When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
In that old house, where you wove that coloured tapestry
With all the glorious memories of your life upon the sea
With weathered palm so deeply etched with every season past
You rubbed a porthole in the center of the frosted glass
Where outside in splendour lie a winter-wonderland
As halos rose above your head from a pipe bowl in your hand
And there upon a rocking chair as smoke rings filled the air
We rocked across a sea of dreams wind tangled in our hair
To lands I’d never been before we stepped upon those shores
And through your eyes I saw each one and still I wanted more
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green
As the world outside held its breath in a sea of snowy cream
And when the chill of winter melted from the windowpane
The whistling kettle on the stove brought us home again
You held my hand and looked at me with that twinkle in your eyes
And told me you would be my Captain 'til the day I died
So when winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
Written: Jan 15, 2011
Author: Elaine George
First Place in Brian Strand's contest: Let's See
4th Place In - Anything goes contest
In loving memory of my Dear Papa 'Captain James George'.
When I was a child of three, I Went to live for a year with my Grandparents in Nova
Scotia. At that time my Grandfather was a retired Sea Captain of a Three Mast
Schooner. He had spent most of his life at sea, taking lumber and coal to New
Brunswick and various ports in the U.S. and in the winter months, would carry on to
pick-up and deliver cargo in the West Indies. Although my time with him was short,
the memories we shared have comforted me through-out the years.
When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane,
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again;
In that old house, there by the sea, where you wove that tapestry,
With all the glorious memories, of your life upon the sea.
With weathered palm, so deeply etched, with every season past,
You rubbed a porthole in the center, of the frosted glass,
Where outside, in splendour lie, a winter-wonderland,
As halos rose above your head, from a pipe bowl in your hand.
And there upon a rocking chair, as smoke rings filled the air,
We rocked across a sea of dreams, wind tangled in our hair;
To lands I’d never been before, we stepped upon those shores,
And through your eyes I saw each one, and still I wanted more.
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green,
As the world outside, held its breath, in a sea of snowy cream;
And when the chill of winter melted, from the windowpane,
The whistling kettle, on the stove, brought us home again.
You held my hand and looked at me, with that twinkle in your eyes,
And told me you would be my Captain, 'til the day I died.
So, when winter paints those frosty ferns, on my windowpane,
I find myself a little girl, up on your lap again.
Written: Jan 15, 2011
Author: Elaine Geroge
In loving memory of my Dear Papa 'Captain James George (the 3rd').
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.
Down where the blackberries now bloom
Blackberry winter is near
Jack Frost comes tonight maybe doom
With you here there's no fear
'Oar's frost might kill the early plants
But in dreams they returned
Strong and better for fall's harvest
Orange pumpkins weren't doomed
Blackberry winter has entered
My life left me barren
Devoid of warmth feeling much strifed
Need again warmth of grandchildren
Holding little one close_ touch softness
Strange how one misses small
Things like tenderness, acceptableness
A kiss that comforts squall
Blackberry winter here to stay
Or miracle will come
For a miracle steadily pray
Baby on knee awesome
The trees are bare, now comes cold air
The breezes howl this night
I’m toasty warm, secured by charm
As we hold each other tight
This winter evening…
As the sun descends…
The moon is smiling…
No love pretends…
It’s all for real, dear…
As we stay inside…
The winter frowns…
While in here, we hide…
Our winter pleasures…
Are year round dreams…
When come the fires…
With snow filled scenes…
We’ll feel the softness…
As our hands embrace…
Reflecting fires, bright…
With red cheeked face…
Winter winds chasing, while love’s erasing
The many sounds we hear
We’re holding so tight, by the fire this night
As our bodies stay so near
Old mister winter…
Turn away from our door…
For we won’t answer…
We won’t give you more…
The room is ignited…
By this fire inside…
On this winter evening…
In here, we’ll hide…
Far from the town and its bustling throng
knowing just where to go,
Sister and I are walking along
a pathway in the snow.
Down by the lake and over a fence
are hungry ducks and geese.
To their clamor we give audience,
watching their flock increase.
Off comes my muff, for I have brought
what they love to be fed.
I hold out my hand then as I squat
to toss them crumbs of bread.
Those ducklings and geese can’t get enough,
but new snow fills the sky.
My frozen hand goes back in my muff,
for no more crumbs have I!
For the Let it Snow Contest
Based on the first picture: George Dunlop Leslie's Winter Walk
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.
Snow falls softly late one night
In the darkness it does bask
I dread the job tomorrow
Shoveling will be my task
Beauty is in the eyes of the viewer
I see nothing but giant flakes of work
The trees all have snow on this first shower
Dreading the day of a job using torque
The pathways are snowed over
All with a reflective white
I want to get to bed soon
For I know tomorrow’s plight
I’m mesmerized by the beautiful scene
Not a thing is without some wondrous snow
Even though I sure do dread the next day
I will put on a great, wonderful show
This time of year affects me
Seems to rub off some great cheer
I will find a way to smile
Though there’s snow up to my rear
Form Quatrain-1st, 3rd, 5th stanzas have 7 syllables, 2nd, 4th stanzas have 10 syllables
by Sue K Green
Pretty are the snowflakes
As I watch them fall
Covering up the landscape
Pretty scene for all
I like to watch the snowflakes
They put on quite a show
As they flit and scatter
Everywhere they go
So many are the snowflakes
Falling down on me
I wouldn’t now start counting
A daunting task that be
Cold are the snowflakes
As too is the air
Hat, coat, and gloves now
A must for me to wear
White now are the snowflakes
Covering the ground
Careful not to slip now
Ice too is all around.
Streetlights on the snowflakes
Make for a pleasing glow
I watch now out my window
At still falling snow.
You saw me from across the room
beside an open door.
Your smile erased all of my gloom
and touched me to the core.
The mistletoe tied in a bow,
your kiss that caused my cheeks to glow!
The mistletoe, the mistletoe,
sweet start of something soon to grow. . .
Then on a most romantic ride
as we sat hand in hand,
you asked me if I'd be your bride
in Winter's Wonderland.
The one-horse sleigh took us away
where snow swirled down, then gleaming lay.
The one-horse sleigh, the one-horse sleigh!
My fondest dream took hold that day.
We snuggle by a crackling fire
here at the winter's end.
No other lover could inspire
me more than my best friend.
The warm fireplace, your angel face
which softly now my fingers trace!
The warm fireplace, the warm fireplace
shows love aglow as we embrace.
*This is actually called a Trijan Refrain, but it's very similar to quatrains.
11/26/13 for Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Kiss Under the Mistletoe Poetry Contest.