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
do not forget among the loss of flowers
beneath your death of snow
do not forget that bird of sun
the trees gave down there bending branches
to light the grass where love made little flowers
do not forget my love
the lights most fragile gift the sky
bowed low to give a blushing praise
to the joyful dance of star and moon
do not forget the nesting hope of spring
the freed sparrow of your fingers
the silence more deep then words
remember me in the summerless field
the slender moment bereft of rain
before life and you became
Copyright © orphani ..........o | Year Posted 2009
Cottage in the Wood
Arms crossed, pacing back and forth
poking and prying in every corner
peering in closets, turning on faucets
humming softly and talking to yourself
You glanced back at me and smiled
knowing you had found our place
our place to grow old together
our cottage in the wood
I live in our cottage in the wood
I live in our cottage alone
Look at it now
Look at this place
Look what has become of it
Look what has become of me
Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013
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
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
I do not know?
Wait til winter comes
I’ll be bundled in velvet again
And softer than you’ve ever seen me
If my eyes are watering
The wind will wipe it away
And if I shiver uncontrollably
A cozy blanket of frost
Will surely wrap me in its warmth
You never held me like the wind does
You never even tried
Copyright © Ashley Daly | Year Posted 2005
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
The last decaying reniments
of summers glorious bounty
that adorned and dressed
the sprawling towering trees
fall like confetti
and are swept away
precariously biting breeze.
The winter sun peeps from behind
the ominous clouds of grey
As icicle fingers hang from moss covered
as the cursing cutting air gets colder.
Following the winding well trodden path
over bridge spanning gushing brook
I catch my own reflection
and my whole world is shook.
It took me years to travel these steps
we used to love our special place
Where the winter wind would blow your hair
and redden the cheeks upon your wonderful face.
How we would love to walk arm in arm
laughing talking and acting like a child
then suddenly both stop without signal
and I'd push you against a tree
and kiss you passionately for a while,
How we laughed tears when I mistaking
a cow for a bull
and you got your hair caught on a low branch
and it got tangled boy had we to pull.
In my mind I see you so clearly
and hear the words you used to say
and my heart is so full of pain
as I recall that terrible day
we rested you beneath the lovers oak tree
where you declared your death defying love for me
and we both carved our names for eternity.
No words can express just how much I miss you
My life a lonely desert where nothing blooms
a sea of grey
until we meet once again by the oak tree
wait for me
one glorious heavenly summers day.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. Jan.
Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2014
A glass of wine
This is ridiculous it has no name engulfed by sadness, two bottles of wine and cigarettes
and I’m drowning. Tomorrow no more, but I know when the sun falls so will I, succumbed
to a need to fly away to otherness. The pain in my chest is eating away, the emptiness of
my life feels like intolerable burden. I have created a world that is so small it chokes me.
The road to recovery, to palm trees and gentle sea is long. We used to laugh, my lover and
I, life was so funny; now all I can see is waste land with no oasis, there is nothing to lift
the spirit and the age old question asked by many before me:” what is it all for other to
bringing ones gene further into the future, I have not been able to do even that simple
task. The night is so long endlessly I flick from channel to channel to find something that
can bring the laughter back, but tiredness overwhelms me, l want another glass of wine,
the last glass that brings sleep. It doesn’t work anymore the more I drink the more sober
I get, Intolerable is the angst. Around and around I jumped on a carrousel and its engineer
has gone, whirling colours cacophony of screams, the undead will not be silent. Look into
the kaleidoscope of life and see a myriad of stars, bright and shiny but they are all a fading
illusions. But a voice whispers in my ear tomorrow you will get a new day, a sheet of blank
paper and crayon, so you can make clowns faces and laugh again.
Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2013
I stand solo, aloof in the snow, a precipitation
of words cascading from a nebulous eye
Fathoms wide, forever dripping like wax onto
a punctured paper serving a Sanskrit sky,
and spreading into sibilant sentences swiftly
sliding from syllable sorcery to soulful serenades
so silent in the shunting shout of white. Poetry
fills a churning void where novels cannot wade,
Phrases solidifying into idolisation of emotion
itself, isolation of the isometric individuality that so
Crushes my keeling cavern of thought, ever
careering from caustic career path to another new low,
Which so seems to crumble into crazy paving’s
counterpart. In this first freeze-frame we can all grasp
A fraction of the familiar, oh so fractured by the
fumbling nature of enforced form. Freed by the gasp
Of a photo-opportunity glowing phosphorescent
with firsts, I am no longer framed by the festering
Constraints of non-fiction, and folding my fond
farewells carefully, I hesitantly face a vision pestering
Me, fearing the fiend that would open maw and
gnaw beneath my feet, evoking an avalanche of the
Vernacular, but I am further past this unfed
existence now, loosened from the fickle friendship of a
Winter thaw. Focus not your gaze on the grinding
gauze of the greats, for the pressing pestilence of
Perishable poetry is elsewhere pondering its parallels
in posturing and post-modern pining for forlorn love.
