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.
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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)
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
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
In towns east to west across so many nations
From hills to valleys and the higher elevations
Old man winter has paid his yearly visit to town
Bone chilling temperatures dipping way down
As he's announcing his arrival in late December
This one the coldest one many can remember
People all prepare for his next three month stay
He was right on time this year for his first day
December twenty first at the stroke of midnight
Snow flakes fell like confetti in soft moonlight
Blanketing many acres of land at a steady pace
Sure that he covered every inch of the surface
With the calm,gentle wind whistling to say hello
To anybody who can hear it from down below
In the morning residents will look outside when
All know old man winter is visiting town again
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.
MEGALITHIC TREES AND US
IN VIRGINIA WINTER
The inclemency of winter
has stripped the towering trees
of their peacock foliage of fall;
gravity sucking them back
to the womb that gave birth
to their bare breasted branches.
Yet these pompous zombies of nature
stand poised like wooden megaliths
winking and smiling at the sun
peeking through stilled clouds
lingering in stolen spaces between
shades of blue and gray chilled skies.
In the irony of this scene’s prelude
to nature’s power of resurrection,
we stoked the hungry fire and fed it
another log; and warming away the cold,
we waited with the trees to greet the coming snow.
Oh, Mr. Cardinal
why do you tease me,
sitting, with your belly full
up there, in that tree?
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
I have been waiting a long time, to get a picture of a male cardinal and I finally got one. I was hoping it was going to be a little better than what I got, but you can't move trees out of the way. LOL
Trees and birds outside shiver in the breeze
in minus twenty to thirty degrees
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
We've been going through a deep freeze for the past week, here in Eastern Canada. We can't get to zero or even above zero through the day. It's minus sixteen, eighteen and when you throw in the wind chill factor, it's minus 20's and 30's. It's crazy. We'll be stuck in the freeze until later next week. WOW! The January thaw last week, really spoiled us.
This is my own style of poetry.