The Tale below was carved one night,
Upon the Stone, by candlelight
...most won’t believe, but some just might
.........most won’t believe, but some just might
Well James made Beth his lovely bride
(And angels smiled, though teary eyed)
...their bodies bound, their spirits tied
.........their bodies bound, their spirits tied
Upon her hand, a shimmer shone,
As bright as blood, a ruby Stone
...and brighter still, as love had grown
.........and brighter still, as love had grown
Soon James was sent to man a sail
So Beth removed her wedding veil
...her eyes were bright, her face was pale
.........her eyes were bright, her face was pale
“Well, I’ll be here when you return”
Said Beth to James, who kissed in turn
...a kiss that made her body burn
.........a kiss that made her body burn
. BETH’S TALE
1. The Dream
One night, within a dream deformed,
The cawing of a Crow informed
“...a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
.........a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
Midst winds and waves the thunder boomed
The Ship of Death was surely doomed
...the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
.........the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
Your James... denied by Davy Jones!
His spirit gone, his flesh and bones
...are resting now amongst the Stones
.........are resting now amongst the Stones”
2. The Quest
Awoken by the ebon Wight
And beckoned by the baneful bight
...I left before the morning light
.........I left before the morning light
Throughout the realm I rode a roan
Until, in time, I reached the Stone
...where shades and dreams in darkness groan
.........where shades and dreams in darkness groan
While skipping up and down the sky
A missing moonbeam mocked my eye
...enough to make a Swallow cry
.........enough to make a Swallow cry
For someone stole a star or two
And something else that fate withdrew –
...my jewel of joy, my James Bijou
.........my jewel of joy, my James Bijou
The shadows of the evening swelled
Where demons of the dusk had dwelled
...and in the far, a vesper knelled
.........and in the far, a vesper knelled
The Stone, beneath the sky, stood cold –
Between the runes, a vapour strolled
...a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
.........a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
A Raven on a branch, enthroned,
Her wings waved once, a wail intoned
...beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
.........beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
I lay beside the Stone, his bride
I lay beside the Stone and cried
...but were it I, instead, that died
.........but were it I, instead, that died
The rainbow of the moon fell dim
A midnight Swan soon ceased to swim
...as if to hide all hint of him
.........as if to hide all hint of him
Between the willows in the swale
There sang a Bird, a Nightingale
...which left me faint and feeling frail
.........which left me faint and feeling frail
I felt him breathe within a breeze
Responding to my anguished pleas
...and leaves blew by abandoned trees
.........and leaves blew by abandoned trees
“I miss you too, my darling Beth”
Re-echoed from the Ship of Death
...the future buried in a breath
.........the future buried in a breath
The Stone lit up a ruby sheen
And clouds were kindled crystalline
...with consequences, unforeseen
.........with consequences, unforeseen
Above, the wretched Raven soared
To where the Ship of Death lay moored
...beneath, the icy ocean roared
.........beneath, the icy ocean roared
I’m joined with James beneath the Stone,
Though to the Ship my spirit’s flown,
...for nevermore to be alone
.........for nevermore to be alone
That night the wayward winds were weird
The Ship of Death had disappeared
...coyotes called and mortals feared
.........coyotes called and mortals feared
At dusk, the craven shadows crawled
At dawn, the winds of mourning called
...upon the Stone two names were scrawled
.........upon the Stone two names were scrawled
The Raven sits, with wings outspread,
Atop the Stone which shades the dead
...it sometimes shimmers ruby red
.........it sometimes shimmers ruby red
Between the sounds, where silence seeps,
Their love lives on and never sleeps
...and yet, the weeping willow weeps
.........and yet, the weeping willow weeps
inspired by ~fc~
Wight (obsolete): a supernatural being, creature
Bight: a bay or gulf
Swale: a moist depression in a tract of land
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2013
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..)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
The old screen door still welcomes me
as if recalling days before...
But after this...who'll pass this way?….
Will they use the rug and wipe their feet?
Erase away the grime and sleet?
.....Or will they even care?
