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Death Winter Poems | Death Poems About Winter

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

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Details | Free verse | |


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..) 

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Ballad | |

The Stone

The Tale below was carved one night,
Upon the Stone, by candlelight
...most won’t believe, but some just might
.........most won’t believe, but some just might

.                         Preface

Well James made Beth his lovely bride
(And angels smiled, though teary eyed)
...their bodies bound, their spirits tied
.........their bodies bound, their spirits tied

Upon her hand, a shimmer shone,
As bright as blood, a ruby Stone 
...and brighter still, as love had grown
.........and brighter still, as love had grown

Soon James was sent to man a sail
So Beth removed her wedding veil
...her eyes were bright, her face was pale
.........her eyes were bright, her face was pale

“Well, I’ll be here when you return”
Said Beth to James, who kissed in turn
...a kiss that made her body burn
.........a kiss that made her body burn

.                         BETH’S TALE

1.              The Dream
One night, within a dream deformed,
The cawing of a Crow informed
“...a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
.........a Ship was stripped where winter stormed

Midst winds and waves the thunder boomed
The Ship of Death was surely doomed
...the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
.........the sea engulfed, the sea entombed

Your James... denied by Davy Jones!
His spirit gone, his flesh and bones
...are resting now amongst the Stones
.........are resting now amongst the Stones”

2.               The Quest

Awoken by the ebon Wight
And beckoned by the baneful bight
...I left before the morning light
.........I left before the morning light

Throughout the realm I rode a roan
Until, in time, I reached the Stone
...where shades and dreams in darkness groan 
.........where shades and dreams in darkness groan 

While skipping up and down the sky
A missing moonbeam mocked my eye
...enough to make a Swallow cry
.........enough to make a Swallow cry

For someone stole a star or two
And something else that fate withdrew – jewel of joy, my James Bijou jewel of joy, my James Bijou

The shadows of the evening swelled
Where demons of the dusk had dwelled
...and in the far, a vesper knelled
.........and in the far, a vesper knelled

The Stone, beneath the sky, stood cold –
Between the runes, a vapour strolled
...a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
.........a cloak of fleecy fog consoled

A Raven on a branch, enthroned,
Her wings waved once, a wail intoned
...beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
.........beyond the bay, a banshee moaned

I lay beside the Stone, his bride
I lay beside the Stone and cried
...but were it I, instead, that died
.........but were it I, instead, that died

The rainbow of the moon fell dim
A midnight Swan soon ceased to swim if to hide all hint of him if to hide all hint of him

Between the willows in the swale
There sang a Bird, a Nightingale
...which left me faint and feeling frail
.........which left me faint and feeling frail

3.              Contact

I felt him breathe within a breeze
Responding to my anguished pleas
...and leaves blew by abandoned trees
.........and leaves blew by abandoned trees

“I miss you too, my darling Beth”
Re-echoed from the Ship of Death
...the future buried in a breath
.........the future buried in a breath
The Stone lit up a ruby sheen
And clouds were kindled crystalline
...with consequences, unforeseen
.........with consequences, unforeseen

Above, the wretched Raven soared
To where the Ship of Death lay moored
...beneath, the icy ocean roared
.........beneath, the icy ocean roared

4.               Release

I’m joined with James beneath the Stone,
Though to the Ship my spirit’s flown,
...for nevermore to be alone
.........for nevermore to be alone

.                         Epilogue

That night the wayward winds were weird 
The Ship of Death had disappeared
...coyotes called and mortals feared
.........coyotes called and mortals feared

At dusk, the craven shadows crawled
At dawn, the winds of mourning called
...upon the Stone two names were scrawled
.........upon the Stone two names were scrawled

The Raven sits, with wings outspread,
Atop the Stone which shades the dead sometimes shimmers ruby red sometimes shimmers ruby red

.                         Epitaph

Between the sounds, where silence seeps,
Their love lives on and never sleeps
...and yet, the weeping willow weeps
.........and yet, the weeping willow weeps

inspired by ~fc~

Wight (obsolete): a supernatural being, creature
Bight: a bay or gulf
Swale: a moist depression in a tract of land

Copyright © Terry O'Leary

Details | Quatrain | |

The Dead Of Winter

Here under the cold winter sun,
Beneath the old, lifeless tree,
My winter mourning has begun,
When no one comes to visit me.

