She rides into town with a storm as her steed
With clicking ice spurs, and rattling reins
With somber delivery and the bleak look of gloom
Bursting with pride as an old year must end
She shoves her way into the house, out of spite
A gloomy gray cloud, who brings her own blight
Leaving a trail of mistletoe dust
Building a nest out of leftover crumbs
Flapping her wings and spinning her looms
Strutting her youth at the stroke of midnight
She stalks on wet feet, with some snow on her boots
She shouts out the news that some taxes are due
No care in the world she makes us feel blue!
Her windows are dark, and her doorway is bare
She holds a firm grip, till the end of her stay
Yet, slowly and surely, against her advice
Intrudes the domain, as she watches creeks rise
Then comes the sun, of a warm winter's day
It thaws her cold grip, with frowns of surprise
With remorse, she announces... it's time for goodbye!
Sneak up on their prey
very silent and deadly
don't get in their way.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Strokes after midnight
received a distant sad news
a swallow has flown
Watch over us dear
I kept my prayers for you
frosted in flowers
Damp eyelids,misty breath,
Foggy-streets' dim lights,
Leafless trees,concrete boughs.
If these eyes shall become blinded, and if this
hair shall come to be combed thinly and grey;
No, it would not be the end of the world.
I would still see beauty therein this world through
the songs of Crickets and Feathered Songsters.
The breeze would yet whisper and trees still dance.
I would yet smell the freshly bloom of Spring.
I'd still endure Summer's sweltering heat.
I'd yet feel Autumn's leaves crunch 'neath these toes.
I'd still long to be fireside with Winter.
Disabled or not, perhaps I'd yet walk
therein wonderful imagination.
How I'd be forever young at heart!
Then just as one journey came to an end,
I'd indeed greet another with a smile.
Eyelids heavy with tears,
begin to form
from puffy grayish/black clouds.
It moves cunning and swift
like a lion’s roar
then softly on tired- padded- paws
it is gone,
gracing the terrain
with its magnificence.
Its door opens to a momentous
a welcoming grand appearance
of a new year
a new beginning
when the door opens…
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Sixth Place Winner ~ "Personification of January” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
January 29, 2012
Frozen lakes and ponds
Blustery winds are blowing
Icicles hang down
Branches bare and grey
Poor sunshine does not warm us
Snowdrops raise their heads
8th May 2014
Written for contest 2 Haiku (describing the month of January)
sponsored by Skat A
Hope is a promise that comes with new snow
And fills our tomorrows with a newfound trail
Pristine, untouched in the moonlit glow
Pause for a moment, bid the midnight farewell
Yearning for adventure, with new footsteps we'll go…
New paths of discovery lie waiting for me
Each step I will tread, so velvety slow
We’ll walk hand and hand, leaving yesterday’s bed
Yesterday’s sorrow, left beneath downy lace
Each step is brand new...like an unwritten slate
As we walk in this New Year, and a new hope begins
Rejoice, in a gift of this velvety grace
Happy New Year to You All !
For Francine's Contest
She wakes from a dream, dripping with tears of sweat pouring down her face. Her long blonde hair is pasted to her forehead as she sits up in her bed. The clock reads 3:03am. Her heart is pounding rhythmically to the ticking of her wrist watch. Her long legs that are wrapped in her white down comforter are extremely cold, and she realizes that a harsh draft is seeping through the window sill beside her bed. As she pulls back the curtains to check the window for cracks in the ledge, her eyes grow wide with amazement. The street lights reveal swirls of frosted confetti which overwhelm the pitch blackness of the night. It has not snowed this hard since she was a little girl and suddenly the terror of her dream dissipates. She jumps out of bed, slips on her purple fuzzy slippers, along with her matching robe and runs down the stairs.
The stars glisten
Icicles hang still
Her front door swings open from the harsh embrace of the wind and she manages to drift on to her porch. Her foot prints smear the freshly painted deck but they are quickly filled up again by the urgency of heavens winter release. Her eyes begin to spill like water falls and her rosy face along with the rest of her body goes numb. However, the arctic chill was worth it to her. The last time she had seen her father was on a night like this. He loved the snow and every part of its splendor reminded her of him. The howling in the air, the cold that cut through her pajama pants like a knife, the snowflakes the size of marshmallows and the cars that look like giant igloos. Even the smell of the wood burning across the street in her neighbor’s fireplace all made her feel like her father was near. It was like heaven had stopped by to visit her this night.
