Where cold stars exist in the dark,
serene winds whisper to trees
and scarce human ears can listen,
lone songs wail in the distance
in frozen moon's silver spotlight,
a mark left where paws had paused.
Written by: Kelly Deschler. January 16th, 2015
Inspired by creature #3 Coyote
nette onclaud's contest - NIGHT CREATURES
This poem was also inspired by actual events. A few weeks ago, I discovered
some large animal paw prints that were left in the snow, near my home. I later
found out that the tracks were made by a wolf.
Starlight pierces ebony,
above sculpted shades of white.
And moonbeams soften the scene,
gilding night with golden light.
Donning a crystalline dress,
Nature is enshrouded with grace.
And draped in feathery down,
She’s frozen in time and space.
As billions of flakes gather,
they quickly begin to freeze.
And subtle features are carved,
by the breath of a sharp breeze.
Yet it doesn't cut enough
to dislodge the sticky snow.
And the laden branches bend,
bowing impossibly low.
Cold cast an enchanted spell,
in the throes of arctic chill.
And silence imbues magic,
to winter's artistic skill.
This poem was written 1/17/2015 .
You blossom too soon dear snowdrops of spring
Secluded in the cold dark earth;
The white flakes that fly still haunt the sky
Too weary with sorrow to salute your birth.
One warm day awakened you from sleep
And sang with springtime’s soft breath;
Caressed your eyes with the lips of spring
And you awakened to winter in the arms of death.
Where is the due she pledged to you
The passion of sun and song of the breeze;
The frilled hyacinth with heavy perfume
And the robin’s merry note in the trees?
Birds are yet hushed and the branch is yet bare
The snowflakes fall on the crest of the hill;
Your sodden petals lie pressed on the ground
Without warmth when winter kept his chill.
The snowflakes conceal the spot where you lie
Living too soon in a winter's cold noon
They are covered with snow so no one will know
The grave of the snowdrops that flowered too soon.
Twin, silver cathedral bells, sway and chime.
As every note peals out, clear and sublime.
No winds blow through the sky, this silent night.
The peaceful heavens, filled with a celestial light.
Arm in arm, down the icy lane we do walk.
Heart to heart, our souls they seem to talk.
A pair of happy cardinals, one red, one gold.
Go bobbing through the snow, so white, so cold.
Along the hillside, stands rows of frosted pine.
The fields, blanketed in diamonds, a vision divine.
Couples, young and old, seated in horse-drawn sleighs.
Making new memories, and reminiscing their by-gone days.
Nestled so close together, like two turtledoves.
All bundled up, with warm scarves and gloves.
Amongst white winter lands, we two do wander.
While our light hearts, are growing ever fonder.
Written for Isaiah Zerbst's contest - "Let It Snow-12 Paintings of Winter"
This poem was inspired by the painting-"Christmas Day" by John Ritchie
The Fall of The Winter King
He had risen to power
fueled by a vicious and ruthless determination
to reclaim a lost throne.
His tactics had stunned the unsuspecting,
laid barren the fields,
blanketed the forest,
silenced the sounds of life itself.
A dictator, seeking no counsel,
accepting no offers of surrender,
driven by the desire to destroy
the kingdom that had usurped his throne.
Rumors spread of a daring bud – sprouting -
a tune hummed by the imprisoned trees
adrift on the whipping winds of war
in defiance of the heartless king.
A call to arms sounded
by the most gentle, the most delicate.
The first acts of open rebellion,
The resounding crack of the ice jamb
the aching roar of the river’s rage
surging over its banks
awakening those still held captive.
Slowly the insurrection took root
buds gathered in hidden clusters,
trees quietly bloomed
muffling the screeching gales,
offering safety to bands of rebels.
Flocks of warblers met -
feathered archers - hurling their
darting arrows against the glare
of a cold king’s horror.
Sweet grasses spread across
the brown, despoiled fields -
a verdant gauntlet tossed in the face of dread.
Flowers crept from thawing dungeons
waving their colors,
swarms of banished pollinators
followed the call to duty.