Left out here on the edge of town,
Underneath the gray and gloomy sky,
In a lonely cemetery, with not a soul around,
Where every lone wintertime, I cry.

As I lay here, frozen and numb,
Crystal snowflakes are falling down,
The dead of winter has finally come,
Like icy teardrops upon the ground.

The wind howls like a lonely, lost spirit,
Through grass overgrown this December,
And it still hurts me to hear it,
That nobody even came here to remember.

Icicles have formed on the iron gate,
And the days now become dark so soon,
Forever sealing in my forgotten fate,
My only friend is the bright, shining moon.

And so I'll just lie here all alone,
No one will come until the spring,
And while you are staying, warm at home,
No one has left me flowers or anything.

Copyright © Kelly Deschler

Details | Quatrain | |

October Brings No Rest For These

Emerald etchings are given birth 
to bask their lives in summer's sun, 
until brushing brutal winters cheek, 
They cower yellow; brown undone. 
Swirling down onto concrete pyres, 
They somersault to a random grave. 
The earth lays claim to copper corpses 
But the winter wind is a cunning knave. 
It finds and flips the fallen fibers, 
then flings them crisply to the street. 
The failing sheaves of burnt magenta, 
tossed like chaff from harvest wheat. 
Now strewn about with playful malice, 
and denied the resting place they crave, 
for the golden sun is a glint of amber, 
but the winter wind is a chilling knave.

Copyright © Gerard Keogh

Details | Free verse | |


i peer
through lacy curtains
that night has sewn
upon my window

at footsteps
that lead to you

the stars weave themselves
between the clouds
of winter's loom

a cold wind howls
beneath the unseen moon

a mother's lullaby

i feel the hands of time
 gently tap
from the edge of night
and sanity

i sit alone
beneath the shadows
and watch
as my footsteps
fade to white

Copyright © Sandra Adams

Details | Free verse | |

Eve of Winter

Frozen enchantress
Of beauty untold
Sought for 
The glacial summer.

Soul withdrawn 
By painful slumber.
Eyes of silence,
Cold lips of fury.

Auspice of death
The twisted tongue 
Of water.

The vile plunging
Of raging sleep
Left dreams
Of sweet revenge.

So ends 
The immortal with life
As it closed its eyes 
For eternity.

Copyright © Varise Duxbury

Details | Elegy | |

The Task

The old screen door still welcomes me
    .. a familiar face, just as before
but after this...who'll pass this way?….
Will they use the rug and wipe their shoes?...
Swipe away the grime and mud?
 .....Or will they even care?

I feel my pulse and lungs collide
I take a breath...and step inside

She lived alone, the last to go....
one amber dawn when skies were clear
silently, without fanfare....
death wafted through these hard wood floors
and took more than a glimpse of her

I've been asked to sell the house,
to clear it out, and set it right…
Somehow, seems wrong…. 
a trespass on the throne of  life
that was softly lived
behind the gate, where thirsty roses bloom, and wait…

I hesitate….
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…

I hear the echoes, in each room…
along with swishings of my broom…
and the dust motes in the window light
like glitter in the afternoon…
reminders of old sparks ingnited
where cozy logs had offered light
keeping her last nights warm..…

The whirling sound of winds outside… 
whispered breaths of weaving looms
the 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 begins
I see, somehow, that fate moved in….
I am glad that I, with my two hands…
have witnessed with a smile, unplanned,
A life once new, until the end

I hold it all, and always will
her life, I 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

