"Minnesota Sleeps Beneath a Quilt of Silence”
A poem by Alan J Winters
The wind carves elegies in the snowdrift’s spine,
each gust a ghost of prairie time—
frost etching lace on windowpanes,
like memory’s breath on glass.
Cardinals flare like embers in bare trees,
red sparks against the hush of white.
Boots crunch through ice—
a rhythm of resilience,
each step a vow to endure.
Moonlight spills silver across frozen fields,
where silence blooms like wildflowers
beneath the aurora’s spectral dance—
green ribbons tangled in the cosmos,
entangled like hearts across distance.
Minnesota sleeps beneath a quilt of silence,
stitched with sled tracks and chimney smoke,
where childhood laughter echoes
in the crystalline hush of dusk.
Each flake a whisper from the sky’s cold heart,
falling not to bury, but to bless—
a transformation in stillness,
a journey wrapped in frost
February fourth, slumped and stoned
your face, again lit up my phone
not even a month and you were in my home
why did I start to miss being alone?
We tried to take each other out
every word, I’d choke from doubt
this was not really meant for me
rose red colours were all you could see.
You planned our future down to our fridge
as we walked across the bridge
my head was loud and so unsure
that you would want this, if you knew more
because
I wasn’t all that well, didn’t mean to cast a spell
you’d have me cursing my own wishing well.
Those days were endless
there was no cheat
for such a loveless pain,
I could barely eat
there were tears and there was fear
because my life had ended up here.
So I had to tell you, when April came
I was reeling, nearly insane
and it probably felt like I’d played a game
but I owed you the truth, I owed you the pain.
We never spoke, not one more time
the months flew by, I would feel fine
you did nothing wrong, I hope you know
my head was the reason I had to go.
All my muses have become my bruises
but you’re not a wound I wear.
February fourth, slumped and stoned
your face, again lit up my phone
not even a month and you were in my home
why did I start to miss being alone?
We tried to take each other out
every word, I’d choke from doubt
this was not really meant for me
rose red colours were all you could see.
You planned our future down to our fridge
as we walked across the bridge
my head was loud and so unsure
that you would want this, if you knew more
because
I wasn’t all that well, didn’t mean to cast a spell
you’d have me cursing my own wishing well.
Those days were endless
there was no cheat
for such a loveless pain,
I could barely eat
there were tears and there was fear
because my life had ended up here.
So I had to tell you, when April came
I was reeling, nearly insane
and it probably felt like I’d played a game
but I owed you the truth, I owed you the pain.
We never spoke, not one more time
the months flew by, I would feel fine
you did nothing wrong, I hope you know
my head was the reason I had to go.
All my muses have become my bruises
but you’re not a wound I wear.
Ok, I’m leaving.
You can stop with the voices —
that’s not me, it’s my psychosis.
Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you.
This one’s playing music
without a piano — I can tell she’s
****** up, changing songs
every minute.
What’s happening? I’m curious
which radio station
this one’s talking from.
I think I should go there.
I’m starting to lose
my patience — known to recur.
One night, looking downward
toward her screaming in the corner,
I remember: I’ve seen this before.
My writing, how I humanized.
I’m calmer than when we first met —
seeing and hearing her
from first to last,
the same free psychotic episode
I’m getting used to.
I named her, but that seems useless.
She just laughs, cries, screams
—not in any order—
and angers if I ignore her.
Her whispers are louder.
She has to be close; I feel
her breath. I’m surprised
my pills aren’t working.
I need sleep — if I do, it’ll only be an hour.
I hope my nightmares stay at bay.
The both of them always hurt
my mind as I listen.
She is Lady Agares.
I will not name my nightmares —
his name is my own.
The Strawberry Moon
Beneath the glow of the strawberry moon,
Life moves in rhythm — not late, not soon.
Its soft red light up in the sky,
Feels like the hope we hold inside.
It changes shape, like smiles and tears,
Like happy days and hidden fears.
Each part of life, both big and small,
Tells a story — we live it all.
We rise, we fall — we heal, we grow,
We learn so much from all we know.
We laugh, we cry, we lose, we find,
We carry dreams and peace of mind.
Yet still, the strawberry moon will shine,
On broken hearts and healing time.
It shows us: even pain can fade,
And even scars can make us brave.
So when you’re tired or feeling low,
Look at the moon and let it show —
That life moves on, the dark will pass,
And love and light will always last.
