awake to a brand new day
thrush hastens with nest
© Harry J Horsman 2016
Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2016
A freezing cold evening
Where the stars shining bright
With frost blade flanks
From mouth and nose steam
In the clear silence
White untrodden snows
Nature's frozen pulse
Sleep like a little baby
One gracious moon
After the night the light is shattered into gold
At sunrise raise your heartbeat
03.01.2016 A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016
Sneak up on their prey
very silent and deadly
don't get in their way.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015
A collaborative poem, written in renga format, or "linked-verse", by Timothy Hicks and Jesse Whitehead.
Verses in normal font are by me.
Verses in italic are by Jesse Whitehead.
in the newspaper
coffee to warm the hands
walking the railroad
to stay put
a child's balloon
spring in her step
red moon overhead
has dusk come already?
the field of tulips
seem to say
unwavering and gentle
strong as stone
wind through summer meadows
a tender caress
lying there still
a heart-shaped mark
ebb of the tide
the last golden leaf
fading in and out
memories sweetly touched
a dancing flame
burning through pages
another x on the calendar
NOTE: This was my first attempt at a Renga poem, written in collaboration, with one of my best friends from Idaho, Jesse Whitehead. He's one of the few friends of mine whom I could discuss writing with. Though he typically writes fiction and stories, rather than poetry, he was willing to give this poetry format a go; and to my knowledge this was his first time writing poetry. It's a fun little challenge that I hope you all will give a try!
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016
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
Copyright © Lily Twinkle | Year Posted 2014
Eyelids heavy with tears,
begin to form
from puffy grayish/black clouds.
It moves cunning and swift
like a lion’s roar
then softly on tired- padded- paws
it is gone,
gracing the terrain
with its magnificence.
Its door opens to a momentous
a welcoming grand appearance
of a new year
a new beginning
when the door opens…
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Sixth Place Winner ~ "Personification of January” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
January 29, 2012
Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2012
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.
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015
I’m like the ground dirt
The soil that holds life within
Deep inside the heart of me
Seeds lie quite dormant
The seeds of plants, grass, and trees
Waiting for warm times to come
Entrant into Nette Onclaud's "Personification of January" contest
Copyright © Russell Sivey | Year Posted 2011
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
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014
J anuary's cold makes December feel like spring!
A lways wanting it to be warm, but left yearning
C ause the ice and snow in the beginning
K eeps me excited, but depression starts winning
F or winter although beautiful, is far too long
R eminders of summer a distant memory now
O nly Jack Frost is now on patrol
S lowly, oh so slowly he releases control
T hen the frozen wasteland, yields to spring again.
For Shadow Hamilton's Jack Frost contest.
December 03, 2015
Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2015
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. | Year Posted 2013
Damp eyelids,misty breath,
Foggy-streets' dim lights,
Leafless trees,concrete boughs.
Copyright © Kiran Bantawa | Year Posted 2013
the freeze is over
gods given up hot cocoa
all nature’s things weep
the freeze has ended
sun struck branches are dripping
nut hunt thaw is on
the freeze has ended
the freeze has ended
and foolish thoughts turn to spring
winter gods chuckle
Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2013
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.
Copyright © Robert Sturgill | Year Posted 2015
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
Copyright © Ayendy Bonifacio | Year Posted 2014
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
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012
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
Copyright © A.E. Rivenbark | Year Posted 2014
Copyright © Jim Wilson | Year Posted 2009
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
Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2013
Copyright © Ann Roske | Year Posted 2013
The city still bears traces of the last blizzard,
which came after Christmas Day to amaze all;
snow returns in the form of on old wizard...
performing its magical powers to enthrall.
Traveling on the Brooklyn Bridge so dim...
my moodiness intensifies, feeling more grim;
I can see Manhattan's skyscrapers glittering
on a quite January snowy evening.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2011
There I stood, quietly and still, with a frozen stare through my patio door.
The awesome portrait of life, so dominating most of the year, has lost its lure.
This time, it’s not the forest that I behold, but it’s the sleeping trees that I see.
Much of life’s greenery will rearrange, suffer pain, and change. None would disagree.
In my back yard, there stands a fence laced and hidden in a fading sea of green.
Gone is the luster of summer and the colors of fall; but the season is subtle and serene.
Refusing to go unnoticed is a plant, clustered with tiny blossoms of purple flowers. On this January morn, bright and beaming yellow blossoms, undefeated and undisturbed, adorn a bush filled with life. They blend cheerfully with nature’s orchestra. The weather is gloomy and overcast, but no one bothered to tell my colorful backyard friends.
A tree, showing no resemblance to its surroundings, is bare, stripped, and naked.
She pleads for nothing, and does not appear to be wounded, sick, or diseased.
The once green foliage of summer that turned brown last fall was now gone.
It’s umbrella of shade baring leaves is now a haven of rest for the birds.
Come Spring, new life will upsurge , and green leaves of shade will emerge.
But for now, the full ensemble of life must await the new season.
01302011PS Contest, Winter Magic, Mystic Rose
Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015
Oh January, thee of Winter’s spawn
I cannot wait till thou art gone
I’ve had enough of bleak, gray days
To last a lifetime, and so I pray
Thou wilt use thy icy, freezing touch
On us gently, with just a brush -
A coat of frosting on the trees
But not a blizzard, I beg of thee
No brown snow or ugly slush
No winter mess, nor snowy gusts
Just a sprinkling of thy winter skill -
Still picturesque, but not so chilled
A mild month, I ask of thee
To keep the warmth inside of me
Received 3rd place in "Personification of January" contest
Copyright © Black Eyed Susan | Year Posted 2012
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
Copyright © Ann Roske | Year Posted 2013
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
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2013
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
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2014
The cold wind blowing
Across shadowed timber beams
Death becomes open-space.
Copyright © Matthew Sample | Year Posted 2012
White icing spread atop cut-out trees,
expose green cutout cookie snowflakes,
Blue skies shove away clouds,
reveal warm glossy blanketed fields,
Sunshine toasts the breeze a golden crisp.
Gazing out the picture window,
I watch as God bakes another day of Ohio January.
Copyright © Robin Maughan | Year Posted 2009
January brings blue skies and sun
As the icy air turns waterfalls
Now to glassy stalactites that hang
Under rocky ledges. Crystal walls
Are around us as we crawl behind
Ripples of translucent shining ice.
Yearly we are seeking out this cave,
Hiking through a frozen paradise.
It’s the perfect spot to stop for tea
Kept hot in the flask. We sit a while,
Eat a bite, and then continue on
Snowy forest trails another mile.
December 31, 2016
For contest Winter-Related Acrostic poem
Sponsored by Janice Canerdy
Copyright © Agnes Krampe | Year Posted 2016
Branches sway in the dark cold breeze
Moving like they were in a freeze
Colorful they once were
Their beauty puts me on my knees
Never did they want to displease
Dormant they are for sure
Entrant into Black Eyed Susan's "Your favorite tail rhyme, past or present" contest
Copyright © Russell Sivey | Year Posted 2012