By: Sabina Nicole
I’m like the ground dirt
The soil that holds life within
Deep inside the heart of me
Seeds lie quite dormant
The seeds of plants, grass, and trees
Waiting for warm times to come
Entrant into Nette Onclaud's "Personification of January" contest
off in pieces
to the ground.
In a window
as big as
a burst of yellow
on someone's sill.
Fingers of gold
erupt in dozens
that warm me
like a ittle
explosion of sun.
light fractures the
gray. Weak pink and plum
shimmer, a watery blue
sky. I turn my face to meet the
rise - cheeks washed with cold. An Icy fog
fills my view with the pale color of frost
People connect, people want to connect, if stranger-you, stranger as you find yourself, as I see you, wish to speak to me, The Poet once asked, then why shouldn’t you?
We lose touch with it, we try to tease it out in poetry and song, and wrong it comes
In the wrong form and shape it shows, we are embarrassed to try to: I am embarrassed to know.
There are things on YouTube that make us cry. Homelessness on YouTube that make us cry
I lived in Brooklyn for twenty-five, twenty five years of me in Brooklyn and I saw them everywhere.
With no place to go, the phantoms of the train.
Those who tried asked for dollars and cents and some didn’t. And a lot of them smoked crack, many of them brimming high, capsuling, in clouds of mist of drink, most of them had to.
& there are nights of coldness collected in the steel, and there is blue-coldness that hardens the steel
& to them, we look as blue as it, unable to peel the ring off their voices, silence, not flesh-like like they feel when the blue-coldness touches their skin,
& to them some of these holidays make no sense, for out of misfortune or kin they have not a thing to attend
In subway carts I see some leaning, bending with the weight of O’-that-feeling
O’ that hit of steel that makes them want to
Spiritual, black women prayed for them and sang to them I remember. Y algunas, las viejitas, afraid to look their way, said an ave-maria in their heads.
Some white folks prayed, others gave change and some played in their minds other moments that made this one naught.
But that was all of us.
We made the train ring with our laughter and indifference
O’-that-feeling is why I can’t quit
And homeless they are and have been and then has-beens
& we give change and expect none in return
These subway doors open:
“O’ I hope he gets off”
“He’s making me sick”
The songs we sing
People want to connect even when they don’t want to stranger, you
& through train-sliding doors, a glimpse of this, and we try, we try not to lose sight of it
locked eyes looking and no fear
human recognizing human & no fear
pain recognized by pain & no fear
& no fear, and fear not fear
& they will slide
And you will move - and you may remember and may not
The city still bears traces of the last blizzard,
which came after Christmas Day to amaze all;
snow returns in the form of on old wizard...
performing its magical powers to enthrall.
Traveling on the Brooklyn Bridge so dim...
my moodiness intensifies, feeling more grim;
I can see Manhattan's skyscrapers glittering
on a quite January snowy evening.
Jack Frost bite parties
Snow men drinking gin flurries--
Toes miss their socks
Now we'll be buried
With Snow white's seven blizzards-
Worm snuggled cocoon
the freeze is over
gods given up hot cocoa
all nature’s things weep
the freeze has ended
sun struck branches are dripping
nut hunt thaw is on
the freeze has ended
the freeze has ended
and foolish thoughts turn to spring
winter gods chuckle
Oh January, thee of Winter’s spawn
I cannot wait till thou art gone
I’ve had enough of bleak, gray days
To last a lifetime, and so I pray
Thou wilt use thy icy, freezing touch
On us gently, with just a brush -
A coat of frosting on the trees
But not a blizzard, I beg of thee
No brown snow or ugly slush
No winter mess, nor snowy gusts
Just a sprinkling of thy winter skill -
Still picturesque, but not so chilled
A mild month, I ask of thee
To keep the warmth inside of me
Received 3rd place in "Personification of January" contest
It's not wintry bliss in January when lovely snow
turns into sheets of ice,
and tears run down everybody's burning eyes:
yell, " Winter, leave now! "
Unless you are a wild and playful kid,
and you like building a fat snowman
that looks very happy in the cool shade:
aren't winter days fun without any rain?
Falling snow on trees is truly breathtaking,
its the gelid wind that is not welcome by many,
that's why they go to warmer places hurrying:
it's their way of saying, " Winter, go away! "
Entered in Francine Roberts's contest,
" Winter Begone "
Written on 1/ 25/ 2013
White icing spread atop cut-out trees,
expose green cutout cookie snowflakes,
Blue skies shove away clouds,
reveal warm glossy blanketed fields,
Sunshine toasts the breeze a golden crisp.