I feel my pulse and lungs collide
then, take a breath...and step inside
She had lived alone, the last to go
one somber dawn, in the old brownstone
No other sign her time was near
Then silently, without fanfare....
death tiptoed in on hard wood floors
and took more than a glimpse of her
I've been asked to come, to clear the house
to organize, and set it right…
This all seems wrong….
to trespass on the throne of life
that was softly lived, behind the gate
where thirsty roses bloom, and wait…
to disturb the lace on drop leaf tables…
Disgrace the quiet of the gloom
open drawers, snoop and sort, ….a pruning,
of the good, the used, from worn and torn
My hands are able, but my heart declines..
what isn’t mine, to toss, to find, to mark, and label…
Echoes of her old straw broom
still follow me through every room,
While dust motes in the window light
are like glitter in the afternoon…
Where is the charm that used to be
where cozy logs had offered light
keeping the long nights warm?
Whirling sounds are in the air
like whispered breaths of weaving looms
Treadled sounds from sewing hems.
are mimicked by the whistling wind
that rattle windows, shaking blooms
on this somber winter afternoon
There are questions I want to ask
tho’ I can’t recall just what they were
No matter now….with no one here
I must be focused….on my task…
I must keep sorting until I'm done…
And now, …as doors of dark close in
I see, somehow, that fate has planned….
I am glad that I, with my two hands…
have witnessed with a smile within,
this cherished life, until the end
Within four walls, I hold it all
and now I know, what mattered most
Her life is held in loving hands
I stand here in the halls of night
content, I'll leave without regret
companioned by a day well spent…
I've been within …her company
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011
I’m hanging on to the skeletal branch with all my might
Westerly winds blow but I won’t give in without a fight
My skin once soft and smooth is now wizened and wrinkly
Dark veins are so visible now, I’m all brown and crinkly
Suddenly a huge gust of wind releases me
Silently I drift down to the ground,
Now I am lying on my winter bed where I will curl up and die
No longer the last lonely leaf on earth …
For now I’m surrounded by my friends and family …
Inspired by the lonely leaf poem by Sophiya Kamil
28th November 2015
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
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.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013
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.
Copyright © Gerard Keogh | Year Posted 2006
Of beauty untold
The glacial summer.
By painful slumber.
Eyes of silence,
Cold lips of fury.
Auspice of death
The twisted tongue
The vile plunging
Of raging sleep
Of sweet revenge.
The immortal with life
As it closed its eyes
Copyright © Varise Duxbury | Year Posted 2005
She is shadowed by fuzzy cobwebs of a morning without coffee,
while dust motes mingle with the mold of time.
Gazing out to the yard, through dingy glass, and fog,
into a dismal January, she hopes to catch a glimpse of the paper boy.
He travels through rain, sleet or snow, how could he understand,
(this teen-aged Paul Revere), that in this decrepit old house,
she is longing for a sign of youth? It has been a weary night, watching an old woman hang on by threads of life, that had worn thin years ago.
Watching and waiting, while cold winds blew and snow was falling,
and death was hoping to make a house call.
Any diversion, life being lived,... one brief eclipse of life in motion would be a relief.
To observe him toss the news into the sky like a Frisbee... not a care in the world
How would that feel...has she ever known? Has anyone ever been so young?
She thinks she may go mad with death and dying, with weariness, with waiting.
She suddenly shivers from a dreaded draft of frigid air, slithering in,
like a sneaky, uninvited ghost, slinking in around the rim.
nor'easter winds roll top shoe box...
splinter the silence.. -- debutante' caught in amber
a cataract view frozen sepia
Grabbing a handful of a thread-bare doily, she polishes the cold glass,
rubbing vigorously in circles against the grime,
making figure eights, in spite of frozen, stiff, fingers.
Satisfied, that she has a decent view of the blanketed yard,
and can see clearly where the muddy, gravel driveway,
bends gradually, curving to mate with the snow banked road,
at last, she spies the old Jeep coming, and watches with automated eyes,
yet, with some expectation, and strange excitement.