Praise no other; I am poetry.
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Brainwaves, restless energy, lighting up the stadium. Munching
pistachio nuts, hedging my bets on the home team. Cold skin,
transmitting neural code back to ground zero, to be filed under
January. The smallest planet in my galaxy, cold, dark and lifeless.
The quiet circle of eyes, dried out eyes. Pushed and pulled,
a circumference of asteroids, charged by the kinetic
energy of their own protons, neutrons, electrons. Randomly
pairing off and splitting up in slow, January winter night cold motion.
The music plays again, a familiar battle hymn. Like a stoked fire,
the asteroids perk up under orders from ground zero. Dancing,
shouting into space, an aching proxy for the human race. Degrading
sound waves and a return to the numbing stasis of cold faces.
The spectacle finally grinds to an end, the stadium lights power down,
the frozen galaxy deflates in another unpaid tribute to the home team.
Copyright © James Fredholm | Year Posted 2013
Every civilization has depended on water,
our Earth without it would be another moon;
blue oceans secure this nation from invasions,
but also cause destructive storms and death.
There's no other planet like ours, its waters
invigorate plant life, seasons renew themselves;
who would live in an arid desert exposed to wind
with no precipitation, only sun? Who would survive?
Permeable roads allow water to easily flow
and not saturate the ground during storms,
watch it dripping from the rooftops and trees,
even the grass benefits from it, it stays green.
We need water in our bodies to prevent hydration,
the more we drink it, the healthier we are indeed.
Crystallization occurs in winter when snow turns
into ice; even lakes freeze, rivers stay in liquid form,
so do oceans and seas for us to watch in wonder.
Every drop of water counts, it is a requisite to sustain all life
there's a vast shortage; droughts are caused by scarce
rainfalls, thousands will perish...others are forced to abandon
their lands. Can flowers, grass and trees grow in dry soil?
A land without water offers nothing, it's another wasteland.
Some of us are very lucky to live in prosperous countries,
it's a challenge when droughts hit, have compassion and help.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016
Silent whispers on broken vows, I cling to my dream of you.
You are the forest’s end, the wolf’s grin.
Climbing to the edge of bliss and sin,
There’s noting to obscure the view.
Looking to the sky laced with clouds, my eyes pierce the haze.
You danced into my world as a child.
Untamed, beckoning me to the wild.
You unleashed my wings, bloodying my back, spirit crazed.
Little wolf, silver blade by my side.
We ran through the wood,
Constantly seeking to bloody our prey.
I am full on the carrion and broken pride.
Now you are gone, and all I have is your ghost.
A child, a maiden, a lover, a memory.
Frost grips at the beautiful ivory,
To the life I lead, to the path you craved most.
Copyright © Navah Fuchs | Year Posted 2012
I still remembered that night
the snow was heavy and unusually white.
We gathered around the fireplace,
Momma was sharing her Christmas grace.
Daddy went home and brought us presents
Momma stopped her story and away she went
out into the snowy streets
buying us winter treats.
It has passed dinner and she’s not home.
Our stomach started to ache and roam.
Daddy began to worry,
and away he went in a hurry.
Me and Anna were still inside
looking through the window with eyes opened wide.
Then Anna started to cry,
I was still wondering why
until I saw a shadow in the foggy snow.
Anna squeezed my hand and wouldn’t let go.
A squeak, a squeal -
a spinning wheel
down the hill
that’d thrill and kill.
It came clashing and crashing
through the glaciers it went bashing
through our door it was breaking,
left us all shaking and quaking.
We did not restrain
the shrieks and tears weren’t feigned.
Next morning the neighbors came
and told us that momma and daddy weren’t the same.
I followed them and what I saw
with only a glance made me drop my jaws.
There, two coffins neatly laid
“Uncertain causes” was clearly sprayed.
I laughed and thought I just got played
but grief suddenly fell when the priest prayed.
Nobody helped when I fell limp on the floor
as they carried my parent’s bodies through the shattered door.
From that day on there wasn’t winter anymore.
Snow were redder than red – the color of gore.
