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…
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..)
autumn is here.
of the rain
and blossoms spring.
the snow shapes
the crisp cold
ices the wintertide.
the sand sculptures
a childhood summer past.
the seasonal airs
stimulates the senses
and the memories they carry.
in the glee,
in the hopes and dreams,
in the human spirit,
lives the miracle of life.
voices in every pitch
deep and resounding,
of echoes and whispers – uncut.
Any Old Poem Will Do - Contest
For Skat A
Entered: August 29 2014
I Am Winter
I am cold – not heartless,
nor do I wish any harm.
This is just the way it is,
my gaze - a shivering chill,
my kiss - a frosty sting,
my breath - a numbing touch.
I come alone – uninvited
to lull to sleep the cycles
that need rejuvenation.
I am angry – for you fear me -
shut your doors, lock your windows,
deny me but your harshest looks
wrap yourselves in layers
lest we touch.
I am saddened – thus I whine
dancing around your houses
bending low the cowering trees
weeping sub zero tears
that never fall.
I am Winter –
and when my time is done
you will rejoice that I have gone
never thanking me –
for the beauty that awaits.
John G. Lawless
Submitted to PD’s – Winter Poems #1 – Poetry Contest
Couched upon the mountain tops,
Winter bleeds white on stone.
The blinding haze of a million spots
Speckles the morning air,
Vaporous through crystalline glass.
Words woven like tapestry
Spark a fire from within.
Seeking answers to intrigue
That fill one with wonder --
An explosion of words to the heart.
Warmth from fire and leather
Fills flesh and bone with life.
Though seated within this cabin,
Ink and paper give respite
From a harsh landscape
Beyond the oak and nail.
With my soul at peace and my thoughts at rest,
standing in this winter wilderness,
I whisper words of heartfelt bliss.
Come with me and walk this path.
Together we tread against the freeze,
and find the warmth of tender grasp.
My devoted being shall forever be,
a place of strength against chilled winds,
a brilliant light only you have seen.
Our lives have met in this quiet space.
Let sky meet land and rivers merge.
Forever, harmony I long to taste.
We have summoned light from darkest days.
Heat returns to melt still ice.
Each day length now brings stronger rays.
The deepest snows cannot hide the facts.
Beneath these layers life holds fast.
Newfound joys spring from bleakest past.
Let's rebuild life from broken dreams,
Where life restarts with each new spring,
the snows will melt to feed fresh streams.
Like this land, my passion runs free.
Walls have come down with earnest words.
My unblinded eyes now see.
I ask for your hand without ounce of gold,
or shiny stones dug from filthy earth.
My eternal love cannot be bought or sold.
Under peaks reborn of volcanic scars,
In night's serene and starkest silence,
I pledge love to outlast the multitude of stars.
Solitude I turn from on this ride.
Today and tomorrow let's walk in stride.
Promise to be my utopian bride.
I stumbled through twisted tinsel streets,
oblivious to ice and seasonal shouts,
muffled by snow-silence; a mannequin moving through mists,
quietly fragmenting behind frost-fragile walls of frailty.
Bleak winds blew open the hinges of my hypothermic heart,
wailed a wintry lament only I could hear -
ice-shrapnel words blown to lodge in my ear: you've lost the baby.
Those four words were spiked icicles, glacier-cold;
hope disintegrated like snow powder as they pierced me.
Streets seemed pregnant with the plumpness of babies,
their waxen doll faces bluish and cold,
their pink gummy mouths demanding, demanding.
And my breasts were frozen roses,
too iced to feed their tiny need.
Snowflakes trembled like butterflies blown from the Arctic,
or the feeble flutter of a failing foetal heartbeat.
The town became a barren expanse of white:
cold crystals drifting, acres of snow-diamond light.
But shops shimmered with heat, bulged bauble-gaudy
with the fatness of consumerism.
And I was reed-slender, my womb a hollowed-out tomb.
Everywhere, babies bloomed, precious as poinsettias,
mouths like petals, squirmy with hungry red cries and squalls,
echoing, echoing, as I squinted into the white squall.
And a ribbon of milk unloosed itself silently,
sudden and scalding, like a fountaining of tears;
a lacework trace soaking my shimmer thread sweater dress;
a single, small, white thaw as I silently unravelled,
stumbling through streets that spooled like silver yarn -
for 'Fragment' contest
Somber is the color of the day...