The ebb and flow of battle -
clandestine sunrise maneuvers.
The resurgence of heart,
the growing hope of warmth.
As memory of the chilled repression
faded preparation was made
to receive the beauty and bounty
of a new and peaceful King.
John G. Lawless
For SKAT’s Winter’s End – Poetry Contest
September, you are a wistful song
Summer sheds a tear when you come along
Sunny summer melodies yield to your mellow song
Its melody fades while yours grow strong
Summer ends and a certain sadness ensues
Sunny days make way for winter blues
September gives us glimpses of summer
Though days be short and golden leaves slumber
The vibrant colors September brings
disguise the coming winter sting
As summer dies it makes one last sunny stand
But will return, for thats how it was planned
Until then we must endure a harsh season
All bundled up, keeping warm is the reason
When the first snow falls
The pristine beauty leaves us enthralled
Soon summer will begin anew
Gray clouds make way for skies of blue
We awaken from our winter slumber
And welcome the butterflies of summer
For Joanne Grisetti's Copy Cat contest
:Inspired by the poem: September
Which was written by: Andrea Dietrich
Behold the silent battle
That the changing seasons bring
Winter's grip is loosened
As the robin begins to sing
The flowers strain toward Heaven
As their fragrance fills the air
For spring has given notice
But winter will not despair
Winter will not be broken
As it fights with it's last breath
But spring's warm winds are endless
And the reason for winter's death
Spring proclaims it's victory
As it watches it's rival die
The snowflakes have changed to raindrops
As winter begins to cry
All the evergreens are greener
And the pines are darker skinned
Only leaves that bear the burn marks
Are the witnesses of wind.
On the grass the dew is frozen
In a spiders web of white
And the cold that bites my fingers
Makes me wonder as I write.
How did winter come so swiftly
How did summer die so fast
Where’s the grave, where was the battle
Are they all buried in the past?
Now I feel the winter nibble
On my fingers with its frost
And the wind that it has summoned
Mourns for seasons that are lost.
Was it but one dusk, one daybreak
Was it only in a blink?
For the summer was my feather
Now the winter is my ink.
How did shadows shift so quickly
How did colours change so much
As reflections in the water
That simply vanish with a touch?
Now the daffodils are rising
Yet the jasmine blooms are gone
Now the evergreens are greener
And the frost adorns the dawn.
Yes, how strange it is to wonder
So I wonder as I write
What if winter should then also
Simply vanish in the night?
I dedicate this poem (and I'm not being sarcastic or exaggerating)
to my mentor and my friend Timothy Brumley, who taught me
the art of rhythm, showed me the advantage of counting my syllables,
raised my goal from acceptable to perfection,
and helped me to turn my nursery rhymes into poetry.
(and no Tim don’t protest, they really were nursery rhymes)
The brittle stems of Queen Anne's Lace
reduced to barren winter bone;
a hoarfrost Ermine coat embrace,
impaled in soil that's turned to stone.
The flowers now are wicker cups,
wear Bowler's hats of purest white;
the snowflakes that they interrupt
await the wind; resume their flight.
The Junco in the Prairie Grass,
drad colors blending, stem and snow;
his flitting business come to pass
without a glimpse of style, or show.
White crystal mist; the morning still,
a cold and colorless display;
the fenceposts marching up the hill
like soldiers, slowly fade away.
This day in its entirety
constructed thus to fit the mood,
cabin bound and winter weary,
must you in my lament intrude?
From deep within the Cedar tree
in blazing red from cap to tail,
you interrupt my woe-is-me,
insure my pensive mood will fail!
Snow is just a mask
Regenerating earths face.
A special peeling.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
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.
FROZEN IN CRYSTALLINE - 2
The icy feather flakes flitter hush--
swirl free to sprawl on midnight mush.