Their tombstones were always cold solid steel
and if you came close you’d feel:
A squeak, a squeal -
a spinning wheel
down the hill
that’d thrill and kill.
Copyright © Celine Tran | Year Posted 2011
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
Copyright © Suyash Saxena | Year Posted 2013
In this hope
Where nobody survives
In this place
Where babies wither
All I ever wanted to know
All I ever wondered
Disappeared upon your kiss
That last illusion
The Wontry Winter of
And the castle
Can't protect you
Stop the slide
The race never
A futile search for
In places that
Pass the salt
Place it inside
While your blood burns
Ask the question
Where did it go?
Ask the question
A million times
In this poem
Where thoughts melt
In this life
Where true meaning
All I ever wanted to know
All I ever wondered
Disappeared upon your kiss
That last illusion
The Wontry Winter of
Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2012
trees mourn my passing
warm caress now frigid grip
leaves shed in sorrow
Copyright © Frank Polgar | Year Posted 2012
It's love at its
Purist. It blooms intact
then love turns a numb, cold shoulder.
Copyright © Heather Lewis | Year Posted 2007
Snow falling softly
Mingles with my frozen tears
On your crypt below
Copyright © Beatrice Boyle | Year Posted 2011
so sad for the loss comfort the families L'Isle-Verte pray * * - Quebec fire bodies search temporarily suspended
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014
The coldest white had fell
Surrounding all the feet of those behind
The day turned into hours
Just in the mind
Did the gift appear in night?
Or were dreams reality?
Did it come from karma’s hands?
It drifts from sanity
The trek towards that happy place
You’ve been there many times
Something was different now
It held a horrible surprise
The box wasn’t full of life and sound
The ashes of memories made were here
Taking longer to twist the knife
Left remains of a child now in tears
Standing still you couldn’t breath
Excuses flying in your mind
Trying to figure out the scene
Hoping there’s time
You look up to see
Expectant eyes for the last time
You wish you could keep
But it’s the saddest of a smile
Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013
She seemed to be like a delicate portrait
which had fallen from its gilded frame
Abandoned, lying face down on the cold winter floor
An elegant portrait once painted
In resplendent hues of indigo blue
Her eyes told a story of bittersweet
magenta colored sorrows bathed in tears
that etched themselves throughout
The frail intricately, woven canvas of her soul
Over time thoughtless hands had subtly
Contrived to manipulate the beauty
Of her painted portrait into a resemblance
Likened to that of a cold, chiseled statue
Carelessly molded by calloused fingers
Lancinating the fragile fragments
Of her spirit leaving her heart
With etiolated worn fabric - called her life
She dreamed of Icarus soaring down
on silvery wings of steel shrouded
in cobalt and lavender clouds
with outstretched, feathery fingers
lifting her up to dance a Stravinsky ballet
As it was meant to be - not how it was
She was a beautiful, fragile butterfly
bruised by a world much too harsh
for her diminished spirit
leaving her unable to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
making it difficult for her to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
It left her struggling to stay afloat
In the springs melting snow
Life had bruised her tender skin
Gnawing away like insatiable insects
On her delicate pink frescoed soul
Leaving her feeling
Like a fabricated manikin on display
For all to pose her as they may
Muddied soil was the blood that coursed
through her veins, holding her tethered heart
in fleshy, mounds of chocolate brown earth
It held her helpless in its hold
clogged by the silt which descended down
Into spaces of her soul…
Like murky strings of yellow tattered maize
Leaving their ragged tassels tangled
Throughout her life flowing veins
Choking off the blood she needed
To nourish her hungry heart
Mighty winds toppled her willowy limber tree
Snapping the delicate boughs
Of her outstretched arms
As they pulled at the tender fleshy bark of her skin
She stood cold and alone
In the icy winter night wrapped
Only in her wounded, naked flesh
With open, bleeding wounds
Under the icy blue mist of the winter moon
Her heart and soul painfully revealed...
In shades of indigo blue
Copyright © anne p. murray | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
Mora Piya Ghar Aaya (My Beloved Has Returned Home)
the leaves fell, as you left, a bleak chill wafting across the barren space within my being,
you left, taking your smile and mine,
my smile rests with you still, leaving a void impossible to fill.
pangs of longing consumed me, my only company in the frigid nights,
my tears remain frozen, within,
unable to fall from my broken eyes, as I searched the depths of the cold, harsh skies.
birds returned home, though you did not, and I felt soothing rebirth all around,
memories of you began blazing, their embers stoked,
and at last the tears rolled, like ink on this blank notebook, my whole being pined for you, my very self in anguish silently shook.
alive I felt again, the promise of the coming cooling rain, easing the heat of desire,
yet the furnace slowly raged inside, your absence tearing into me, shattering my nights, my longing for you soaring unfettered across the skies,
dancing on clouds, blissfully free,
heaven itself opened, the deluge an unending dream,
rain falling all around, mingling with my flowing tears,
and then I saw you, you returned, and I embraced you, never wishing to let you go,
and though I may wear the mask of the clown,
if you were to leave again,
my very soul, would quietly slip away, and in the monsoon rains, I would gratefully drown.
