Poetry Winter Poems

These Poetry Winter poems are examples of Poetry poems about Winter. These are the best examples of Poetry Winter poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Light Poetry |
'O dreamy night 
  with wandering eyes
  you could not lie to me;
  deceive the drifts of snow
  with crystal glitter...

Like tender downs in a midnite hour
Not a stirring soul but I in thy amphitheatre
  this white night
  where backyard chairs nestle snow-cakes
  and the maple arbors
  soft with wind shadows...
  make my eyes wide with sleep

The sheep are calling in the stardust...
  and from moonbeams
  this muse must fade...

***I wrote this poem a few winters ago, but
I find it soothing to post this hot summer***

Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |

    Soft and sensitive they fall

    Is it beautiful white swans

    with fluffy white feathers light

    Tickles on the nose

    A moment poignant and beautiful

    that it is impossible to remain unmoved

    The whole sky full

    Millions of snowflakes

    they fall softly no sound

    Silence ... hold your breath

    They melt in my hands

    So similar, but so different

    It falls millions of snowflakes

    and the earth is colored white

    A-L Andresen :)
    Copyright © All Rights Reserved 

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |

As the winter of our lives vicariously arrives,
We think of the reasons why what we are survives;
We contemplate on things that happened long ago,
And I remember exactly all that I know.

It's what happened yesterday or five minutes before,
That deplete my memory and that's hard to ignore;
For people look at me with a questioning look,
When I ask where it was I last placed that book. 

I'm loaded with groceries when I leave the store,
But my purse is back there behind the door;
And when I get to the car my keys can't be found,
So I bite my lip and don't make a sound.

I write notes that tell me what I have to do,
And end up putting my right foot in the left shoe;
I'm afraid to turn and look in the mirror,
For what I see shakes me with shock and fear.

I'm older but wiser than I used to be,
Which may be consolation if this has to be me;
But in spite of grey hair there's a twinkle in my eyes, 
I'm still a young person; it’s just me in disguise.

Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |
A solo pilot, lost in snow,
in a jagged mountain pass.
His eyes are trained upon each tree,
and the shape of each crevasse…
In an open-cockpit time machine,
the winter wind does howl,
but a mighty fire’s burning bright,
inside the engine cowl.
The fog and flurry blinding him,
he searches for a trail,
running late, and miles behind,
he’s employed to fly the mail.
He looks for clues to lead him back,
like ancient, sunken wagon tracks.
A mumbled cuss, then shouts out loud,
he’s heard that mountains hide in clouds…   
Now’s the time to pay the toll,
for conversations with his soul.
One way in, and one way out,
it’s true that mountains hide in clouds.
Copyright © 2013

Copyright © Cole Banner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Tanka |
Catapulting ice falling from my roofs gutters dangerous to all. Don’t walk or stand beneath it; or you may end up impaled!

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ninette |
Cold winds blow, fall ends and winter begins. Hibernating bulbs will softly sleep until the next spring thaw.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |

              Scrumptious sight of prairies and grass
       Ardent beaming of flower buds and buzzing bees
         Leafless coils, branches of trees become alive
          Hastening! Arousing everyone's joy and vive
             Everyone happy on cheerful springtime!

             A cotillion trips and chirps of jolly birds
         From some distance, I have started to heard
         Fantastic shun and kisses of pretty butterflies
       Tempting all species of flora and fauna to thrive
        Welcoming, beckoning the heat of summertime!

         First crisp of breeze, creating dew in morning
Canopy of red and orange leaves from branches, enchanting!
      Turning the world into a canvass of nature's brush
  Unnoticeable, such romantic dash making anyone blush
  Revel, embrace the sweet amorous season of autumn!

                 Solid chilling raindrops of snowflakes
                Giving warning: careful during breaks
            Covering branches, bringing icy cold aches
                Yet, skiing an exhilarating cool escape
             Delight in the coolness ambiance of winter!