The window glass, enhanced by dew, this dreary afternoon
Prisms of light from a pewter lamp, reflect upon on the fog
A rainbow splashed against the wall forms mirrors of my mood
While quietly, I sit, and ponder it all, my pen is close, my chin in hand
Pinned back, my strands, a sweater, old, is pulled around my chill
woven in colors, of various yarns, as varied as thoughts that take me away
My mind is lost in a wakened dream
While trees are tossed about in winter wind,
and leaves lay dead beneath the snowy mounds
a fire glows, and a storm now keeps me bound
One shard of light from a neighbor's home
across the hill, a distant mile
The dimness in a room from winter sighs...
then something sparks a word ...a line, .. a verse, ... a lullaby ...
The day is sadder than the words I had found...
so somber is the day that keeps me bound
I hide away this moment....a cup of tea, a Golden Lab for company..
One peek beyond the distant hill, a touch of sun
A glimpse of mountain, pastures deep, my dog that sleeps...
A momentary chance to free my soul
In just a brief, but deep departure from the ordinary...
I explore my thoughts, search my heart, wonder what this day will bring...
I watched old memories, long kept cold, ...unfold as if a dream
Unsort, relive, those worlds untold....
Exploring new words, I now have found
Stumbling through my mind, unintended
Watching the words tumble as if unattended...
Unfolding, exploding, and falling in chaos
Paying no mind to the reader's conception
Cleansing, pleasing, as my soul fits the pieces...
Beneficial.... to the reader...will it matter? Who knows?...
But a satisfying journey traveled and found
by myself....and for myself, ....as the one who's creating...
Looking out from blurry windows...a dark day continues ...
on a somber colored day, that kept me bound.....
My breath becomes visible when I exhale
into the chill of the still, winter air
but, I do not mind the cold.
I hear nothing, but the solemn sound of silence
as I stand in the middle of nowhere, with no one,
looking straight up into a gray sky
and seeing nothing, but a million snowflakes coming toward me.
Tumbling, dancing, drifting, and finding their way to the earth.
No, they are not just frozen raindrops.
Each one is a miniature ice sculpture
intricately carved by the hand of a master artist.
Can it be, within the billions of snowflakes that fall each year,
that no two are ever alike?
While I do not have the answer, I enjoy pondering the question.
I stand perfectly still, as if frozen in time,
as the snow falls down, and sticks onto my hair,
instantly aging me as my golden-brown locks turn white.
Yet, I feel much younger than I am.
I feel like I am inside a snow-globe that has just been shaken.
I can feel them gently landing on my face,
these delicate snowflakes tickle me
as they get caught by my eyelashes.
I just close my eyes and smile.
A harsh wind bites.
The signals are there for those
who understand; those who can
read the fauna and flora like a map.
Navigating through the forest…
Acorns are being stored under a
Shards of light pierce through
Evergreens wrap themselves
in a nice warm coat.
The snow arrives on iridescent
wings, stretching it’s arms and
cloaking all in sight.
A silence creeps in, it’s heart
slows to a single beat of a
dying honey bee…
Rarest of beauty is she the ice fawn,
Grazing within the ice meadows in crystal
Fields of frozen cloves, as the star lights
Flicker in brilliance shinning, all about her.
A shy creature of gentleness, made of ice
And snow, unique amongst the polarized canvas,
Alone in perfections glittering diamond dust,
Of winter’s mystical enchantments.
Drinking from the pools of the moon,
Warmed by the twinkling shades of the rays,
Casted in the Aurora Borealis of the northern
Pastures, beyond mankind’s encroachment.
Creations gathering of angel tears shed
In tender moments of truest grace, was
She this miracle thus was so made,
The ice fawn.
Chamber lights living Kalightoscope, a prism of
Dear shine, walking in splendors white ice.
A mystical being of opulence’s elegance, splashed
By the divine plate array, and brushed by the wings
Of the ethereal angelic.
A sparkling gem, a jewel of winter, with the
Soft brown eyes of clarity, behold the ice fawn
In all her glittering glory, walking in freedoms
Sacred Valley of the human imagination.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The season's first snow
just a dusting but enough
The kids and dogs
delighting in the
new found flakes,
not too cold yet.
On the other side
of the world
the day's first drones
The kids and dogs.
but no one
not too cold yet.