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
Whom dwell below dark skies as seasons change
~~So bitter is the winter of goodbye
Inspired by Mr. Brian Strands American Poetry Doublet
Double Take Contest
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2008
Dawn to dawn now flying fast
Only the darkest coldest nights
Do I look to every cycle and savor to the last.
When all the ghosts of past are frozen
Friends and lovers lost and chosen
Recycled, neatly folded into downy blankets molded.
The thaws instead I dread
When cruelly cracking melt and mull of ice like spice to rains
That fades and muddles in my soul the little that remains.
Copyright © Jody Cutler | Year Posted 2016
The sun shines in like honey
across a sugarplum lane
laden with icicles dripping slow
or freezing fast suspended un-dripped
where the water flows not
or does at the whim
of the sun, wind, and clouds
these days cannot last
but indeed it seems they do
yet the cold lays out a path
in which spring will soon walk
making happy the moments
born of sweet desire to be warm
in ways that only winter's child can know
so we find in that momentary sorry
the seed of tomorrow's joy
and as our toes freeze tonight
we take pleasure in knowing
some warmer pasture will bloom
when we can appreciate our life
that is how it feels to be
in the grip of love or loss
and in that grip we know
the pendulum will swing again
and that alone gives us some cadence
to appreciate the moment for itself
full and graced in every way
if only we can look through
beyond the mirror of our constraint
and see the pretty day rising
as it always does
Copyright © Patrick Parks | Year Posted 2012
There once was a whole bunch of clouds
Clouds are not very loud
If you fly through them in a plane
They feel no pain
That’s why they’re clouds
Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013
night’s realm lays in great forests dark and deep
strong tall trees stand in brooding stolid indifference
barren twisted limbs reach deeply into clear black sky
grasping fruitlessly full moon’s piercing cold white beams
casting grey sinister shadows upon hard frozen ground
abandoned to gambol in impulsive provocative dance
incited by wickedly fierce courses of rasping winter wind
playing gloomy melodies arranged on creeper and grass
sirens of maddening woe and bleak foreboding wax ghostly
coaxing him gently toward endless abysmal melancholy
forming narrow furrows of age and grief upon his face
staring soulless brooding eyes’ in empty earthward focus
study insignificant gleaming steel grey stone monuments
chiseled upon with names of father mother sister passed
wasting his life imprisoned in unending anguish and sorrow
questions an omnipotent power’s righteous grand design
answered by luminescent cloud cloaked spokes of moonlight
waning lunar light beams dim to impenetrable gloom
beckoning harsh winter chill nearer heart and soul
callused extinct of warm compassion joy understanding
contradicted by falling swollen flakes of soft snow
piling noticeably in great white frigid heaps
ending as forgotten footprints belie an eastward trek
Copyright © Michael Santner | Year Posted 2005
I drew wings all over me
and for a brief period of time,
I felt that I could fly.
However I cannot stress the brevity of this period;
[it was only about 7 seconds],
after which I hit the ground and thought,
"How silly of me to jump,
for I am no bird!"
This is when the birds took notice
and pecked me to pieces.
It was a pretty good last day.
Copyright © Le Sony'r Ra | Year Posted 2010
Images burned into my head too unbearable to manage
and control to lead a normal life
Life maintained through pills and counseling
with guidance on this long and unkind path of my existence.
These thoughts to intrusive and invade the
mind without warning causing a battle within like the axis to the allies of
Europe’s great war.
Happiness to sad with smiles so false, the eyes,
the only passage to truth found deep within the catacombs of the soul are sought.
Memories established in these catacombs clutching my soul bearing down upon
me leaving me breathless with the will to live out of reach of embracing.
An ongoing battle, day to day, incompliant within my mind is this unseen enemy
that is the silent killer of millions.
This assassin overwhelmed and crushed the innocent victims damned to spend
eternity in their own mental nuclear winter.
My personal hell.
Copyright © daniel baker | Year Posted 2006