Gazing out the picture window,
I watch as God bakes another day of Ohio January.
The feeders were empty, dejected, forlorn.
The lady who filled them had suddenly gone.
Her time here now ended, she wakened no more:
Gone from her gardens, departed her door.
This little much mattered to birds on the wing,
With winter now over, well into the spring.
All busy with nesting, caught up in new life.
No hunger in summer, no cold, bitter strife.
New homes to be built: sturdy and staid.
Songs to be sung and eggs to be laid.
Sheltered and nurtured; the young ones appear.
A sure rite of passage in the spring of each year.
Fledglings near grown will be taught how to fly
And soar past the tree tops up into the sky.
They will learn of the hawk and its hunger for flesh:
Of wicked, sly felines that hide in the brush.
Then late summer grows weary and tired of play.
It goes to bed earlier and earlier each day.
The fall time all golden and valued the more;
Birds sense coming peril past winter’s cold door.
Those who remain for new season’s sharp sting,
Grow restless, uneasy, not choosing to sing.
Old feeders hang empty, no seed to be found . .
Below only barren, forbidding, cold ground.
Blue jays and the doves, all the species of finch,
Chickadees, titmice, now feel winter's pinch.
Woodpeckers, nuthatches, cardinals and crows,
Will all group together to face winter woes.
Then a morning arrives with white flakes in the air.
Frigid and stark; the day reeks of despair.
First jay to arrive at the earliest light,
Gives out a sharp cry to all others in flight.
There's someone out tending the feeders below,
Tamping the snow where the cracked corn will go.
And filling the hollow in that old rotten stump:
Sunflower, suet, dried fruit and some nuts.
Bleak landscape has kidnapped the scene down below,
But all’s right in the hemlock, as well as the snow.
New feeders abound, where old feeders once hung
And with someone to fill them, let the new winter come.
Branches sway in the dark cold breeze
Moving like they were in a freeze
Colorful they once were
Their beauty puts me on my knees
Never did they want to displease
Dormant they are for sure
Entrant into Black Eyed Susan's "Your favorite tail rhyme, past or present" contest
January's cousin Fall left in a fit
For January brought her friend, Wind howling long
Denuded the trees of all their gowns knit
Now her great Aunt Spring feels no way strong
Great Aunt Spring has gone underground safely
Hidden from January's cold icy tricks
Underground or faraway supersafely
Waiting for Spring's return with corner tricks
Spring has a way to drive cold January
Far away up to Canada's great north
Where January cold winter wind that's airy
Really belongs, yeah Spring come forth
Birds and animals with heavy coats sing
With January but rejoice when enters spring
(Had started this one for a contest)
Jetting out first as many cascades,
Addictive in a calendar of twelve,
New Year’s Day known in charades,
Unknown factions continue to delve.
Again and again it shapes natures tune.
Reveling waterfalls rouse in faded moon.
Yet without, life would have no commune.
Sponsor nette onclaud
Contest Name PERSONIFICATION OF JANUARY
Like A Star
By: Sami LaRose
I look upon the stars and count them
One by one;
Number by number;
All of different shapes, sizes, forms and even different colors.
The encases of the nights air brushes upon my check,
Reviling the cold January air against me
It all feels so calming, cool and relaxed
But then we’ve got to look back at different points in time and think back,
What did I do there
Was it a wrong choice or was it a right one
Do I know what I’m doing or don’t I
So many different question, and yet so many unanswered,
Sometimes life relives to us in different ways, shapes, forms, sizes, and colors, just like the stars in the night sky do
So see, we are really no different from nature it’s self
Because nature is a star
And you are like a star
The one shinning brightest so far.
Written On January 11th, 2011
nine o' clock,on a sky deep azure blue
the night watchman nods a morning adieu
red orchard aflame
winter's angular sunshine...
peach tree buds explode
Some of the peach orchards
look like a flame with the
buds swelling 'pon the trees
The cold wind blowing
Across shadowed timber beams
Death becomes open-space.
My January, I lost you last year
Your leaves left a whisper as they floated by
And I, I was left with a cold tear
Yet to you- It was merely a glistening eye
I remember so fondly the good times
In the beginning of a year once so clean
And when you ran away, I could not rhyme
For my garden was left without green
Dear January, now that you are returning
Stay longer, my friend, and be kind
Put your arm around me as the world is turning
And, once more, give me some peace of mind
PERSONIFICATION OF JANUARY