The bird’s house is capped with a snow drop.
The bird’s bath is a mushroom like form.
The branches all groan, snap, crackle, pop,
with the weight of the night’s snow so borne.
The cat’s on the rug near kitchen vent.
The furnace is pumping out more heat.
The tea kettle’s whistling with intent.
The old gal settles down with a sweet.
The car’s all shrouded, a sheet of white.
The trellis is a grand work of art.
Outdoors the benches all gleam with ice.
The new moon’s a rare, randy, upstart.
Darkness descends will a muffled whisper.
She sips tea and remembers who’s kissed her.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010
Anne Murray did have quite the flurry, voice as a brook without crooks
Canadian born, songs of forlorn, beautiful vibes, I subscribed
Such singing as a bird, the world has never heard, she splurged
“O Little Snow Bird”, in the words I heard, calming of Vietnam
O spread your wings and fly away, words of God’s love I heard
Mind level love, forever untrue, so what’s new, `Tis festering spew
O but little snow bird, an alpine of cleansing snow, God’s Love
Spread your wings that brings, renewing, from festered spewing
Providing for me a way to go, by a cleansing snow
Innocence, a purity, of life’s promising security
Some leaders said only fate, this atrocity of hate
Maimed, lamed and defamed they came, to claim their bitter fame
State side they now abide, holding inside, Our leaders lied
Leaving the lamb of their souls in Nam, for uncle Sam
Atrocities, of hate, never abate, mind’s sickening fate
The Vietnam of late, laid at the mind’s creation of hell’s gate
O beauty of little snow birds, spread your wings, fly back this way
Cleans again, the glean of mind’s sin called fate, lain at heart’s gate
Like an alpine of purity, Love from Anne’s heart was sung
Maybe only to ease her own pain, but her timing was plain
The answer is blowing in the wings, of even a little snow bird
The such of which the mind of itself has never learn or heard
All humanity will not learn, but precious few will return
By their trust in Love, the snow white Dove, spewed forth from above
Anne Murray sang away I know, some of my own heart’s pain
Honoring all Vietnam veterans, be you not in fretters
From your hearts of security your love is your surety
Let your Alpine of pure snow bird, be Love’s word you’ve heard
Dane I am sure you’ve at least heard this song that this poem is about.
It somehow caused me to think of you, as I was writing it. Therefore
I dedicate it to you and all veterans for your service to our country.
Sincerely, Love, Moses
Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2009
Segun my child! My son!
Soon, the cock will crow at dawn
And the east will showcase the sun
Soon, you will leave my home,
To found your own
With words of wisdom, you won’t be alone.
Like a mini-skirt, advice is too short
But it covers the body’s vital lot.
Your brother is not your friend,
He is another you, but independent
So your love for one another, allow no dent
For the sons of men…
Every journey far destination brings
Nature presents a transport means
The snow has the snow dogs
The desert has the camels
The long distant road has the horse
Even technology came to aid us
For the road, we have the cars
For the seas and ocean, the ship
For the rail, the train
The sky has the airplane
All, to lead us through our destiny lane
That is it with man’s life and the battle in it
For whatever fate comes to us, so be it
As the future hungers like a wild beast
Likewise on it, your eyes be firmly fixed
Take a deep breath my child, and learn this
Every master was once an apprentice
Be it the prophets or the dentists
Fate is most times very unfair
Be not defeated by the things you saw
For life is more like war
And all is fair in love and war.
But whatever life’s battle you face
Nature will surely with remedy surface.