Revised 9/8/2014; first written soon after 11/09/2001. I changed a specific county to 'the other side of the world' and 'missiles' to 'drones', but not much else has changed.
Fall tumbles relentlessly on our door steps
young winter birds inducing provoking sounds scamper in trees
Watching winter crawling slowly under our feet.
The night rain wet the ground with sadness
washing away the environmental stench
purging the atmosphere of its infectious dew
And I could absorb fresh air in my lungs again.
I fell into a deep sleep shortly after nine but woke up
by my next door neighbor bustling activities.
Nice showers clean fresh air is the perfect night to
be drenched with sleep but instead I was on my knees.
An unknown burden overshadowed me, disturbing my spirit
raising my curiosity, causing me to ponder over unknown mysteries
unexplainable matters that doesn't concern me, yet they troubled me.
I soaked myself in prayer seeking for a plausible answer
And after praying I fell asleep again; a sleep that
I thought would be peaceful but here I am again
on an unannounced journey to the Far East.
I mysteriously found myself on a university campus in the Far East,
no paint, no color, everywhere was deserted, no one was around
except for dry leaves spreading out on the troubled ground
and dull trees astoundingly lingering in the autumn breeze.
I walked propitiously through the front door along a bare corridor
in search of a toilet to ease my body pressure.
A desolated corridor whose hope seemed to be diminished with the passing of time
a million feet must have trodden upon it, feet in search of freedom ,
feet looking for peace, proud feet, dirty feet, bloody feet, stubborn feet.
Feet looking for revenge and feet marching to the destiny of doom.
I moved anxiously from door to door but every door that I opened I saw
Asian toilet embedded deeply in the ground and clean water flooding all around.
I opened another door and found a western bath filled with clean water
I kept walking along the corridor but all the Asian toilets were flood with water.
At the end of the corridor I found one that was completely dry but there was no toilet inside except for PVC pipe fittings planted firmly in the ground.
I tread along the opposite side of the hallway still searching for a toilet
but only rooms whose doors were removed and leaning helplessly
in front of them occupy the other side of the stricken corridor.
I anxiously left the building and a slim young man in his early twenties
wearing shaded glasses ran behind a reception area outside the campus ground
and pretended as if he was at work, but that was only a deception.
As I walked passed him he tried to reached out to me
He complained about someone who has treated him badly
and pointed to a friend who was instrumental in turning his life around.
A sizable crowd gather around him as he illustrates his painful story.
He and his friend took me to the other side of the campus where
a larger crowd of young people had gathered for a wedding
some were sitting under large beach umbrellas
While others congregate in groups all over the campus grounds.
I walked upon a platform where the wedding ceremony
was about to take place but daylight suddenly exploded in my face.
©2014 Christine Phillips
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
Upon ice clear - frozen window pane
A single breath remains, captured warm - then dissipates
Beyond - whipped by season's song
Somehow, beauty mixes with fury
Living white smoke snakes across grassy fields
Powder dunes shift aimlessly
Seeking their space to claim
No sign of life...
The landscape foreign - engulfed as prisoner
Inside I feel much the same
But..now beside fire's glow
When winter has had her say...this sand will pass
....give way to spring's soft plush green grass
© Donna Jones
The snow is coming down here hard.
The ground is thick with white.
The air is cold and the wind is blowing hard.
The pond is frozen the ducks are a party.
Winter comes and I am warm.
The fire is going and the eggnog is good. With a touch of booze.
Cat is asleep all in a ball. The game has gone in to over time what a joy.
Winter is here and I don't care I'm warm and nothing can change that.
it 's snowed very hard for three days now
my car is buried deep
the power is out, no tv at all
for a few more days, they say
firewood is piled high on the porch
at least I have some heat
I can warm canned food upon the fire
and jelly sandwiches can't be beat
what am I to do, I say
surely boredom will set in
with candles bright, I light up the room
and resign myself to doom
I look around and see my books
I used to read a lot
maybe there is something there
to help me pass the time
Hemingway and Steinbeck too
they catch my eyes so quick
Farewell to Arms and Grapes of Wrath
look promising at best
the Italian front in world war 1
a love so strong I weep
why have I not read this before
it's been on the shelf to keep
the plight of the poor migrants life
as they travel from place to place
my parents talked of such times before
when no one had enough to eat
I see more books before my eyes
Dickens, Defoe and Swift
I guess I will give them a try
and see what wonder lie
the day goes fast, the fire is warm
I am in another world
maybe the snow will never stop
and leave me alone to read
How beautiful our love was
In the springtime of our lives.
