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
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
flakes dance on glassy shore as jays perch low… trilling heart-frozen cries
In one line (monoku #9) Contest, PD
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016
cardinals dancing across
white blanket of snow
Copyright © Susan Gentry | Year Posted 2016
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
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
Linda-marie the sweetheart of PS
Sweetheart, a compound noun made of two nouns
Used with a difference, I found some synonyms
The qualities that give joy to senses-BEAUTY
The qualities that knocks you out-KNOCK-OUT
Drinks are scarcely my DISH
My neighbor is quite a LOOKER
My girl friend is a hell of LULU
Helen of Troy was a SMASHER.
Cleopatra, at an early age, was a MANTRAP.
Ophelia of Hamlet was STEADY
Julia Roberts is quite a SWEETIE.
Ron’s favored person TRUELOVE .
She is classy gentle soup woman to me,
To be diabetic, don’t be too sweetie.
Dr. Ram Mehta
Fourth place win in
Contest : Sweetheart of PS
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2010
Bursting from within the heart of a blizzard shock wave,
Shutters the flexing eye of this white hurricane storm,
Shattering the inner core into a blazing shards torrent,
A miracle of utter mystical enchantment occurs,
In this ancient incantations sacred spell.
It is a crystallized super nova’s raw force, exploding from
The inner guttural roar of nature giving birth, to
The snow bird of paradise.
In its translucent chamber egg of ice, resting in the
Diamond dust covered nest, lined with crystal frozen gems,
Shimmering beneath the chilling Artic sun, as the
Freezing embrace of mother earth, rocks her starling,
Kindred off spring, waiting, are anticipating its hatching.
Ever tenderly the life within stirs, as if a captured moment
Of purities grace, encapsulated in brilliance opulence,
The shells shard melts away, in a hushed display of beauties
Refinement and complete elegance.
Nature itself seems to hold its very breath, as the
Snow bird rises, for the first motions step, in a swaying
Waltz of harmony.
Behold the snow bird strides forth, fanning her plumage
Behind, a white laced peacock is exposed, unfolding its winged
Feathers delicately, one by one, until the colors
Reflect the light rays from the polar sun.
Gleaming in radiance, the fineries majestic appendages
Sparkle with razzle-dazzles adornments, yet the winds brush
At her downy softness, as if caressing the fleece of a new
Born lamb’s wool, ever so gently.
Plumages lace of snowflakes spread wide, in a splendors display
Of glitz and glamour, as the fluffy strains ripple in the night winds
Whispering, come along my beautiful creation, it is time to warm
My soil with springs everlasting promise, once more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
Outside my window I heard a chirping,
And on a tree was one little sparrow;
This bird had not a care for snow falling.
Often many perch on a branch narrow,
I find their nests in walls and in vines;
And on a tree was one little sparrow.
Even in light fixtures I find signs,
So closely entwined in my daily life;
I find their nests in walls and in vines.
These sparrows enjoy a city birdlife,
I love to watch them have a snow bath;
So closely entwined in my daily life.
They hop, hop on my icy garden path,
Sparrows will eat right out of my hand;
I love to watch them have a snow bath.
I find this little bird so delightfully grand,
Outside my window I heard a chirping;
Sparrows will eat right out of my hand.
This bird has not a care for snow falling
November 28, 2015
For the contest, Open Poetry,
Sponsor, Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell then came the ice, this went on for months.
The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.
They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves. Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday.
as they were called WEEDS ..
The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.
However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .
The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB
Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013
time for sabbath sacraments.
He steps into gusty wind,
some fat splatter sweeps of raindrops
fall across his porch roof
on down through roaring river valley,
forceful push, then ebb,
February wind storm with fat rain,
a wondrous primal pair
Neighbor birds start their liturgical dance
and ritual songs of regeneration
Already flying quick floating dives
into drama time,
singing back to Brother Wind
howling on his way.
Calling, chanting cantors, conjoin
swelling sacred anti-gravity songs
co-arise blissful sweeping sound,
karmic atmosphere swirls time-rich
sacred rites across his house-bound skin.