Then, as she might have guessed,
the teenager drives hurriedly by, barely slowing down, tossing the news,
and leaving her gaze and her thoughts, splattered by dark murky water,
while the slinging gravel that has been pitched into the sky, by his screeching tires,
falls like the pieces of the old woman's lonely life upon the pristine snow.
For Deb's Contest: "Mix It Up"
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
The long Winter night is indeed long
For the raven in swift motion
For now has gone
As moonlit fields lie in bitter freeze
The Long Night Moon of shadowed intent
Climbs between the frigid trees
For the raging winds of memories lost
Pushing snow drifts from mountain tops
Lies upon our souls a bitter frost
And death now our only thought
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2016
My heart is the same full of love
My house that shelters it full of pain
But it's autumn in my life, Dove
The hair of gray and wrinkles reign
I set the table full of food
For the family to dine fun times
But it is autumn in my life
When changes prepare for winter
I'm not sure I'll know winter now
For I have not experienced it
But it's autumn in my life somehow
Where beauty glows bright from the depths
Producing leaves of many hues
Love the autumn of my life, Dove
Now all that's left winter's white snow
I think that when winter comes cold
Plants freeze if left out in weather
They will need a warmer place inside
But since it is just autumn now
There's time to prepare room somehow
I still watch the birds from window
They have not all gone away love
But it's autumn in my life now
Soon most will be gone for winter
Winter soon will approach with cold
Seemingly death of the roses
But it's autumn in my life my bold
There are few thoughts of approaching winter
But when winter comes my way
The body rest to rise another spring
Now it's autumn in my life this day
On another day I'll be called by trumpet away
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
As Twilight's Calm Calls The Night
A Simple Song Resonates
In The Corners Of My Mind
And In A Moment
From The Frozen Silence
In Crystal Mirrors Of Infinite Grace
Elated In Moonlight
A Prayer For You
12 Of My Poem Titles
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2017
through lacy curtains
that night has sewn
upon my window
that lead to you
the stars weave themselves
between the clouds
of winter's loom
a cold wind howls
beneath the unseen moon
a mother's lullaby
i feel the hands of time
from the edge of night
i sit alone
beneath the shadows
as my footsteps
fade to white
Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2012
Oh gone is the fall, in its wake comes the sorrow,
the gray icy sting of dark winter to follow.
Oh gone is the fall, no more time left to borrow,
as winter portends the sad end to tomorrow.
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: Four Lines ~ Deep and Dark Poetry
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
Hans and Liam caught in the depths of winter Hans is succumbing cold to the center He is sharpening his death spades Do you see the frost giant slowly coming for me He will cut me asunder with his blades They're snow drifts a grove with icicles in the trees I see an army of icy dwarfs all sparkling eyed Silver blue and fire they breathe I must disrobe before I burn inside It is the moonlit snow a cold fog beneath The snow queen has sent her stinging bees Her wintery eyes are set on me they do glow gold There is hope brother there is fire beyond the freeze and it is only flakes in the wind and not death’s cold
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2016
God Knows Where I Am
A Tribute To Linda Bishop
Within the inevitable passing of time
The seasons fled like a distant dream
With the coming of spring
The apple blossom's rose of beauty
And softly along the winding stream
A sad song played a tribute to thee
For now she had gone, gone alone
Through autumn's endless rain
And Winters relentless snow
Her life but now a story
Through words etched in time
In moments that had vanished
With pencil, held in time.....
She scratched her insane memoir
Little notes within her head
Bleeding upon the torn remnants
Of hope her only pledge
And now in sacred silence
The ones who came to see
To ponder of a broken life
To live a dying dream
At last freedom reigns
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2017
To see her blog, adorned with pastel tones
Widens the gap that pervades my bones
For now we eat her passing meal of plain white rice
Leaving us all alone, without much needed fashion advice
The red light district has lost an inductee
For I would have love to be involved in her naked party
Yet for now we must all be content
With the debauched path she hath went.