                                     2:22 pm


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |

While I gaze at nightfall through chilled droplets my musings try to redesign past reveries: oh those exotic, summer escapades now buried in gravestones of ice- powdered vapor… and now the blistering winds return when a frigid son of Poseidon veils eve's tableau with ghastly pines like numb statues macabre and furrowed, hiding the radiance of moonlight. Looks drab, not interesting, yet come early morn, the sprigs beckon a tune elegantly droning on lucent flakes to nibble the skyline red… a mirror of stars circling in a gentle, gentle prance, this, only in the magic of a white winter spell. 9/24/2016 Interesting Contest for john lawless

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
The eddy pulls hard against my torso
panic rises and surfaces, my vsion starts to zigzag
I swim harder in the strong currents of confusion

How did my life become a battle
My father once seemed to love all his children
Now where is the love?
We have to be the dictator to prevent suicide/murder
Begrudgingly he submits to the will of the family
Unforgiving, ungrateful, rebellious
time has the last laugh, my son shouts
I hate you, I never loved you, you are so mean!!
My father shouts, you don't love me, you just want my stuff
You are so selfish!
Tears fall....A heart breaks!

Will this trial end?

Mother says, my daughter has not been to see me in so long, I want to see my baby.
Mom I am here, I was here yesterday! I brought you food! don't you remember?

Life cycles around the eddy, swirls and swirls with no end...

Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2010

Details | Diamante |

                                           Dark, cold
                                  Snowy, whirling, shining
                        * Frozen, snowflakes, snowman,melts *
                                    Birth, buds, beautiful
                                           Music, lyrics

Sponsor: Regina Riddle
Contest Name Diamante Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved 

- Thank you for my 2nd place :) 

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Winter ends,
Enter events!

Copyright © Muhammad Safa Thajudeen | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
What would it be like if I were a tree
Just how different my life would be
Standing still for years on end
Perhaps it would drive me round the bend
Back and forth I’d sway in the breeze
Then in the winter my branches would freeze
In the autumn I would be naked and bare
But I’m just a tree so who’s going to care
I’ll attract all the birds when it turns to spring
They will sit on my branches and then start to sing
Building their houses they fly too and fro
Too bring up their young I watch how they grow
When it gets cold they’ll all fly away
The sign that its winter with a sky that is grey
Alone again not one single bird
The sound of the singing not to be heard
All the little animals have all hidden away
I’m stuck in the ground that’s where I will stay
I see the odd person who’s out for a jog
Then there are others out walking their dog
Then they will stop to let the dog pee
But why do they have to do it on me
Kids swing from my branches till they fall apart
If only they realised I do have a heart
Then there are others who give us the chop
Just to make furniture to sell in their shop
I wish I could talk then I could explain
That I do have feelings and I do feel the pain
So next time your out you’re bound to see me
Maybe you’ll realise I’m not just a tree

Copyright © TANYA CANNING | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
I'm 51 today.
51 tomorrow, yay
Was 51 yesterday.
52 is months away,
And yes I'm thankful.
Although it's not my real birthday,
It kinda is in a certain way.
I'm still alive another day.
I had the notion to celebrate.
And be thankful.
Though it's not a holiday. 
Thanksgiving has come and gone away,
I'm just alive today.
For that I'm thankful.
Honestly, I am not just trying to make these lines rhyme,
Or reflect upon the deep sublime.
I'm just grateful today to be alive.
I mean really thankful.
I'm not trying to wow you with philosophy,
Or impress you with theology.
It matters not at all to me.
I just feel thankful.
So tonight I take a walk outside,
I look up into the endless sky and then I breathe.
I breathe in deep,
And I say thank you.
And maybe not just to Who you think, 
Man let's throw in the kitchen sink,
And include all who've touched my life, to whom I'm thankful.
Some of you I'm glad you're gone,
Even tho you still live on
Frankly you stayed a bit too long
But some you the grave stole far too soon,
And yet I'm still thankful.
Today the living and the dead
You've both been right up inside my head, 
And synergized this verbal thread.
For that I'm thankful.
I close my eyes and think of Tim, named David right there toward the end. 
I always smile when I think of him,
And now I listen
I heard a siren going by,
I wonder who and wonder why,
Was it a wreck, did someone die?
Yet still I listen.
Neighbors dogs are going wild.
Was that the laughter of a child.
Seems like I can hear for miles.
Still I listen.
I hear the hi-way roar of cars.
Tho I have never heard the stars
Is there really life on Mars?
Shhh brain please shut up and listen!
The soft night whispers in my ears.
Pressing through my random fears,
I stand amazed at what I hear.
And now I wonder.
I open up my eyes and see as I feel this winter breeze
The silhouette of leafless trees.
I stand in wonder
Then I wonder about the first man to ever be,
Or the first time he looked up to see
The Milky Way the galaxies.
Did he wonder?
I wonder what he did
How he loved how he lived.
If he ever lost a friend?
Man oh man I wonder.
Was he the first to dig a grave?
How it sounded if he prayed?
How he fought?
How he played?
If that man could see us all today,
What would he say I wonder?
In ways was he a lot like me?
Did he sometimes fear what he could not see?
Did he create unseen walls 
Of unbelief?
I stand and wonder.
Did he ever hurt the ones he loved?
Did life convince him not to trust?
I wonder.
My great grandfather lived
My DNA is shared with him.
I wonder how we are the same,
And I don't even know his name.
Still I wonder.
Will my great grand kids know my name?
Will it even matter who's to say?
Will they look up in wonder?
Will they listen?
Will they be thankful?
Not much I can leave to them
That would matter too much in the end.
I suppose the primal hope in man
Is the hope I hope lives on in them
I hope they wonder. About the universe.
I hope they listen. To life's unspoken verse.
I hope they're thankful. Even in midst of deepest hurts. 
I hope they're thankful.
I hope they listen.
I hope they wonder.
And no matter what life hands them,
I hope they hope.

Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

REFRAINS OF WINTER SONATA When fallen brown leaves brush a sepia picturesque and the bubbly breeze blows a heated winter sonata, the giant roses of clouds are teased, they shed icy petals tumbling, drifting like little ballerinas dropping to rest on branches of trees, grasses, houses and down to window ledges clustering in lily-white hues. Frosty mornings and nights lure the need for warmth from brewed coffee, a kiss or just a minute of touch... Absorbing the air, alone, I wander to the cover-walks, I see children tramping and playing on hills of frost, some couples carelessly sliding, they laugh out loud, yet afar, some robins, deer and beggars frown in despair as they are homeless. No fire nor a person to cuddle with. No adequate food to eat nor a flowing water to drink too... Cold. Wet. All white, frozen snow-tears are in their eyes and so I am one afternoon, a year and six months ago. The winter atmosphere can stir love passions within but how can it all be when the only woman, I love. I wanted to marry and ready to give my all: refused me? She, slowly walking away, leaving me crying-- a snow. ________________________________________________________ ~~SPONSOR: Broken Wings CONTEST: Write ME A Winter Poem~~ __Olive Eloisa Guillermo__ 8:16 pm, November 14, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |
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

Details | Light Poetry |
The Ice Fairy Princess came roaring in from the Polar North.
She rode a fierce some Vortex, the likes would freeze a stalwart heart. 
The penguins wanted out to play, but we had to bring them right back in.
We couldn’t find them in the snow, so deep, cold, and wild, was its spin.

Dragon found them with his fire, which quickly turned into puffs of snow.
Hamster flakes swirled all around, so a rope we used to bring him in, just so.
The temperatures fell, oh so cold, that they set, mighty records everywhere.
How do the Eskimos do it, or those brave souls called Canadians, up there?

How do they gaze upon the Ice Fairy Princess, and, still live to tell the tale?
Even Santa Jack, at the North Pole burrowed in, oh, so very deeply, they do tell. 
If only she would borrow and ride his sleigh, next time, her visit might be nice.
As it is, it’ll take a month of digging to find our own front door, amongst the ice.

It’s so cold, that even Dragon can’t help, until his fire, stops coming out snow. 
Birds that never migrate, flew South before this blistering storm… they did go.
I have lots of time, to get to know my family again, as they fuss about the snow.
As the roof makes creaky noises, so Trolls are shoveling up there, fast, not slow.

I hate to be unfriendly, but as guests do go, I wish she would stop, all this woe.
No one wants a guest, whose home warming gift, can lay you, this, so very low.
We’ve decided to hide deep within our houses, until her visit is finally done…
At least until the Ice Fairy Princess, has found her way back, where she belongs.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |
Pelting glass, coming down; how it thickens, on the ground. On the window pane; tap…tap; larger ice, now, it will rap. The misery of a sleeting storm; brings misery and forlorn. Two inches of ice, is not so nice; I dread what we will get tonight. On top of that, there’ll be more snow, I dread to go out there and blow. The snow piles high, upon the ice; one snow blower will not suffice. But, I’ll make do; with one machine; Still, there’ll be that icy sheen!

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Haiku |
	Haiku 107
	reading poetry...
	The Wasteland     Incarnadine
	winter afternoon
	Incarnadine, by Mary Szybist, is the 2013 National Book Award Winner 
        for Poetry.