Sound of incense sweeps down his river,
north to south with warmer hopes and economic intentions,
remind him time for political baptism.
She incants from the bathtub
in short gusts of warm blast enculturation,
joining his internal gospel choir,
chirps her oppositional descant
challenging and prophesying and occupying
in full-voiced roar of need
and seldom bothers a please,
much less a thanks
for caring as best he can
to hear her appositional rhythms and patterns,
irritating flows of hard-blown breath
Storm and brew
birds cheer rage in her brain
shouting at co-arising gravity
to blow another way
within her exegetical universe,
the only way
she can imagine
to function in a reverse and upside down
political world of unheard powerlessness
she can only find her loud-voiced demands
to turn life around,
spin this slippery wind of Earth
to blow in her right liturgical way.
Baptism completes this wind drenched requiem
of full-life as anti-death survival
to cooperate this week's regenerate vocational intent
and ecopolitical practice.
She joins her dad
for one last look
through jaundiced eye
at drenching rain that could fly back
from whence it came
if only wiser timed to start this day.
Birds now pray their benedictions
quietly in wind-protected nests
while he listens to swollen postlude protest
against eco-agitating time,
uprooting old gnarled systems
decayed for newer holistic use
as compost fades into swaying trees
flown back to join upriver's grace of windblown time,
and forth to rejoin downstream's centerous roots
through winter purging Earth
He closes his door to time's external grace
to watch a smile warmly cross her chronic face
like a gust of refreshing wind
through a rainy karmic life.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
Afternoons the sky shuts down around the swamp's warning tapes
propped up with restoration piping and dirt leak fencing.
We’re fleeing toward the wild, seeking the names and shapes,
the same way the Cedar Waxwing flit and grip for berries tree to tree.
Canada Geese are easy, they lead off down the lane leaving residue,
Widgeons have green stripes and gold stripes, one American
the other European, and they’re all mumbling our family phew-do
they didn’t burn the kid, they can’t keep the house clean, drugs…
Blink away the cold wind tears. Forget all that, only remember
Shovelers have the long low profile and the long bill from studies
in New Zealand, like a deep breath, we set aside work, unlimber
spy the race of killdeer away from their guarding territory in gravel.
Our boss didn’t try to replace us, he ducked out to a new job
leaving the crime ringing in our ears like the police car roaring past.
Head down, we tunnel under the high way finding the dunk and bob
of mergansers and their hallowed or red heads,
remarking differences when the sudden scream of honking
mallards flee up river. Caught off guard, we wonder did we cause
all this pain? The rise and dunk flying goldfinch happily chirping
cling to the thistle, their favorite waste near the waste water
ponds where all the Black River water flows for cleaning
spilling into the nesting lower stages of the tertiary treatment.
That’s all this is, treatment for the shock wave week riding
current events on our shoulders, almost like the red-tailed hawk
that screams and skims our head, rising up to the setting sun
turning the sky purple and pink and bruised. That’s when wood
ducks skim into view, our breath captured and then steaming undone
but soon the heavens offer confirmation, blue angels
with their huge oversized wings soar in pairs down as gift.
We hold each other then, let screams silence, detail enriched.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014
Nightingale's song fades in dawn's light
Crisp Winter shadows dance with delight
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2014
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
winter has come
are woven in
have flocked to
they take rest in
shelter them from
rocks them to sleep
north wind, comes a
fall gently, on
waits for them at
are all hearts on
For the "Mussetle Train Contest:"
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
A peculiar sight at the river mouth,
A flock of birds flying to the south,
It kind of caught me way off guard,
As I headed to work in my car.
A thick white frost adorned the grass,
As my fowl friends flew on past,
I wandered if they planned to nest,
Muttering thoughts upon frosty breath.
We continued toward the ice blue sky,
'Till I noticed out of the corner of my eye,
Bulging storm clouds behind the hills,
With more toward the sea further still.
My feathered friends proved quite wise.