When you fall or fail
Don’t ceaselessly wail
Inhale…count to ten, and then exhale
Turn stumbling block to stepping stone,
So the builders reject, will be chief cornerstone
Two Demi-gods are on man’s destiny entrance
Their names, Consistency and Perseverance
Segun, to them, you must bow
No matter what, no matter how
On their feet, bring your head down
I know my son, I know,
That adventure is the blood of the youths
But by rushing the moment, the petals are bruised
So, calmly assimilate my child, calm study
For so, Apostle Paul admonished Timothy
Never be the first to hate
But to forgive, be the first and be in haste
My son, all humans can’t love you
If they all do, then they want to kill you
Likewise, all humans can’t hate you
If they all do, then they want the best for you
What people suffer to get, yet you so easily get
That you must never despise
For it is your miracle in disguise
For the sons of men,
Me, myself and I comes first
Don’t follow that context
If you find the opportunity to rule
My son, take the alternative to lead
For where rulers doom, leaders bloom
When fortune knocks on your door,
Be quick to offer him a sit
Use your wisdom and condor
To keep him and give him no exit
Copyright © Isioma Esemene | Year Posted 2011
Cupped-hands blessed the first winter snow –
That tasted like peppermint wind
The pines and aspens share secrets,
As they whispers what they know
Then, they giggled like schoolchildren
In the snowy playground – with the red
Brick schoolhouse off in the distance
Their cold faces blinked and blushed
Like a basket full of wild freckled strawberries
Suddenly, fresh pine cones fall to the ground;
They chuckle, laugh and then roll over,
Exposing their innocent souls to fresh blue sky,
This all appeared in the first winter snow
This, I am sure and still are
Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2008
Soft snow beckoning,
Falling with deceptive lade,
collapsing my soul.
Copyright © Judith Angell Meyer | Year Posted 2008
I longed for love—love pure like driven snow,
untouched and virgin—in the years to come:
but years did come and go until (O woe!)
it, like the fall, decayed in my autumn.
Heartbroken, never I a princess met
or maiden girl with whom to spend long nights
of ardent love. (Alas! best to forget
my heart's too foolish hopes of its delights.)
Unstained by sin, naïve and innocent;
unspoil'd by life and vice in the very least:
I cast'd aside my youth's prurient bent,
forswore my loins' lusts and was my own priest!
Now aged and useless, I've denied all love;
thus life's reproach abides and won't approve.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014
cold winter's delight
icicles of flowing art
flakes in slow motion
Copyright © Brandee Augustus | Year Posted 2010
When the Innocuous snow, unhurriedly descends.
With muted twirls, like the dried leaves dying.
There is a beautiful gloom staring with tinted sense.
A truth of life, so deafeningly notifying.
The flakes of snow fall on the sinister paths
Dazzling us with its radiant white
Cleverly disguised remarkable façade
Making the chameleon proud of evil’s slight
It makes some incessantly slip, trip and blunder.
And snigger while you ashamedly perspire.
You wonder whether it was all of you,
Has it stemmed out of some filthy desire?
Oh what an irony the snow is!
Spotlessly blanch yet decidedly ambiguous
Camouflaged by the thick conceal
The misdeeds of man are outrageous
When the light of the sun shines and dazzles
The bare soul is indeed revealed
Dark as a dungeon rotten away
Clogged brain, locked ears and heart sealed
From the rocking cradle, to the thorny bier.
He portrays the spirit of pretence.
A shady heart and speech so brutally suave
The whiteness of the snow makes sense
Copyright © Shadaab Mumtaz | Year Posted 2011
Walking under a burning sun
Listening evocative Christmas songs
Sweat furrows my motionless visage
Snow calmly is falling down
Alive drops dissolve my thoughts
A fresh breath gently stirs
Walking straightaway still alone
Looking for a friendly crucial turn
Nobody matching my broken mind
What's hot? What's cold?
Deep down somebody is already here
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Copyright © Patrizia Cohen | Year Posted 2012
Written February 24, 2012
One too many times
Our love has been unkind
To the rigors and chills of the snow
The streets they meet
Intersecting the heat
But the cold will blow without heed
To rekindle the flame
Must sound quite insane
But it's all I have left in this world
Yet to feed from the hand
Of another's demands
Could lead to the start of the fall
Ride the wind
Wherever it goes
Don't ask it questions
You don't want to know
The wind will carry you home
Copyright © Brandon Carter | Year Posted 2013
Flakes falling on our heads.
Ebullient animas of angels
Rejected at heaven’s gate.
Copyright © Lukasz Walterowicz | Year Posted 2012
The headstones speak so softly
that I must strain to hear them recite names
and dates; Hard facts barely gives a hint
to those still living. Tablets provide
little insight into moments
that gave their days luster. I can not help
but wonder whether a last breath was held.
Peace taunts with the house finches
that croon from old, red maples.
The 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 seed's sanctity,
the marriage of sun and soil, the sudden mercy of rain,
things taken for granted until that first kill
of winter white. Sedation perfumes
the air, a fragrant sigh from roses, 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, never imprison me!