Sadness invades a binary world
Where tweeters and bloggers hearts have curled
Bringing back memories of Madonna’s ‘Like A Virgin’
Her fashion advice precise like a mastoplexic surgeon
I remember the fervour when you were followed by Kath Kidston
A similar experience when I had my first Jar of Branston
Yet when you found out the intensity with which I was following you
You wanted to change species and become a Gnu
You learnt to accept my frequent outpourings of love
When you finally spoke to me, I felt as free as a pure white dove
But upon your departure I feel pathetic and hollowed
The best I can hope for is the number of one of the hot bloggers you followed
She was always my muse, my intimate inspiration
No-one can cause such an outpouring of personal perspiration
My heart now yearns to see her type a special tweet
One that would make Mr Sexton act like a dog on heat
Now the world mourns the passing of Lily Fulvio-Mason
I can still see her face reflected in my wash basin
With every heart beat, every full blooded pulse
My sadness streaked blood makes my body convulse
But now it’s time to go, my heart says goodbye
The pain eats my nipples like the Syrphid Fly
I can finally see your body laid in an eternal rest
And now I can now finally uncover your breast.
Copyright © Tom Hyam | Year Posted 2013
make no mistake
snow flakes are not angel
or the tapestry of miracles
drifting to earth..
set the metal in the mind
turn life into
a pair of pit viper eyes
slide you into the grave
before you've made peace
with your maker?
snow flakes are white leeches
bloody lips anchored to shovel and spade-
twisting ancient backs
rip the heart from its throbbing
daggers of misery
hanging like devil snot
from christmas trees
freezing little fingertips
churning eyes to charcoal
turning ponds to blue ice crypts
at night when all is asleep
they dance-chant in a swirl
hiding their black ice sins
knitting snow white caps
to warm your tombstone...
snow flakes - the devils cocaine.
Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2012
I bares my bosom to
the open wind.
caressing and kissing
enternal peace to
what only heart can
I have stayed too
on this night of dead
Muttered lips gives
birth to words from
frozen and senile
as my heart sleeps
with the ice and
what is left of me?
The silver tears of
And the wail of
With my fore i now lie.
Copyright © Edoja Faith | Year Posted 2014
of silent death
where Summer tree's
sway no more
we search each cloud
a dream shall climb above
where silent hearts
as blue as death
a vale no more
I scream of Summer
a hymn of love
And run beyond the wind
before the chill
within the womb
of silent death
where Summer tree's
sing no more
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2013
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.
Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.
Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.
Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.
What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.
My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.
Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
Instance of combustion
Light, Heat, Flame
A burning mass
As on a hearth
21 February 2013
Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013
Winter Season of Life
The brevity of the night aches
My pain is cold and empty
Long are the nights alone with suffering
Before me is a path only I can travel
I lift my arms to you oh God in praise
As a small child you have always carried me
Through fires engulfed in your powerful love
As a visible extension of my Fathers grace
Death is a destiny that no one likes to speak of
Pain has a way of forcing a spirit down to its lowest ebb
It garbles the mind torturing the soul of the one who bears it
There is pain in life as well as joy, love and happiness
Death renders sorrow of loss; during the winter of life
Birth is your spring youth becomes your summer
Autumn is your adulthood into the cycles of life
These seasons keep the earth majestically growing
Make every season devoted to helping others grow
In the perpetual legacy of heritage we leave behind
A map of do’s and don’ts to bring success to our heirs
That will carry on long after we are gone
The sting of death resides with the survivors left behind
Grieving is part of life’s heartbeat, although it is bitter
The appointment is unavoidable and a necessary event
For the rebirth of all things to come
Loved ones live on through
Carole Cookie Arnold
Copyright © Carole Cookie Arnold | Year Posted 2011
Fresh snowfall on my porch
A story of not so long ago.
7 inches above my ankles
The neighbor's chimney smokes like a cigarette.
The doorbell rings, I shudder and tremble
I breathe in the moment before I twist the knob
He was there alone.
A man with eyes, likes the moon
A hunter in a black coat
He storms in, shoving me out of his way
He twists around and reveals his name
His name bleeds through my soul
My mind begins to white-out every memory
I firmly get a grasp on reality
A wanted man
Carrying myself up against the bookshelf.