How tender was your touch—
Your fingers caressed my body
As softly as a willow’s leaves
Brush the waters of a still lake
In the wake of a soft breeze—
I felt each ripple spread
Outward over me,
Consuming me with
The pulse of your passion.
The vessel I use to contain these
Precious memories keeps longing
To return to our springtime,
Where time stood still and our hearts
To the outside world.
How cold this winter has become.
For Chris D. Aechtner's Free Verse for Winter Contest
holiday thoughts chill me
more so than this breeze
as it wraps me up
in winter's blanket
i want to be like the trees
colorless and bare
that weighs me down
i want to dance free
in the wind
like dead branches
in storm's fury
i'm snapping though
and it's only december
i can feel the weight
of winter's wrath
pulling me down
i am falling
more than a few inches deep
everything is turning white
within death's grasp
i am december's ending
Viciously, she draws a blade
of steely cold across my throat,
driving the warm breath from my lungs,
leaving me gasping on the road;
then, with a flip of frost glazed hair,
she whirls around the brick-walled turn.
Caught so in her freezing frenzy, I shudder,
apprehensively pulling my woolen comfort close,
knowing she is slinking even now
back round the block to pounce again,
prowling ice wolf, sharp fangs bared.
A bullying beast all day long,
she pushes nice people aside,
but in the morning we shall wake
to find her raging ceased;
she has gone and quietly left
a field of down about our feet.
August 29, 2014
It’s cold here in Central Texas
Winter has laid its hand upon us
The night is clean and pure
With just a whisper of oak and mesquite fires
Burning on the hilltops
And villages of old German hopes
The coyotes are calling
Packs move in the night
Instinctive without knowing the reason
They find their way into town
Old men with rifles sit on porches waiting
But nearly always miss
For winter is the friend of the coyote
And the bones of men
Are appendages meant for warmer climates
Civilized cravings or hunger drives them here
Or maybe it’s just an Comanche tear
That fell in this place
And stained the ground forever
What ever it is I welcome them here
For they are clean and pure
Of what burdens men
The air sighed heavily
as Winter rested its head
on soft somber clouds
lightened earlier by a sifting
of rain, snow and ice.
It smiled softly at the moon
which, once more, made
a welcomed appearance
in the mantle of night’s sky
sprinkled lightly with stars.
It shivered considerably
near the trees in the cities
wearing their crystal jackets,
that glimmered slightly
with moonbeams smile.
It whispered quietly close
to sleeping houses bedecked
were pristine white hats,
fringed along their sides
with crystalline tassels.
It applauded the sun
as it soundlessly arose
presenting to the world
a postcard bejeweled
with Winter’s muse.
By: Debra Squyres
Snow sprinkles the ground
as delicate as sugar
crystallizing the exterior with a romantic heritage
only found in the heart of a child's imagination.
Like happiness it can melt in your hands,
and like happiness it can grow bitter like the ice you slip on
Forming miraculously to the curves of the earth
hugging till the land soaks in it's providence
white like the pages I battle with
Falling so passionately you'd think it was falling in love with the ground
And when it lands,
A blanket of perfection
glistening the season to a crisp
gently the sun arises
"there's no where to go today,
I'm just going to sit and enjoy the magic."
Inside it is nice and warm,
cuddled up alone in my warm bed,
sheets and covers smother me,
as soft pillows rest my heavy head.
Outside the white, soft snow comes falling down hard,
blowing in from the north, south, east and west
and the wind picks up, as it makes a high pitch howl,
as a ghost would do when trying to strike fear into someone.
Inside so warm,
outside it is so cold,
Inside filled with sweet dreams,
and outside filled with cold, soft, white nightmares.
Soon, the alarm goes off and wakes me from a cozy slumber,
as I hit the "SNOOZE" button and straighten myself from bed;
I walk over to my window and rub my eyes and can't believe my eyes.
Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow- and more snow!
White pillows of snow everywhere,
on the leafless trees, the branches covered with snow and ice.
I open my window for some fresh air,
and the air is too thin to breath, and the wind hits me in the face
and cold burns my face with a chilling sting!