Bury this poet in bramble,
invite close the crow, banish the sentimental,
I long for roots to bind hands, tickle loose a spine.
Come, baneberry! Let be the field thistles
and fragile ferns, blanket every bone
with ivy, Allow the muffled dead to tell 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.
Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2012
FIRST SNOW of PRINCE WILLIAM SOUND
swirl white birch
brittle leaves snow dance
Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2012
sometimes the snow falls in sheets of white,
a blanket of excited kisses, playful -
dampening your thoughts
racing your heart
and sometimes, the snow
falling in sheets of white
brings waves of brittle stings, sharp reminders
memories in the ice that bite
sinking your heart, making it cower -
your lips quiver but it's not the cold
not the journey through the snow,
it's hunching your shoulders
bowing your head low
lifting a weighted foot, bringing it crashing down -
the snow bites at your lips
dapples your cheeks with tears
making you close your eyes,
bow your head to your chest, and slave through sinking steps
the last wave comes and falls,
and around your knees, like a rugged embrace
lies yesterday's shower
and as the sun rises
that soft pit of tingling kisses and prickling bites wavers under the needs of a new day
and this caked ground quavers and sunders
flows away, leaving you damp and shivering once again,
so you lift unfettered foot, send it forth onto cleared paths
and march into the warmth of a new day
and the dampness on your clothes is no match
the dampness in your bones just a scratch;
but for the dampness in your chest
the sinking of your heart....
as head holds high and shoulders lift
chest is pumped to the heats caress
so comes the healing of the sun, to mend the damage of your plight.
Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
What is happiness but the falling away, however short, of suffering?
Would I hear the haunting, beautiful wind without
the small spaces created by my earphones?
Would I know the joy of a child's laugh
if I didn't yearn for it to erupt from my own belly?
The sight of the first yellow crocus
could not be so kind without the cruel snow
that tries to hide it.
Copyright © don munro | Year Posted 2012
* This is a poem about basically feeling like when a part of yourself dies. Then certain
people can come along and make that one part feel alive and better than ever
because you trust them to be just yourself*
The serpent of Unrequited love
Sunk it’s toxic fangs deep into the very marrow of my being
My heart heaved with its poison, which was void of loving emotion
So I tucked it away…… six feet under my subconscious…
My mind was a cemetery of regrets.
Things I should have done, and when I should have learned to walked away.
Then there was you……………
You were the misty avenger that stepped out of the abyss
Shook my snow globe world upside down.
Speckling my VISION with light, snow and glitter
Heart reserrector, you’re honesty was my defibulater
Thumping life organ through my sweater
coloured my cheeks a candy apple red from pleasure
giving me the courage to break free from the prison of woeful
We lay on your carpet, filling our lungs with laughter
I am Exposed, and exuberant……. Letting my true personality resurface
No longer am I a hesitant seal peeking over the ocean’s surface,
NO LONGER DO I MISS THE SUNSETS
I AM EUPHORIC ON THIS GORGEOUS LIFE
Drinking down the pleasure of a sunrise
This moment with you ……………………..is a Utopian treasure
You take my breath away… and your beauty is immeasurable…………………….
Your wisdom is celestial,
My guardian angel
For your insight I am eternally thankful
Copyright © laura Hew | Year Posted 2011
Snow, Winter’s long quilt,
Land’s white, night beauty treatment....
Future drink for spring.
Copyright © Marie Harrison | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
The snow is capable
of taking on infinite patterns
Individually, each flake
assumes a separate identity
a true stratum of conformity takes place
It may manifest itself as the light powder,
innocent, just its appearance
makes you want to throw yourself into it
Spin with delight
But under the powder, there is, too,
the danger of grey snow--
the trap above the grave
Dirty and streaked with debris
This is not the snow which retains
a beautiful and exquisite uniqueness
The Greenlanders knew each stage
of such snow strata
Knew just how much pressure was safe
Where every foot placement must come down
And if one is uninitiated to every criteria
for staying alive
Arrival is no longer a question.
Copyright © Judith Hensley | Year Posted 2011
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
Copyright © Davin Payne | Year Posted 2012
Winter flakes fall ever so lightly
Blanketing the land ever so slightly.
Showering hypnotic flakes as I drive
Entrancing sleep as they gingerly float
Each flake different in size and in shape.
A winter wonderland of a white landscape.
Walking in town the snow flakes melt
upon my lips.