Sail safely my darling and come back to me
Let my love shield you from the storms at sea
Remember my kiss soft on your sweet lips
Let it warm your heart when the mercury dips
Hold me in your heart and you’ll be in mine
Trust that we’ll be holding each other again in no time
Think of my touch when your heart longs for me
think of me when you’re cold and weary
When the wind blows sharp and sheer
Know that I will be waiting for you, right here
It’s February
the soft stones
are still hard
among the eaves
clinging to the river
Please don't open the dam,
Violently flood fresh water with salt.
It's been about time this bridge will weather and collapse.
Though my cupped hands ache for brine,
You keep me longing for the glow with a bright smile on my face.
I need to keep smiling, because the glow will never stop.
It could never stop, and that can mean just so much.
Label it the cradle of my hurt, if you would
Though they'd see it was only blue sunset at best.
Back to the days when basking in the blue
Was all I could truly stand to do
Spent twelve months anticipating the end of the world, and it's still yet to face my share.
So cheers to us. Lest we diminish. Let's idle at the enscarpment's edge
As if we'll reduce this tearing of threads.
Leeching about my life the way I do – it's a shame, and to what end?
To what end do I learn that, eventually, every lesson teaches the same.
No, it's not you. No, it never really was.
So drop the dagger, buddy.
You must fix your heart.
February Gray
The weather and my mood, dismal as KING 5’s Headline News
reports of politics, war and a cold rain forecast for tomorrow,
makes me take a break from TV or staring out the window
at gray Seattle skies to take a walk down on the waterfront.
Only 5PM, yet pier 62 dock lights are already on, pale and heatless
halos of dimness in the hard as iron air slowing everything down.
Dark waves caress the seawall, rolling rhythms of shushing silence
murmuring me to wonder, When was the last time we whispered?
Suddenly, as if a dream could control weather, the sky brightens.
Beams of soft sunlight, glowing rays from a blue lip on the horizon,
radiate a warmth felt on my face. I smile for the first time this day,
as wet forecasts and despairing news recede with the setting sun.
I feel the frost is coming,
the wind now chills my bones.
What once was warm a week ago,
the cold now solemnly owns.
Hearing chirping
First bird speak in a while
I go still
Hoping to hear more
All is silent
If February had, at least,
Another couple days,
We wouldn’t look for spring
In all the normal kinds of ways.
If it feels cold, we’d simply shrug -
It’s winter, after all -
And when the stores sell chocolate eggs,
We wouldn’t heed the call.
I know it’s just two boxes
On the calendar, but hey -
When February starts to March,
We know that April May!*
*thanks to my 11 year old grandson for that!
A February Walk
Nice cool weather
Bright cloudy sky
Peaceful quiet lake
Resting seagulls,
Swans and pigeons
Shadows of trees
Again changed and
Cleared everything
By a great walk
Life's First Unspoken Law
(A lone voice whispers)
You do know deep love
Even if it sometimes hurts
From separation from family or friends who have crossed over
And all things left may seem broken or unfinished
It does not rust
Like iron or steel abandoned in one of life's forbidden forests
But forever will bloom and flow like a torrent
Throughout you
Like a soft hurricane filled with golden ethereal dust
For the gift given by your chosen God at your birth
Through its unspoken Life's First Law
Which says in it, you must trust
Love and let yourself be loved from the first day of your birth
And your memory will never be extinguished and left to be vanquished and relinquished
By anyone who knows you
As you live with love and exchange love
Like your God,
Your king
Once wished
Before you were born
Here on Earth
(C) Copyright John Duffy
In icy peaks, your name is born,
Hima, a whisper of winter's morn.
Bindu, a droplet, pure and fine,
Together merged, a beauty divine.
Like snowflakes gently falling deep,
Your heart remains, in slumber, keep.
Bindu's tiny form, a universe holds,
Reflecting dreams, like winter's tales unfold.
In frozen landscapes, your soul takes flight,
A gentle breeze stirs, on a winter's night.
Himabindu, a name of serene might,
Shining bright, like stars in morning light.
May your name guide you, through life's design,
As a symbol of hope, in winter's confine.
Himabindu, a beauty, forever in our sight,
A shining star, on a clear, cold winter's night.
Specific Types of February Poems
Definition | What is February in Poetry?