I shut my window- as I look at my bed,
temptations of jumping back in and warming back up
all cross my mind,
but sadly it was only Wednesday and no call-off for school,
so I guess I'll go shovel the snow out of the driveway,
warm the car up and get ready to go learn.
Sound cutting through
the urban atmosphere
Awaken sleeping city dwellers
Fierce winds blow but the sounds continue
The sound of brass instruments and voices
Voices, voices - chanting and delighting the senses
of the asphalt homeland
It always comes down to this:
Silence is gorgeous
but the right sounds
improve the spirit and the body
Dancing notes in the air
Awaken the "chi"
and cause shadows to flee
An unreal joy
seeps in thorough the void
As we walk towards evermore
Each note becomes a step on our perilous path
Winter arrives and God's sculpture is seen everywhere,
Snow as white as cotton, on the rooftops of the houses.
Trees brushed with snow along their delicate branches,
Spruce and pine trees and boughs, God's Christmas Card.
Snowman white and round with eyes and mouth made of coal,
And a carrot nose, topped with a black hat and winter scarf.
The sounds of the sculpture are silent and reverent,
Only the sounds of the wind can be heard.
Parents and children creating these snow scenes,
Sounds of laughter, enjoying God's sculptures.
Mountains of snow, tall and small,
With smooth and rugged angles.
God's winter sculpture, his portrait of excellence,
To be appreciated by humanity.
Winter weather is a friend and not a foe,
And whereever you go God's beauty reigns.
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
Crystalline Winter Hollow
A camp fire against solid hollow black
Holds the cold and limited visibility
Hours come born without warning
Near to night, wild on the snow storm
A dim light draws us home vulnerable
It is a dot in the distance
Illusions of fireplace and warmth
A hunt for life between each snowflake
Moving on as the snow deepens under foot
Each step is sunken treasure subaqueous submerged
Cold and water take their risk in winters grip
The lake may not take the weight of passage
Camp fire is a long way off now
So is that dot of light called home
Frozen images are all that’s left
Hidden there on the distance, crystalline alone
Oh, the sun shines and the wind blows
the crisp, apple-wind, blows,
laughing through the half shorn tresses
of the sugar maple trees.
Oh, the sun shines and the shadows fall
like long gray mufflers, foreshadowing,
the wraps of winter winds
and frost on dawn's green grasses
Oh, the sun shines and the heart sings
full and ripe as the pie pumpkins
waiting to be picked
and the comforters calling from the beds
of cuddling children.
Oh, let the sun shine for it fills my soul
for when the dark of winter persists
I will remember this.
Days of past and wintry times
The chill of night within my bones
Words that last and cling to rhyme
Crackling flames and yuletide tones
Birds of night sing one last song
Then capture flight to warmer lands
Where they shall stay all winter long
Until the season changes hands
Ribbons and bows beneath the tree
Neatly tied 'round gifts of love
Cookies and milk near Santa's seat
And the mistletoe hung
so high above
Hugs from friends who come to call
Children's faces filled with dreams
Good tidings and tinsel lining the walls
That share in my winter
with warm memories
Serene and silent the head caresses pillow
Landing soft and slowly with a sigh
Quiet sounds of silken quilt
In covered warmth
Receives the fragile woman worn of age
Contentment on her face
As she finds comfort and companion with relief
In design and form beneath
As she slips between the sheets
A slower moving body
In the cozy bedroom for some tranquil sleep
Outside, snowflakes count down the hours
Blanketing the relaxed house near heaven
In penetrating peace
Mounting are the flowing mounds of white
Building moments upon other open moments
Smiles take the woman on a cloud
To drift as well
Composed and calm
Upon her pillow down
8/21/14 Seasonal Bliss poetry contest
Somber is the color of the day
Prisms of lamplight reflection
On darkened window glass
The rainbow of color seeping through
Stained glass puzzle pieces
of a pewter lamp of old
While quietly, I sit, and ponder, my pen in hand
Upon cold shoulders, woolen sweater pulled closer
As varied thoughts so far away.
My mind is lost in wakened dream
While trees are tossed about in winter winds
And leaves are dead beneath the snowy mounds
A fire glows, the storm that keeps me bound.
One shard of light, from neighbor's home
Across the hill, a distant mile
The dimness as a room from winter sighs
I write the words of heartfelt lullabies
The day is sadder than the words I've found
So somber is the day that keeps me bound