The winter wind grows colder as the
People clutch at their coats as winter
As the snow and the wind swirl into a wild
Darkness falls upon~ the white covered
Drifts of snow shift and blow all over the
I snuggle under my blankets and feel
As Mr. Winter continues on to fall free-
Copyright © Twelve Noon | Year Posted 2008
Yesterday a snow storm covers all white
Today the blanket melting
Tomorrow life beneath
Copyright © HOLLY MOORE | Year Posted 2013
rain turned snow
heavenly fall of flakes
asks another time when
flakes of fall heavenly
snow turned rain
Copyright © Mike Bayles | Year Posted 2011
The soft falling gentle snowflake
Pure white and divine
Floating down as angel wings
Copyright © Tahera Mannan | Year Posted 2010
The Snow Camelia hedge row is in full bloom. Lovely white as newly fallen snow against waxy dark emerald green. The sun broke the horizon in a pastel pink but very swiftly turned to a clear horizon. The area where the sun ball rises is a golden glow. Thank you God for a chance to live another day and another Thanksgiving. Now surrounded by sounds_crows, roosters, and a bird sound that is just chir-rup really mimics a cricket but not. The cold is penetrating saying go inside escape the cold go to a warm place. Once again God thanks for a warm place to go and its comfort. The ambrosia needs to be made, getting breakfast, and four people need to get ready. The sun is touching the top of the trees and duty calls come..
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
From smoke to ash and ash to snow,
I see you drift,
I feel you fray,
From spark to fire and fire to clay.
Copyright © Annie Brittle | Year Posted 2012
As the snow flitters down,
time seperates to reveal your beauteous face ---
So for one moment I stand transfixed ---
In the distance, I hear the cry of a falcon ---
Sailing above me,
I see it has a field mouse ---
Flying out of view,
I can imagine my own life paraleling
this tiny rodent's ---
As destiny, like the falcon,
brings me to my ultimate fate.
Copyright © Sheol Moribund | Year Posted 2009
Geese glide thru the air watching the snow roll with the flow.
Squirrels jump in the piles to wiggle and roll.
Dogs check every nock and cranny then run all around.
Little girls make snow angels where perfect delicate wings abound.
Boys make a fort with a snowball fight destined to win.
Skaters sweep snow from their ice to be able to spin.
Hockey players in their play scatter the snow and rough up the ice.
Mothers look from the window, where while baking every thing looks nice.
Sleders regale themselves in the speed of the hill.
To driver’s it’s dangerous, messy, slowing everything down.
But to every one it’s the time of year where joy can abound,
All because the swirling madness came floating down and around.
And after the fun when we lay snuggling in our beds…
We’ll sleep till the next day with snow dancing in our heads.
And dreading the day when the snow goes away,
We can’t wait to run out and again to play.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
How many pairs of eyes
have seen thee,
Oh, Arnold Park;
Oh, street of Siddhartha,
Calvin, and Luther,
Where squirrels leap and
snow mounts high
While cardinals-red sing their
A rush of wind-driven snow on
this wintry day
Asks the hidden sun to shine-down
its mercy on those of us,
who each day
Are blessed to see Arnold Park
As if for the first time.
Copyright © Orma Sullivan | Year Posted 2007
A froth of snow crusts the ground,
fixing in place the remaining blades of green grass
and outlining the metal edges of stop signs.
The road weaves wearily through the
freshly white washed landscape
with its distant, dusted, granite outcroppings.
Fellow travelers in blanketed cars whoosh passed
chunks of icy snow fly, lambasting the negligent bumper hugger.
Warmed by the wheels spin the asphalt seizes its shivering.
Weighted wires laden and humming unburden themselves
upon frosted windshields with undignified plops
and so the momentary beauty of a winter morn passes.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
The tree never asks why?
"Why does the snow land on my branches?"
It cares little, for it knows it is enough--snow or no snow.
The tree never asks why?
"Why do those birds sit on my branches?"
It cares little, for it knows it is enough--birds or no birds.
The tree never asks why?
"Why does it grow dark day after day?"
It cares little, for it knows it is enough--year after year.
The tree never asks why?
"Why is there a heaven? Why is there a hell?"
It cares little, for it knows it is enough when at last it's time to depart.
Copyright © Orma Sullivan | Year Posted 2013