Sponsor Andrea Dietrich
Contest Name Frozen In Crystalline
5:22 pm, November 24, 2014
Light splashes in the eyes and vibrate
My heart to a rich ecstatic state
Joy is the only bird in the leaden sky
Calling the winds to choir on high
And I in the crystal world spin and spin
Till shards of snow caress the face
Like a pillow from scraps of watery tin
And all green and all colors erased.
Cast back the old belief of isolation
Of wintry purgatory and grief, jubilation
Is a white sheet of innocence here
The sinner like a diamond in the air
Frost symbol of death, and Lewis hopelessness
Shall not sing my song without regret
I take a different motif for my symbolic crest
The beginning of the pain I now forget.
Let Persephone sleep, my Yalda is here
The white breast of her flesh my pear
And I a child in a new womb of innocence
Drink of pure light and devote my sense
To leaps of faith from promise to spring
The eternal moment when season shall keep
Ivory joys before the bright immortal king
Just like a seed of winter vacating sleep.
Frozen in his tracks, a white tail deer
hesitates to crack the gilded grass
I do not know?
From blade of grass to the tip of twig,
The white dust of winter fall’s.
Frenzied flakes move in lost abandonment,
Finally pitch on fence and wall’s.
On the throat the rasping of cold crisp air,
The sound of snow crunching underfoot.
As the day grows short , and night draws in,
Now the journey homeward took.
Familiar shapes come into view,
There outlines soften by the snow.
What once were roofs ,now don white overcoats,
With ice jewellery now on show.
The old mill wheel lies motionless,
So still the little stream.
Held fast by Jack Frost clutches,
In a Christmas greeting scene.
Chinks of light through windows,
Gives some comfort and delight.
Cast a beam with an incandescent glow,
On white grains as they glisten bright.
At the door the latch clicks open,
And with thud is now latched again.
Keeping winter firmly on the out side,
withIn, thoughts of summer to retain
fall ends and
will softly sleep
Sunbeams weave through the twigs
of bare skeletal trees.
And a web of shadows
dance with each feisty breeze.
how much more can we take?
For cold clings to the ground,
holding onto each flake.
Silver skies look glazed,
like cheap carnival glass.
And the fickle sunlight's
too weak for blades of grass.
Sugar maples run dry,
not even one sweet drip.
And snowmen aren’t melting
embraced in Winter's grip.
Spring’s out there shivering,
while waiting in the wing.
And I can hardly wait,
for the warmth She’ll bring.
Wolf And Owl Take Shape
Smoke and red cinders rise together in retrograde simplicity
On counter rotation, winds sing through birch and oak
Marbled moon remains sour yellow through the ecliptic edge
Cryptic night, where owl and wolf find warmth and cover
Nestled in the coarse blanket warn by Tabitha, the young one
Her tribe sleeps through winter
She holds them in her mystic spell, mild heart and smile
They breathe cold mist together in history hallows
Unfolding cold reveals their open eyes
Reaching out into the distance as wolf howls
Unknown mysteries of life feel their kinship
Heaven opens up to them crisp on the fire light
Wolf moves his wool but only slightly in a twitch
Owl takes flight, returns alarmed
Back to the blanket and young girls arms
It rests with comfort feathers by her heart
Wolf and owl take shape, Tabitha smiles
They all take one long last breath and hold it in
Wait till spring to release it again below the mystic stars
10/17/14 Free Verse, Prose Poetry, haibun – Poetry Contest
wind whips the weeping willow
a wolf rests deep within
watching snowflakes waltzing
I left my
of wonder and
awe. A place that
knows me better
than any other place
I’ve been. This place
has changed me and
molded me into the
person I am now.
The forests, trees, creeks,
and open skies instilled in
me a love for God’s works.
The harshness of the winters has
taught me to be patient and to endure. My small
town is where I learned the small-town work ethic;
you don’t get what you don’t earn and earning what
you want takes a little bit of sweat and tears. Here
I learned that you don’t have to be blood to be
family. Brothers and sisters are made throughout
years of school together. We relied on each other to
be happy. This place will forever hold my heart and
soul. I am a small town girl through and through.
