Complain, complain, complain
“Boy, is it cold!”
Frozen in Photographs
Heaven wind calls
Cheery blooms near
Bench feels like home
Your kiss is warm
We smile at photographs and spring that never leaves
I have spent life in the confines of glass
an Aquarius and a thinker deep
from swaying aquatic-grass observing
a tinker within this silent border-
to fix the broken~ oh, a free-thinker
I float and drift, aloof, serene, detached
dancing and swaying among the hued green
then, need freedom- leaving the ice-cold
breaking the boundaries of my box
and behold the melancholy that is me
S
T
T O BE KEEP. by: Feb Chaves
N
E
Stone to be keep
Blanket to sleep.
Meat from the sheep
It's ready to be shipped.
Dress to wear
Money to be spent.
Girls beyond compare
Bank to be lent.
Arguments never break but bend.
Self aware to be comprehend
Someone you love is friend.
Promises never break until the end .
A small path stippled with the print of wind slurries?
runs along a snowy edge,?
scrub-oak nails down tilting stumps of ice.?
?
How old must the year become?
before a cockled bark sheds its wind-blighted hide??
?
The creek is a stretch;?
I tread through a sleet blurred flurry?
zag a rooted track to its frigid bank.?
?
Standing by the water,
crow wings flying form my black overcoat,?
I watch a flotilla of ducks?
pilot a channel through small ice floes.?
?
Then the ducks disappear; we disappear together?
as a hard mist crashes-in.?
I hear the creaking of tree-hung clouds,?
the crunch of frost-bitten shoots,?
a grinding of raw jaw bones on brittle sprigs.?
?
My warm breath pushes through the cold air
the sky returns to tints of sunlight.?
Saplings quicken under blackened limbs?
are tucked between lichenoid openings.?
?
And is that a greening moss,
is that a young crocus reaching?
Enchanted by your voice, I almost fell asleep,
in a field full of sunflowers, dreaming reality could mirror dreams.
I followed you so far, unconcerned by the fatigue,
walking through danger just to keep my place beside you.
Loved you so hard, when I saw you I missed a beat,
rational as I am, I was startled that I lost my breath.
I carried it to wake with you beside me,
wondering at night if an angel could be disguised.
Hearing you, I learned that dreams could also become scary.
Seeing you near taught me vigilance.
Loving you moved me across worlds — but I had traveled far enough.
Carrying it this long, I saw our colors — bold and subtle — filling the canvas.
Now.
My ears can listen from afar, but I cannot hear you.
My legs could cross layers of hell, but not to reach you.
My heart now beats fast as falling leaves, but not seeing you pass by.
I still carry it — but it no longer shines the same.
March is here
three days early
like every year
except one in four
when she has to wait
~ one day more
Born at 5:55,
It's the time I came alive,
I strive everyday to change,
Rearrange the way I see,
Each day is new to me,
Spiraling through eternity,
I was born to transform reality,
555 means change was meant to be,
Reminding me daily to strive,
Thrive within the unknown,
I've grown into what you see,
A tree of possibility,
Setting you free from the guilt,
Built into the program,
I am the change I want to see,
Living truthfully,
Fully embracing,
Each day I am facing,
Racing the clock,
Blocked by my old beliefs,
Relief is coming,
While you're becoming chief,
No thief can steal,
What you believe to be real,
Feel your way through,
You don't need to survive,
You were born to be alive,
Let 555 remind you,
You're the one who drives.
A poem about warm days in Winter :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ice weeps from gutters~
sudden silver tongues singing
of forgotten streams.
The earth exhales beneath snow,
soft, like a lover waking.
They say time heals
They say it will turn into a passing memory.
But instead, it's a festering wound.
Her body can barely keep up with the whiplash.
Holding on to years' worth of baggage that grows heavier with each passing year.
She was slowly suffocating
Every breath was a task.
It was time to put down what she carried.
It was time to start breathing for the first time since she could remember.
No longer held together with fake smiles and forced laughter.
No longer running until she was wasting away.
Healing took hitting rock bottom.
Healing took her blood, sweat, and tears.
Healing took years of her sitting, undoing knots.
Some days the past leaks in like a thick smoke that you have to wait for it to pass before continuing.
And other days it's just a thin mist, light enough to walk through.
Healing is not just minutes, hours, days, or months.
Healing is continuous.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bare fingers grasp~
the winter sky's cold scripture,
ink-black and aching.
Each branch a frozen psalm,
waiting for spring's warm amen.
Why is February pronounced as if the r is silent?
I understand its plight
Screaming wanting to be heard
Part of the foundation
Yet consistently forgotten
It is not the r’s fault
Those in power demanded it’s silence
The sound when heard feels
Uncomfortable
Alien
Though if removed entirely
The same sensation returns
To be seen but not heard
To be foundational but never
Understood
Little r know this
Your purpose is in your
Uniqueness
Own it
Be proud of your place in this world
Nothing is ever by chance
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
frozen sighs soften~
muddy bootprints whispering
of earth's slow heartbeat.
The sun popped out without the moon
just about half passed noon,
the late morning rise peaked
played it's game of hide and seek
push pulling clouds left and right
it was a clandestine escape delight
chasing the over laying dark of night.
A familiar haze creeped along the surfaces below
a blending of warm air and melted cold snow
waiting on spring's long arrival wait
beyond the barrier of the garden gate
the chill of February along the remote estate,
a storm waiting to be revealed
layered inches beyond appeal.
Trees shivered flexing against the chill
and once again, snow flakes spilled.
February Categories
Definition | What is February in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.