Settling for freezing cold but dry,
With a howling storm in their backs,
You're better off worse than being in that.
(C) 2016 PJ Bayliss
Copyright © PJ Bayliss | Year Posted 2016
Aurora And Avalanche
Heavenly blue night sky
Studded glittering bright stars
We linger for the illustrious attraction
Shimmering lights arc throughout the nighttime sky
Water mirrors its colorful, brilliant dance
We sit and admire
On our favorite rock bluff
Surrounded by seductive fluffy white snow
Sweet moments of kisses and holding hands
Between two love birds
At a distance we hear the echo
Rapid snow flows down a mountain slope
Our dark and white plumage
Shimmers of the brilliant colors
With the shimmering lights
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2015
white water lapping
'gainst a garden with deep frost
starling glimpses me.
Copyright © Julia Ward | Year Posted 2016
Falling snowflakes like delicate lace, and
Every tree is draped in pure white
Beyond my window pane . . .
Relentlessly drop these gifts from God
Utterly beautiful this time of year . . .
And the wind wails like violins, with the
Rhapsody of chirping birds
Yellow, in a snow covered tree
August 8, 2015
My birthday - February 1
For the contest, Birthday Month Acrostic
Sponsor, Charlotte Puddifoot
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
shades of gray journey
aspiration food , nesting
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2017
Deeper still the Woodland calls me
Further yet, she lures, enthralls me
Hapless I, with charms she hauls me
To her unknown hinterlands.
Up, I see the forest giants
Standing tall in self-reliance
Ancient, gnarled, in defiance
Weathering the winter's hands.
Down, I see leaves, fallen, floating
To which place, they are unknowing
In the streamlet's eddies flowing
Dancing to an ageless tune.
Further on, I gaze in wonder
As a river falls in thunder
Misting torrents cascade under
Slanting rays of afternoon.
Scattered rocks are graced with flowers
Breathing in perennial showers
On the brink of Nature's towers
Far above the bustling towns.
Never could an earthly City
Paint a picture half so pretty
Not could sing such lovely ditty
As the Woodland's captive sounds.
In my ear they whisper softly
Whistling bird and peaks so lofty
"Whither went, and for what sought ye
When ye left this tangled space?
For ye find here scenes of splendour
Vistas grande in awesome grandeur
Rugged views they be, or tender
Never could ye leave this place"
For to me she is appealing
I and she, both glances stealing
Lost in unknown depths of feeling
As I see her changing face.
Far from wild clamour ringing
I can hear the crickets singing
See the points of starlight gleaming.
Never would I leave this place.
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2016
In winter I miss the soft feel of snowflakes,
not the frosted and leaf-covered meadows;
and while green jays listen to the ravens' crow,
the angry wind whips trees with its hard blow!
I feel sympathy for the lonely woodpeckers;
in winter I miss the feel of soft snowflakes...
how frightened is the tiny shivering lizard
that tries to shield himself from the cold!
The red-tailed blackbirds aren't too happy,
they soar into a sky so empty and gloomy;
in winter I miss the soft feel of snowflakes...
more than the smell of roasted chestnuts!
I like to see snow fall, giggling under a hat;
if none falls, think how depressed I will get!
Come snow, I am ready to get my kicks!
In winter I miss the soft feel of snowflakes!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016
Lovely winter bird
Perched so high
Sing a song
For you and I
Such breathtaking music
Filling the air
How could I ignore
This song you share
Each and everyday
I come to listen
Your voice to me
Has become my addiction
Even the cold wind
Could not make me go
I wouldn't want to miss
This gift you have bestowed
Again I will come
To see you tomorrow
To hear your joyous song
That melts away my sorrows
Copyright © Jamie Rua | Year Posted 2012
there is a chirping
in the leafless frozen woods,
I hold out my hand
and cold icy feathers land-
there is both a fear and awe.