It’s who I will always be. Forever. Thanks IDAHO
for shaping me into something more than I was.
vivid green cedar
against winter's bare oak tree
red bird sits alone
We frolic and hide
Among wind swept laughing clouds
First snow on tree tops,
Canadian pristine . . .
Nature's own beauty
Of spirit supreme.
Of crystal clear birth
Instill serene pleasure
From heaven to earth.
As the lake mirrors mountains
And deep azure sky,
We commune together,
My God and I.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Let's take this chance to relish color
Embrace the autumn while it's here
for soon, we'll need turn the corner
and find Jack Frost is waiting there
His frosty face will nip the air,
His slick rain coat will steal the show
He'll blow a wind to bring the snow
and trees will shed the golden glow
Let's count the stars upon the night
Before he snaps his fingers, twice
Let's bask in harvest moon's delight
before he turns the world to white
Relax among the fragrant grass
Pick pumpkins and an apple red
Throw frisbees high above your head
Let red and rust adorn your bed
Around the corner here he comes
He whistles winds, and likes his rum
He'll offer you a icy cone
But do beware, he schemes to own
He brings along a holiday
And loves to watch our children play
Let's run around the nearest corner
To see how long that he will stay
A snap of fingers, a snap of cold
Will stop us in our tracks, be warned
He calls the shots, and though he's old
He'll last until the sun is warm
Let's take this chance to soak the sun
before he spoils all the fun
The world will never be the same
until we wave goodbye again
10/18/14 For Francine Robert's Contest: "Around The Corner"
Frost and moonlight
mimic my unwritten page
but barren trees
have printed inky shadows
across the brittle earth
11//8/13 For Francine's Contest: Fall or Winter Tanka
Mountains put away their winter caps.
In warm sun, soon they'll take their naps.
Rivers stuffed full of melting snow;
running swift to trim, then they will slow.
Brooks frozen silent, now breaking free
to babble on their way to warming sea.
Lakes throw back thick icy covers;
their warm waves calling swimmers and lovers.
Smoke, donning perfume of fireplace logs,
now wears a new scent of burgers and hot dogs.
Trees, that for months have been stripped bare;
knitting dresses of green, they're soon to wear.
Spring hastens in beautiful gardens to tend.
New lives begin at Winter's end.
Contest: Winter's End
Sponsor: Skat A
becomes robed in virgin snow
footprints prove there’s life,
yet the secrets of springtime
in hibernation till birth.
© Harry J Horsman 2013
The heavy cold grey skies
Tell of winter's want of lightness
Then lemon white breaks
Through the clouds
A painter's brush
Touches the ground
In the distance
Many are the Maples that encircle my home, my nest, my dwelling abode
And in the dark of night they tap on my frosty windows, crying
Past their deathly stance, a wintry scene
Looking through their tangled limbs snow is falling, endlessly
Everything in my world is icy white, sky and earth mingling
Soon, I whisper to them, you will be wearing your emerald gowns
Creaking and groaning they mumble in their frozen rest
Reaching out gnarled fingers to me
Yes, my dears, soon, so soon you will stand in resplendence
Ice and snow will be replaced with fringes of delicate, filigree green
Now rest, now sleep Maples sweet
Gather your memories of Spring, Summer and Fall close and dream
February 3, 2012
I watched the penguins woddle along,
On cold-hard ice; where they belong.
From water to land, they scurried around,
Flapping their feet on frozen ground.
Herds of them were standing still,
Settling down to a long cold chill.
Mother passes her egg to father carefully;
Knowing he'll care for it, so, naturally.
He'll protect it from the harsh-cold nights,
In a warm snug pouch away from sight.
For mother must find many fish to catch,
While father stays until it is hatched.
Long-dark days of Winter will change to Fall,
Returning mother, with, her familiar call.
Such a sweet sound for father's ear,
Ending another, long-cold Winter year.
Giving father penguin a much needed break,
For their chick is born and fully awake.
With such a huge urge to quickly eat,
Yes, many tasty meals of fresh, fish-meat.