Details | Rhyme | |

Trumpet Call

My heart is the same full of love
     My house that shelters it full of pain
But it's autumn in my life, Dove
      The hair of gray and wrinkles reign

I set the table full of food
        For the family to dine fun times
But it is autumn in my life
       When changes prepare for winter

I'm not sure I'll know winter now
        For I have not experienced it
But it's autumn in my life somehow
        Where beauty glows bright from the depths

Producing leaves of many hues
       Love the autumn of my life, Dove
Now all that's left winter's white snow
        I think that when winter comes cold

Plants freeze if left out in weather
      They will need a warmer place inside
But since it is just autumn now
       There's time to prepare room somehow

I still watch the birds from window
       They have not all gone away love
But it's autumn in my life now
        Soon most will be gone for winter

Winter soon will approach with cold
       Seemingly death of the roses
But it's autumn in my life my bold
       There are few thoughts of approaching winter

But when winter comes my way
        The body rest to rise another spring
Now it's autumn in my life this day
         On another day I'll be called by trumpet away

Copyright © Sara Kendrick

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"

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Verse | |

Winter Years

Winter Years Oh gone is the fall, in its wake comes the sorrow, the gray icy sting of dark winter to follow. Oh gone is the fall, no more time left to borrow, as winter portends the sad end to tomorrow. Sandra M. Haight ~9th Place~ Contest: Four Lines ~ Deep and Dark Poetry Sponsor: Broken Wings Judged: 09/23/2015

Copyright © Sandra Haight

Details | Elegy | |


To see her blog, adorned with pastel tones
Widens the gap that pervades my bones
For now we eat her passing meal of plain white rice
Leaving us all alone, without much needed fashion advice

The red light district has lost an inductee
For I would have love to be involved in her naked party
Yet for now we must all be content 
With the debauched path she hath went.

Sadness invades a binary world
Where tweeters and bloggers hearts have curled
Bringing back memories of Madonna’s ‘Like A Virgin’
Her fashion advice precise like a mastoplexic surgeon

I remember the fervour when you were followed by Kath Kidston
A similar experience when I had my first Jar of Branston
Yet when you found out the intensity with which I was following you
You wanted to change species and become a Gnu

You learnt to accept my frequent outpourings of love
When you finally spoke to me, I felt as free as a pure white dove
But upon your departure I feel pathetic and hollowed
The best I can hope for is the number of one of the hot bloggers you followed

She was always my muse, my intimate inspiration
No-one can cause such an outpouring of personal perspiration
My heart now yearns to see her type a special tweet
One that would make Mr Sexton act like a dog on heat

Now the world mourns the passing of Lily Fulvio-Mason
I can still see her face reflected in my wash basin
With every heart beat, every full blooded pulse
My sadness streaked blood makes my body convulse

But now it’s time to go, my heart says goodbye
The pain eats my nipples like the Syrphid Fly
I can finally see your body laid in an eternal rest
And now I can now finally uncover your breast.

Copyright © Tom Hyam

Details | Elegy | |


I bares my bosom to 
the open wind.

caressing and kissing 
enternal peace to 
what only heart can 

I have stayed too 
on this night of dead 

Muttered lips gives 
birth to words from 
frozen and senile 

No farewell,  
thankless,i departed 
as my heart sleeps 
with the ice and 

what is left of me? 
The silver tears of 
angelic wife,such 
golden goddess.

And the wail of 
cherubic kids. 
With my fore i now lie.

Copyright © Edoja Faith

Details | I do not know? | |


Instance of combustion
Light, Heat, Flame
A burning mass
As on a hearth
Destructive conflagration
Greek fire

21 February 2013

Copyright © Smail Poems

Details | Dramatic Verse | |



Fresh snowfall on my porch
A story of not so long ago.

