of the northern
Pastures, beyond mankind’s encroachment.
Creations gathering of angel tears shed
In tender moments of truest grace, was
She this miracle thus was so made,
The ice fawn.
Chamber lights living Kalightoscope, a prism of
Dear shine, walking in splendors white ice.
A mystical being of opulence’s elegance, splashed
By the divine plate array, and brushed by the wings
Of the ethereal angelic.
A sparkling gem, a jewel of winter, with the
Soft brown eyes of clarity, behold the ice fawn
In all her glittering glory, walking in freedoms
Sacred Valley of the human imagination.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
In the midst of vacant hours, echoes of expressions on opposite ends
are something of the same. Ruminating on questions; questions about
thy and questions about thou intertwined
with the then and the now. Thoughts
prelude to other thoughts of
thoughts emerging to
of us; is thy
to shed the
events upon the
from a dream out of a
dream to this dream only of us?
A coherent argument it is, that the
memories back on yesterday brought us
here today...But, when thy and thou bodies
meet and descend upon each accreting to the singular; occupancy
quickly overcomes vacancy leading the thoughts of many thoughts effaced.
(Sigh)...Thy and Thou love bolsters all the more today than back on yesterday.
Copyright © Pace INK-U-SCRIPT | Year Posted 2012
Winter, a sad season, cold, foggy,
but it makes you think.
It makes you think of the past,
the present, the furture.
The best moment to think.....
is during the winter and when
you see that light out of the window.
It's the sun.....
a ray of hope.
That brings more questions
then a mind could answer.
Copyright © Margherita Russo | Year Posted 2013
holiday thoughts chill me
more so than this breeze
as it wraps me up
in winter's blanket
i want to be like the trees
colorless and bare
that weighs me down
i want to dance free
in the wind
like dead branches
in storm's fury
i'm snapping though
and it's only december
i can feel the weight
of winter's wrath
pulling me down
i am falling
more than a few inches deep
everything is turning white
within death's grasp
i am december's ending
Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2013
How beautiful our love was
In the springtime of our lives.
How tender was your touch—
Your fingers caressed my body
As softly as a willow’s leaves
Brush the waters of a still lake
In the wake of a soft breeze—
I felt each ripple spread
Outward over me,
Consuming me with
The pulse of your passion.
The vessel I use to contain these
Precious memories keeps longing
To return to our springtime,
Where time stood still and our hearts
To the outside world.
How cold this winter has become.
For Chris D. Aechtner's Free Verse for Winter Contest
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2011