March 18, 2013
Submitted to Contest 261, Eighth Place
Submitted to Tanka #2, Andrea Dietrich, Sixth Place
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
First Day Of The Winter
The dawn is there to greet me
As I look through my window
I look up at the orange sky
Made thus by suns warm glow
Blue flowers they greet my morning eye
They touch my heart. Make me feel high
New morn is born and life is sweet
Warbling magpies it they greet
It is the purest time of day
So silent and so still
I really love these morning hours
I guess I always will
Green parrot with a crimson head
He flies down to the garden bed
As pink and greys up in a tree
Their grating cries, how they thrill me
Two butcher birds sit on a fence
Such handsome birds are they
There feathers gleam beneath the sun
They are a silver kind of grey
A kookaburra laughs out loud
He sits on lamp post looking proud
It’s the first day of our winter here
The weather it is cool and clear
Copyright © Peter Duggan | Year Posted 2016
While gathering wood one autumn day
To make a stack beside the stove,
I spied a nest along the way
Of back and forth and to and fro.
November’s wind had forced it down.
I took the time to pick it up,
This robin’s nest upon the ground,
Then held it gently with my glove.
I looked for answers up in the elm
To see from where it came dislodged.
I held the craft upon my hand,
And spun it round in wonderment.
To weave a cup from twigs so fine,
Stole bits of sage and lavender,
Small tufts of moss and battered twine,
Woolen yarn from an old sweater.
To darn a home with such keen eye
Must be a bird of graceful stock.
Her handiwork beneath the sky
Must earn her praises among the flock.
For holly berries pierced the spray
Of saw tooth grass and tangled weed.
A lofty home with leafy shade
Of downy-tucked and winding reed.
She worked o’er treetop and chimney
To gather many a splendid thing.
She sang a whimsical melody
Of peaceful groves and feathered wing.
Once bright blue eggs had filled this nest
Through starry nights, mid- summer’s storm.
All pressed beneath her scarlet breast;
She kept them safe from snare and thorn.
She raised her clutch on branches high
With fitful scorn and lessons shrill.
Then spread her wings to let them fly;
A prideful scarlet bosom swell.
Now autumn’s red has left the trees.
Cold winter’s breath is on the sill.
The rustling of a withered leaf
Holds no sweet song nor feather quill.
When spring returns on budding leaves
To grace this farm with robin’s wing
Thickets will flush with hearts afire
And geese will sift upon the mire.
The earth will thaw as days grow long.
Come May, again I’ll hear her song
And all kinds of fluttering about
While turning blossoms inside out.
The robin’s work will start again
With tufts of moss and battered twine,
For chance will find her way to me.
A nest, she’ll build amid my tree.
Copyright © tammy swank | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
"I stabbed a faggot
in the knees", he whispered.
I wanted him
To catch some
from a pile of
Growing stubble heads
and high-heeled masculinity
so I unhook them
to sea [see].
Copyright © Ammy Avocet | Year Posted 2014
A bird in winter
With blanket of its feathers
Copyright © Jyoti Sonnet | Year Posted 2008
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
Weave between branches
they're playing a game of tag
one by one, they're it.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
I was watching the chickadees outside a few days ago. This is what I had come up with.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015
Blue Jay Chill
Snow covers blue jay
Swallow winters up, ice forms
Both merge, beneath, cold
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
Winter has left, spring has arrived;
day has the same duration of night,
this astronomical event is too unique:
earth orbiting sun is utterly mystique.
a change of season is announced;
swallows engage in acrobatic flight!
Winter was only a bale of unhappy memories,
melting snow creates brooks that quickly flow;
look up, shrilling eagles and pretels fly so low...
how glad they are to return to their old nests!
Winter has left, spring has arrived; the lovebird's
happy song has been reawaken, and heard again
in the rustling trees and in the frantic, warm winds
that scatter white clouds across the brilliant Heaven!
Spring has lovely sunsets, the ones that thrill the senses;
sit down and contemplate them a while with true revere.
This vernal season has beauty and is a delight to the eyes;
watch the Equinox slowly illuminate the above Hemisphere!
Written on 3/29/2016
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016