7 inches above my ankles
The neighbor's chimney smokes like a cigarette.
The doorbell rings, I shudder and tremble
I breathe in the moment before I twist the knob
He was there alone.
A man with eyes, likes the moon
A hunter in a black coat 
He storms in, shoving me out of his way
He twists around and reveals his name
His name bleeds through my soul
My mind begins to white-out every memory
I firmly get a grasp on reality
A wanted man 

Carrying  myself up against the bookshelf.
My eyes start to shed a course of rain
His eyes are bright green with golden specks,
pierce in the logical way of the hawk
I cradle on the sofa, like a child
This stranger who stood before me
Wants more than the warmth of my home
It's snowing deep down my flower bed. 

It's too cold outside.
The fireplace can act no more
It's too cold inside!
He proceeds slowly, towards the kitchen door
I see him reaching for the stainless steel
Soon the beat will end,
I inhale his eyes that are the size of the moon

This  visitor, at my door,
He whispers into my ear.
"I'm preparing the ways of good and evil.
Now go, be free into the promise land."

by: PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Rhyme | |

Devil's Cocaine

        make no mistake
snow flakes are not angel
or the tapestry of miracles
they're devil 
drifting to earth..
set the metal in the mind 
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
rip the heart from its throbbing  
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.

Copyright © Anthony Slausen

Details | Romanticism | |

A Flower's Funeral

A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.

Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.

Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.

Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.

What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.

My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.

Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.


Copyright © Chris Boskovski

Details | Free verse | |

Winter Season of Life

The brevity of the night aches My pain is cold and empty Long are the nights alone with suffering Before me is a path only I can travel I lift my arms to you oh God in praise As a small child you have always carried me Through fires engulfed in your powerful love As a visible extension of my Fathers grace Death is a destiny that no one likes to speak of Pain has a way of forcing a spirit down to its lowest ebb It garbles the mind torturing the soul of the one who bears it There is pain in life as well as joy, love and happiness Death renders sorrow of loss; during the winter of life Birth is your spring youth becomes your summer Autumn is your adulthood into the cycles of life These seasons keep the earth majestically growing Make every season devoted to helping others grow In the perpetual legacy of heritage we leave behind A map of do’s and don’ts to bring success to our heirs That will carry on long after we are gone The sting of death resides with the survivors left behind Grieving is part of life’s heartbeat, although it is bitter The appointment is unavoidable and a necessary event For the rebirth of all things to come Remember… Loved ones live on through Our memories Carole Cookie Arnold March 2011

Copyright © Carole Cookie Arnold

Details | Elegy | |

Elegy for Neil

Our great Balboa has left the hillock bare
And two waters converge in evening mist
Where from our vision he made us stare
As the divided dimensions rose and kiss
So sleep the sailor, so sleep the caravel
So sleep great Balboa, toll, toll your knell. 
              A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
              Winter is for children play, and for hubris.

The navy man has taken his golden wings
On glinted them against the silvery dusk
The eagle rising fro the earth sweetly sings
On dust-rock horizon where triumphs husk
The veil that cover human tears and fears
With tragedy that all mass and matter wears
              A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
              Winter is for children play, and for hubris.

So Balboa, remember your craft on one engine
The sound barrier rescinded, brings you to earth
The grave has no remembering, O the final spin
That undo all dream of birth! fair Deist now inert
Shall only watching moon alert us of this memory
The great walk that expanded the edge of history?              
               A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
               Winter is for children play, and for hubris.

Conquistador of the modern world, great sailor
What tribes did you subjugate beyond Korea, tell
What corn you planted, what gold in your valor,
What new dominions now your great spirit swell?
I hear Darien laughing in the silence of the moon
I see the caparisoned horse, and the taps balloon 
                 A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
                 Winter is for children play, and fo hubris

They come, they come, stolid mourners slowly
The riderless horse ignorant you are gone, gone
Forever, grief bowed us, and pride lingers greatly
Thanking you for gyral cycle of an ambitious dawn.
But Balboa do you hear them, can you see tears
Can you reverse the plunder of the vernal years?
                A sprig of spring is all autumn's surprise
                Winter is for children play, and for hubris

Copyright © David Smalling

Details | Rhyme | |

A Woeful Winter Dirge

Comes winter with its icy blast 
Across the land thy death shadow cast
Life purged by thy soulless wind 
With thy sting of death thou doest offend
Thy snowy shroud upon January’s cold ground lain
Bitter tears of crystal ice now rain
Naked branches broken and battered in sorrow doth wail 
amid thy northern gales. 
Woeful Winter Dirge!   
May the southern breeze push back thy artic surge
O Scourge of the seasons release your icy grasp 
May the sun shine at last!