My eyes start to shed a course of rain
His eyes are bright green with golden specks,
pierce in the logical way of the hawk
I cradle on the sofa, like a child
This stranger who stood before me
Wants more than the warmth of my home
It's snowing deep down my flower bed.
It's too cold outside.
The fireplace can act no more
It's too cold inside!
He proceeds slowly, towards the kitchen door
I see him reaching for the stainless steel
Soon the beat will end,
I inhale his eyes that are the size of the moon
This visitor, at my door,
He whispers into my ear.
"I'm preparing the ways of good and evil.
Now go, be free into the promise land."
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011
She was beautiful, unlike any other
She stood high above the ground shining with bright colours…
Had she grown somewhere else
People would line up, only to take in her scent…
But she was lonely…
The only rose to rise where the dead lie
So nobody ever came to keep her alive…
And she still grows…
In a field of snow, a picture so cold
There…the red beauty stands strong
As if her roots had grabbed the centre of the Earth below
In a loving embrace, never willing to let it go…
There she stood…
A soul so misunderstood…
The graveyard rose…
Copyright © Zeki Majed | 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
My thoughts let go of a thousand memories,
Like faces, dates, times and places;
Yet, I can recall each and every detail,
On the day of your funeral.
(. . .and my mind takes me back through the tattered pages of my life
to a place of warmth, security and love . . . . .)
O the grieving . . .
In the middle of a snow storm I followed,
And the wind blew back my long hair;
As we meandered down a winding cold path,
The wild wind paused in the trees.
( . . O, my mother's kitchen with it's big cupboards and old stove
and a blue teapot on the kitchen table and grandma telling me of life,
of people in the family long dead . . . )
O the weeping. . .
Snowflakes fell on me from the tangled branches,
Falling like crying tears cascading down;
I am lost and moaning in this forever, ever memory,
And now the snow drifts in the cemetery.
(. . . and it was at that same table that I read my first poems
while sipping tea and father coming in from shovelling snow
in winter all bundled up . . . )
O the sadness . . .
A headstone is buried deep in the pure white,
And but one engraved word is revealed;
In this pristine cold, dead winter wonderland,
Only one word can be seen, MOTHER,
Hidden beneath the snow.
(. . . a warm fireplace waiting within
then at night in an attic room this little girl was tucked in
with forever loving hands, hugs and kisses . . .)
O the lamenting . . .
I will treasure your arms last embrace, mother,
till this heart stops beating . . .
February 19, 2015
Submitted to the contest, Memories
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
youth`s luminous graffiti,
drawn on winter`s wall.
Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2013
Winter is Coming, of course this is known.
Dark skies draw near and the birds have flown.
The nights grow shiverous, dark, and wet
While Sol (Saw-L) nestles in Horizon’s net.
Baratheon suffers the pass of a King
but perhaps his fall was less than a sting
and a new ruler takes place, whom you wish not rein.
Lannisters do not fret from most threats
They know Winter is Coming .
High and Honor is the Falcon’s Wing.
Forces of Vale to defend Robin.
Mysterious sights appear upset.
White walkers return, not many have met.
Bloody Snow soon soils the spring.
Winter is coming death it will ring.
Copyright © Kyle Casker | Year Posted 2014
by her burnt matches on a snowy nook
face aglow on New Year morn
lies the frozen blessed child
*Inspired from the touching story of "The Little Match Girl"
Copyright © Yesha Shah | Year Posted 2013
When the wicked winter comes
seeping past the wards she keeps,
she looks on as he succumbs,
thanking God it's while he sleeps.
She finds she is ill prepared
when the wicked winter comes,
to let go the life they shared.
Anguish swings its pendulums.
Heartbreak's endless requiems,
rites for which she dearly pays,
when the wicked winter comes,
blight her solitary days.
Tears remain behind her eyes,
years maintain the interums,
yet she still finds pain's surprise,
when the wicked winter comes.
Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015