Copyright © Jack Jordan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
Fall, she dresses down, while winter prepares for its rest. Summer wears her greenest gown, but never, ever wears a frown. Winter can get grumpy; if awakened, he’ll spit ice; for he is a tantrum thrower, of quite the ugliest kind. Fall, she is an artist; her palette’s full of reds, browns and golden pigments; her work’s outdone only by springs color wheel, so fast. Fall is rarely grumpy and spring so rarely frumpy. Winter plays unfairly; imprisons spring within its alley. When spring escapes, she celebrates, with colors mighty bold; her time is up when summer, comes in from the biting cold. The seasons live such finite lives; they take their piece of life’s sweet pie. When they’re done with all their fun, they make way, for the next one.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Bare branches clicking together Winter snapping it’s fingers To a song composed by Nature Sung by winds garbed in White robes of snow Choral composition Season of transition Music swirls all about us Yet…given not To Man to know A song unheard… Except by Angels To mere mortals E’er unknown Of Winter days that in most marvelous ways Makes one want to …write a poem…

Copyright © David Whalen O Haolin in ancient Celtic | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Touching  any metal un-gloved,
Turns skin to tin, fingers on fire,
Breathing inside what’s above,
Kindles lungs to a stinging pyre.
Exhaled steam is white as a dove.
Some find refuge wearing eider attire,
But hours exposure ends the tropical cove.
After a while the icy novelty tires,
As keeping calm means the need to move.
Snowmen dread mercury higher,
For melting’s their fateful groove.
Winter’s funeral march has its criers,
But in shivering’s end there is no lost love.

Copyright © Chaim Wilson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Romanticism |
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.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
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

Details | Prose |
It’s a Vivaldi winter...snow as far as the eye can see, 
blankets the hardened from sub-zero and sleet.
I hear the violins and cello’s, groaning out forlorn winter notes.

Robins on a white roof are poufy with feathers thick; 
bellies swollen in gratitude for my suet cakes.  
Like many, I cannot leave them cold and hungry.  
Were it so, that I could invite them in for a 
hot chocolate and cornbread, I wouldn’t hesitate.

Sleet-covered, tree-sticks, lend a suggestion of fairyland; 
naked trees, frozen in time; a Vivaldi winter scene to trump, “Currier and Ives”.

My eyes trace the rabbit tracks, from icy, 
snow-laden shrubs to my naked fruit trees;  
rabbit finds no dinner there; 
perhaps a squirrel left an acorn or apple, buried nearby…
Mr. Rabbit will stake his claim.
I wish him luck; I know he has little ones beneath my garden shed floor.

Lethal ice cycles, grow from my gutters as Vivaldi winter notes, drone on; 
I sip cinnamon spice tea and whisper a prayer, for God’s other children.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Acrostic |
Spring Summer Autumn Winter              Acrostic Poetry.

Seeking political office is getting hard,
Party politics needs more vigor in this regard:
Republicans must try more to deliver their views
In order to organize the people, without any excuse;
Nowadays, Democrats are getting stronger, after
Gaining control of the White House and the Senate altogether.

Some people think, and it's a true fact, that
Unless Republicans try to review their policy tact,
Many of their seats will be lost in congress,
Mainly some seats in the Senate, also some of the seats they control
Especially in the House: they will have to review and
Revise their conservative norms, regarding Immigration Reforms.

America needs a strong leader
Under the present day economic conditions
To lower the country's debt of over 14 trillions dollars:
Until and unless we try to cut down spending and
Most of us try to reduce excessive wastes,
No amount of effort will save the country from disaster.

We the people think that
In this country it was
Never the right thing,
To increase excessive spending,
Even if we could afford to spend it.
Responsibility lies in all of us to reduce the nation's debt. 