Copyright © Lori Lucas McClure

Details | Free verse | |

If I Shall Grow Old 2K13

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.

Copyright © Anthony O. Mitchell Jr.

Details | Rondeau | |

Winter is Coming

Winter is Coming, of course this is known.
Dark skies draw near and the birds have flown.
The nights grow shiverous, dark, and wet
While Sol (Saw-L) nestles in Horizon’s net.
Baratheon suffers the pass of a King

but perhaps his fall was less than a sting
and a new ruler takes place, whom you wish not rein.
Lannisters do not fret from most threats
They know Winter is Coming  .

High and Honor is the Falcon’s Wing.
Forces of Vale to defend Robin.
Mysterious sights appear upset.
White walkers return, not many have met.
Bloody Snow soon soils the spring.
Winter is coming death it will ring.

Copyright © Kyle Casker

Details | Villanelle | |

When Winter Fell Upon Our Graves

When winter fell upon our graves

The light of the moon illuminated our paths

To the cold ground we were no longer slaves.

Flowing through the air in waves

We could finally read our epitaphs

When winter fell upon our graves;

And the snow made its way across the plains

As we felt the cold winds against our backs

To the cold ground we were no longer slaves.

Sunlight breaks through as nighttime fades

But doesn't show our tracks

When winter fell upon our graves.

No longer bound by our faiths

Freed from our traps

To the cold ground we were no longer slaves.

Acting out our final roles in our eternal plays

Was it all a dream? Perhaps.

When winter fell upon our graves

To the cold ground we were no longer slaves.

Copyright © Adam Piper

Details | Free verse | |

Blue Winter Death

the womb
of silent death
where Summer tree's
sway no more

we search each cloud
in muted 
in hope
a dream shall climb above

where silent hearts
as blue as death
crawl beneath
a vale no more

I scream of Summer
a hymn of love
And run beyond the wind

before the chill 
of night    

within the womb
of silent death
where Summer tree's
sing no more

Copyright © Rick Parise

Details | Narrative | |

Dead Winter

I still remembered that night
the snow was heavy and unusually white.
We gathered around the fireplace,
Momma was sharing her Christmas grace.

Daddy went home and brought us presents
Momma stopped her story and away she went
out into the snowy streets 
buying us winter treats.

It has passed dinner and she’s not home.
Our stomach started to ache and roam.
Daddy began to worry,
and away he went in a hurry.

Me and Anna were still inside
looking through the window with eyes opened wide.
Then Anna started to cry,
I was still wondering why
until I saw a shadow in the foggy snow.
Anna squeezed my hand and wouldn’t let go.

A squeak, a squeal - 
a spinning wheel
down the hill
that’d thrill and kill.

It came clashing and crashing
through the glaciers it went bashing
through our door it was breaking, 
left us all shaking and quaking.

We did not restrain
the shrieks and tears weren’t feigned.

Next morning the neighbors came
and told us that momma and daddy weren’t the same.
I followed them and what I saw
with only a glance made me drop my jaws.

There, two coffins neatly laid
“Uncertain causes” was clearly sprayed.
I laughed and thought I just got played
but grief suddenly fell when the priest prayed.
Nobody helped when I fell limp on the floor
as they carried my parent’s bodies through the shattered door.

From that day on there wasn’t winter anymore.
Snow were redder than red – the color of gore.
Their tombstones were always cold solid steel
and if you came close you’d feel:
A squeak, a squeal - 
a spinning wheel
down the hill
that’d thrill and kill.

