She danced across the heavens
Whirling and twirling in delight
She slid up and down creating images
With delight she colored the sky
She made no sound as she moved
She sculpted as she danced
Unique patterns unfolded
the heavens became her canvas
colors became more vibrant
Her colors changed with each breath
She danced merrily for hours on end
Until the final curtain was drawn
With the up coming dawn.
I am naked now, my limbs are bare
A chill blows through me during the night air
No one notices me, children do not climb
I stand still hoping not to lose a branch of mine
No green, no orange, no red I am just grey
This season I do not like because of being this way
Soon the sun will begin to show
My little buds of color start to glow
Encircled by luscious green grass I will be
Seasons are my life, this next one I like.
©Holly P. Moore
Restless winter's snow covered the ground
North wind blew in another winter storm
It howled, it crawled and packed solid
Clinging where it could to frozen mother earth
Wave after wave it pounded, it bombarded
Icy pebbles scattered in all directions
Spray like mist climbed the snow dunes
As an eerie chill settled upon the land
Wind why do you blow
as if you had no soul.
You come wild with fury
making all so weary.
I wonder what Mack is brewing today
All I can do is lick the pot
He builds me up higher, my embers, they-
Are smiling cause they know they're hot
I stare at the red sofa he's sitting upon
And at the cat I've burned once or twice
What can I say? The thing knows its wrong
To sit by a fire with ice
I taste a small dripping of soup from above
My flames hiss in the deepest content
With my dancing shadows, I warm as a glove
As I wait for a new log's descent
Even the oak tree topples
in the face of mighty winds
with a thunderous crash
as 100 year old wood meets earth
Its weight resting on one thick branch
driven deep into frozen dirt
as pieces of bark and dried leaves
twist free to ride currents of frigid air
expelled from the lungs of Old Man Winter
who wandered down from the north
to visit the mountain homestead
under the cover of night
He spits ice into watering
troughs of cattle and horses
presses an eye to a crack in the wall
of the weather beaten farm house
to watch parents and children
curled up snug under hand stitched quilts
And blows in measured gusts
filling the rooms turning tips
of ears and noses from frosty pink
to beet red and ruffling the fur
of an old hound dog sleeping by the stove
who twitches from the cold or possibly
a dream of scampering across hills
chasing coons in his faraway youth
Old Man Winter stretches wide
lovingly embracing the house
wrapping all in a chilly cocoon
as dawn breaks on frost-kissed fields
He draws his quivering self together and glides
away in the morning light
Stopping on a hill to dance and twirl
spinning snow into drifts sized for the bottom
belly and head of a snowman yet to be made
Continues down the shadowy slopes to the pond
where he glides round and round
in circles and figure eights freezing the water
into a solid base of ice for the children
freed from school in this wintry day will need
a place to play to skate madly into the wind
For you see Old Man Winter like the old hound dog
remembers being young and carefree with nothing
better to do than to chase the drifting snow
Falling at a terminal velocity
From the ether we fall at a speed that is
What is my purpose, my destiny
Inevitable fate befalls the
Colliding with the other frosty white souls
Scattered across the ground sparkling like bright white
We're born in a season that is dead
How can something so white and pure be
Like vampires the sun is our infirmity
Dawn approaches illuminating hues of
The epiphany before my death
Is everything is impermanent
you sleep inside your winter buds
of grey branches
with April's gentle wind
wake up your sleepy folk
burst out of your winter beds
for Spring is upon us
and we wait for you in anticipation
to flaunt your fashion frocks
of lavender blue and angel pink
of virgin white and burgundy hue
upon the stage of a forthcoming May
waiting patiently in the wings
to herald a glorious summer..
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
‘Tis winter season—
a bracing weather, foggy in its warmth.
The trees are drying, as bones,
gripping water from the winter soil.
It’s resting on an earth snow:
dancing in chilliness, dazedly.
it’s waiting for a poignant breath
that will give him soul.
To feel, once more, from being numb.
To warm his heart;
but the serenity and the turmoil have ended.
The dream is forgotten by the prized.
The dream is freezing the lover.
The poppy said "No",
The nasturtiums said "Wait"
The seedlings were jumping at the gate;
"We have to get through Winter first,"
The old oak spoke, and everyone burst.
The pansies nodded in assent,
With a great deal of sentiment.
He looked down sadly at his girth,
Smiling wryly with perfect mirth;
"Ten more years is all I am worth".
He glanced at the herbs tenderly wilting
And spoke as though his heart were melting
"We have to be patient and wait for Spring,
And there's the catch, it's a learning thing".
"I won't make promises I can't keep
And we all know Winter will put us to sleep".
Summer will rise again, in all it's glory,
And that for now, is the end of my story.
I thought I saw a snowflake in June
Perhaps, it was just silly daydream imaginations
Or were ongoing investigations really do
Upon further horizon inquiries
The sun ended interviews in blushing denial
And when heavenly interrogations finished
The sky was turning guilty blue
I’m absolutely sure
The clouds were somewhere amidst the cover up
Fortunately, a little pigeon squawked
And revealed something of the simple truth
That, there was a brewing
Conspiracy of rumors, flying
So I ruffled stoolie feathers convincingly
To spill the beans, out with his scandalous news
It seems a wintry prima donna
Performer of the coming season
In order to beat the ratings
Broke out early and was somewhere on the loose
Could it be
The very same stitch of ice I'd seen
A snowflake thespian
Acting out in the month of June
Then, I saw a glistening
Of arrogance pass right before my eyes
And tiny banner waved
Followed by the squeaky words “see you very soon”
I rubbed my eyes in disbelief
And then, my tongue was quickly unleashed
As I closed the case of any further flakes
From trying to make their premature Hollywood debuts
Upon the hush of winter snow
That glistens while the moon hangs low
A wind stirs up a blanket white
It quakes and rattles through the night
On chariots, with mighty steeds
It comes to scatter driven seeds
Decaying leaves and branches shed
With surge as storm moves overhead
It shivers cold upon the hill
To chill my heart much colder still
A tempest howl or'e chimney tops
The whipping sounds, forgiving not
Each gust comes strong with howling fierce
Through window sash, on knives that pierce
Knashes teeth, with biting cold
Shaking shingles, grabbing hold
All hover near a fire's hearth
While sleeting wrath, with fury's heart
To wait till winter's breath is spent
Tomorrow's rise, the final vent
Angry screams and threatening shouts
Peaceful dreams are tossed about
With dawning skies, a breathing sigh
Soft gentle breezes say goodbye
At last the wind has played with us
The game it won, with eager lust
There's nothing but a murmer now
Like spoiled child, it takes a bow
When winter calms, the anger ends
And brings along a peaceful bend
A tranquil peace will soon abide
~~As winter's rage is satisfied
The melon yellow sun, burns through
the winter forest,
backlighting it in shades of gray and mauve,
causing retinal flashes;
impeding the forward progress of traffic.
Car headlights, string out across the vista
of days end, like reminders of Christmas past.
Red tails flare, as the iron horses baulk
at fallen limbs, left by the last winter storm.
The air is heavy with
the monsters mechanical breath.
And, within the belly of the beast,
behind their lensed lids, condensation forms.
Frost, smeared by the fingers
of its symbiotic masters,
make the lifeless quadrupeds appear myopic,
As they rush frantically forward into
the on coming night.
A chill wind bites coyly at exposed necks,
not yet draped in tourniquets of wool.
A wrapping of white, buries ribbons of asphalt.
The ways fills with metallic horsepower.
Goblets of slush like spittle fall, splat,
upon once virginal snowfields.
The rape of Winter had begun.
Rutting like rabid beasts in heat,
the roadways lay revealed before the power of the storm.
Cumulous clouds belch from grills of chrome.
As Winter like the Sabine Women, weapon in hand,
pummels the oncoming horde with icicles.
Power falls from an angry, cloud-filled, sky
weighty and white, Winter defends herself.
The surge of day brings forth an endless tide of travelers;
trampling her breast, ravaging, the once pristine vista;
shredding the thin veil of purity, only the Goddess brings;
laying waste, in mounds of mud like filth, The Mother.
She curls inward. Her indrawn breath freezes gears
grinding, screeching, shrieking the earth succumbs.
In snow like ash she lays vanquished.