Copyright © Mya Thein | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
                     There were seven Indian Government schools.  All built alike.  The 
one I'm writing about is Spring Creek.  He Dog, Soldier Creek and White River, 
Grass Mountain, Two Kettle, and Black Pipe were the other schools.  The 
Headquarters for these schools was at Rosebud, South Dakota. 
	On some summer evenings we were able to talk our mothers into 
hiking to the lookout tower.  We followed the ankle deep sandy trail road to the 
cliff north of the school.,  A canyon lay at the foot of the tower but we climbed the 
bluff.  I don't know why we didn't explore the canyon unless it seemed dark and 
sinister.  The footing was better once we reached the summit.  The closer we got 
to the tower the taller it grew and standing at the foot of the steps looking up was 
easier than getting to the top and looking down.  My mother didn't usually make it 
to the top because she didn't like heights.  But she didn't mind being left behind 
this time.  We never could get into the building at the top because it was locked, 
but we could climb the steps to the very last one.  Even my little sister managed 
to elude mom and followed us to the top. 
	From the bluff we could look down on the garden.  My aunt grew a 
huge garden and canned the produce for the hot meals served the school 
children.  We kids didn't work in the garden very often, but we looked for the arrow 
heads and fossils.  Which, I suspect the adults probably considered the best 
place for us.
	At the end of the road, living in shack, was Old Lady Grease.  I have a 
vague recollection of seeing her.  Tiny, frail, wrinkled and gray headed is all I can 
	In spring and fall we were in school in Kansas.
	It's Christmas now.  Cold and usually snowy.  We were in a winter 
wonder land.
	I'm standing at the fire escape window.  The ghostly pale full moon is 
illuminating the naked arms of the trees as they shiver in the wind, swaying to 
and fro as if dancers in a ballet.  I listen to the winter sounds. The frigid air 
enhances their sharpness.  The ax's thud echoes up the canyon as one of the 
Indians across the river chops another supply of wood.  One of his peers beats 
on the drum.  It is one-thirty a. m.  but the thin walls of the tents do not keep the 
cold out.  Day or night this chore must be attended to for survival.

Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2007

Details | Light Poetry |
                            Having wonderful summer memory
                                it warms our hearts long
                      Summer memories that we can bring back
                           on the cold windy autumn evenings
                      Summer memories we can dream of when
                              snow falls during the winter 
                   It will warm our hearts in front of the fireplace
                                  on a cold winter night
                           Summer memories is a new journey 
                                 when one thinks back
                    Yes, we can almost feel the sun warm and the
                                 smell of beautiful flowers
                          Close your eyes......running barefoot in
                                  a meadow of timothy
                       Watch the sunset..... sun bathing in the sea
                                         Ah yes.....
                                 Yes, it was quite a summer
                   After the fall, winter and spring comes summer 
                        again and we can create new memories
                               that we will take good care of

A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2012

Details | Concrete |
There are four seasons in a year. Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter. In the Spring time, you can enjoy the outdoors and go for a walk. And look at the trees turning beautiful colors, you can also enjoy raking the leaves into a big pile and jump into them. We also know the New Year is coming with Winter. Winter is a cold month with snow, now the children can play outside in the snow. And everyone else can enjoy the snow also.

Copyright © Frances Roberts | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
Here it comes again; softly knocking on windows at 2A.M, here comes the winter at a cold silent night, awakening my soul with the smell of dust after rain, the smell of mom holding me into bed, with the voices of my sisters playing next room, here it comes again with painful delights, here it comes again taking me back home.

Let the drops of rain knock on my door and let them ache my heart, let me taste the sweet smell in my tongue like a little boy getting wet beneath the rain, waiting to be rebuked, but none of this does matter because the burdens of life are slipping down with the rains being drifted on his coat, none of this does matter because the weight of life was just not this cold before.

Here comes the winter with empty corners in my head and echoes of laughters in my room, a piece of chocolate I can no longer find and a broken toy I’ve never thrown away, with good sweaters that never felt warm on a cold night like this, let the chilly breezes of winter take me back home again, to smell my father’s smoking cigarettes and my mother combing my hair, and the smell of coffee beans on one cloudy morning to refresh my day, oh here comes the winter, remembering me again and stopping by with few memories to take me home.

Check out my writings at:

Copyright © Samar Saleh | Year Posted 2012

Details | Haiku |
Invisible wind; he’s on his way to nowhere; he travels the world.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Crisp smell of winter
Baby's breath of pure snow
Fresh scent of pine, fires aglow
Cinnamon and spice
Baked edibles stored
Nutmeg, clove on turkey ham, some ask for more
Caribbean rum cakes, fruit and nut delight
Bells and carols, happiness fills the air day and night
Nostalgia nudges
Gladness outweighs sadness
Giving gets better, and more folks come together
The spirit of the Lord upon all, around the world
Our hands with instruments of love is wield
Peaceful passage holds thoughts that bless
Christmas is best.


Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2015