Copyright © Celine Tran

Details | Quatrain | |

Winter Funeral

Stepping on shuttered dreams
Feet bleeding wishes of travel
Disable soul mails postcards
To a corner called " Empty Apartment"

Still nature on the thirteenth floor
Mom's glasses left behind and a cup full of tears
A phone ringing obsessively
The door permanently unlocked… 

Jetlag freezes childhood memories
Dirt squishes mortality between my toes
Ravens on cracked limbs distract me
A shovel full releases a white cloud 

I jump on ready made steps in snow
Hungry children of the graves follow me
I stop, they stop, I feel, they feel - so lonely
Playing the game of “Orphaned Roulette”...

for Matt's Contest "Empty Apartment"

Copyright © iolanda Scripca

Details | Free verse | |

''oh the memories, memories''

My thoughts let go of a thousand memories, Like faces, dates, times and places; Yet, I can recall each and every detail, On the day of your funeral. (. . .and my mind takes me back through the tattered pages of my life to a place of warmth, security and love . . . . .) O the grieving . . . In the middle of a snow storm I followed, And the wind blew back my long hair; As we meandered down a winding cold path, The wild wind paused in the trees. ( . . O, my mother's kitchen with it's big cupboards and old stove and a blue teapot on the kitchen table and grandma telling me of life, of people in the family long dead . . . ) O the weeping. . . Snowflakes fell on me from the tangled branches, Falling like crying tears cascading down; I am lost and moaning in this forever, ever memory, And now the snow drifts in the cemetery. (. . . and it was at that same table that I read my first poems while sipping tea and father coming in from shovelling snow in winter all bundled up . . . ) O the sadness . . . A headstone is buried deep in the pure white, And but one engraved word is revealed; In this pristine cold, dead winter wonderland, Only one word can be seen, MOTHER, Hidden beneath the snow. (. . . a warm fireplace waiting within then at night in an attic room this little girl was tucked in with forever loving hands, hugs and kisses . . .) O the lamenting . . . I will treasure your arms last embrace, mother, till this heart stops beating . . . __________________________________ February 19, 2015 Free Verse Submitted to the contest, Screwed V, sponsor, Rob Carmack Fourth Place

Copyright © Broken Wings

Details | Haiku | |


youth`s luminous graffiti,
drawn on winter`s wall.

Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa

Details | Epitaph | |

Winter Is Over My Dove

Here lies Sara
Poetry she did savor
Song of Solomon
Her favorite verse
This love story uncommon
In this she would immerse
"Come away my love"
For winter is over my dove

Copyright © Sara Kendrick

Details | Lyric | |

In My Dreams

In my dreams

I’m still in my dreams
Walking along the streams
The way looks so dangerous
Its stories were so famous
But I’m still in my dreams

I don’t know where I’m going
Just know going to be ruined
I have not control on my mind
Summer is not so fine
But I’m still in my dreams

I saw a shadow looks terrible
Structure is not so visible
I make my steps towards shadow
My feet going to be swallow
But I’m still in my dreams

Weather becomes cool
Shadow is making me fool
I am a little afraid
I think my life has been paid
But I’m still in my dreams

I see a dead body
Where was nobody
This I’m not ready to face
I have to get out of this place
But I’m still in my dreams

By: Allishba Khalid

Copyright © Allishba Shaikh

Details | Haiku | |


trees outside
heavily laden with ice—
night rain continues

a plump woman
shivering, teeth chattering—
near the fireplace

the door opens
and gusts of cold air burst in—
the nursing home

my grandmother
lying in bed starving—
no food allowed

I watch helplessly
while her bony hands squeezed mine—
ninety-eight years old

after nine days
I hear Grandma’s last gurgle—
crying and one kiss

© December 8, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  Dead Winter 	
Sponsored by: Sidney ~ LeeAnn 

FORM:  Haiku Series

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen