Long Cold weather Poems
Long Cold weather Poems. Below are the most popular long Cold weather by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cold weather poems by poem length and keyword.
Hail, frozen rain blew down from the west ,a biting shattering wind, changes puddles to ice,
Head down keeping the hail from stinging my face, it’s blown sideways so cold feeling sick,
Overcoat soaked right through to my skin, my teeth chatter loudly, shivering uncontrollably,
Down on my luck, no job no home, nobody, absolutely nothing just the clothes on my back.
So cold and bitter there is nowhere to go just walk about to try to generate some body heat,
Must have shelter some warmth, a peel of thunder rumbles far in the distance, what a day?
Through the falling hail, ahead there are some village shops, maybe a big canopy is down?
Maybe a doorway to stand in, or an alley, it is so cold and wet, would a shopkeeper mind?
Holes in my only pair of shoes, squelching wet bubbles, my feet frozen like never before,
Wind from lorries cars passing splashing, it's wet salt used to stop the road from freezing,
Thundering clouds get nearer the wind blows harder it looks like the worst has yet to come,
An old man, too old, scared to be wandering and sleeping rough, how to get out of this mess?
At the village now leaning against a shop’s side walls not enough shelter still facing the wind,
Agony, pain every movement the wet clothing touches my skin making everything so colder,
How do people like me survive this cold weather, but they do there are many armies of the road?
Just to be sitting by a roaring log fire clothes getting dry and having something, anything to eat.
As the thunder cracked overhead the hail turned to sleet and the sleet turned into hard frozen snow,
The wind got stronger, a real gale, again it pushed my soaking wet clothes harder against my body,
In better days things took for granted, a lovely house, that had a real value, never known before,
What drove me to drink, if there was a choice today a warm fire or a bottle, it would be a bottle?
Standing by the shop wall the wind got stronger, swirling in wind traps, coming from everywhere,
How to get through this storm, the cold, the wet have beaten me, just cannot take much more,
The man from the butcher shop walks over and tells me, rudely, to go away, but where is there to go?
Walking to a nearby park sitting on a seat, no shelter my eyes closed, warm tears ran down my face.
TAKE A STROLL
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Take a stroll through the forest in early spring
Nature will stun you, it’s a beautiful thing
A walk in the woods will fill you with awe
The fresh smelling air not savored before
Its early morning the ground is still damp
I’m causing damage where ever I tramp
Minuscule plants growing under my feet
Tiny flowers and petals, an optical treat
A bird is warbling his good morning tune
Soon he is countered with a call from a loon
When I stand still there’s a noticeable din
But when I move a new silence begins
A bee is searching for a succulent bloom
A myriad of flowers all his to consume
Buds are sprouting from bushes and trees
The rebirth of nature as cold weather flees
Continuing my walk I encounter a glade
Covered with flowers every color and shade
Tall reeds and grasses still sporting dew
Reflect the suns rays like crystals often do
Tiny rainbows appear as the dew beads glisten
Then fade away as the breeze moves the prism
This pristine meadow under azure skies
Home to insects and thousand of flies
Take A Stroll (2)
Flocks of birds soon will descend
Devouring the buzzing meals to the end
A snapping twig reaches my ear
A young buck and an six point deer
They stand there frozen an idyllic display
Then in an instant they’ve bounded away
This magnificent scenario occurs every day
A tiny sampling of natures endless arrays
There’s still some mist hovering over the glade
The warming sun will soon join the parade
A mixed treasure of flowering scents
Changes with each zephyr and never relents
With so much activity its hard to explain
The peaceful tranquility continues to reign
Ludwig created images that seldom exist
He painted these pictures while penning his sixth
The feeling and sense of harmonious bliss
Nature unblemished, soon to be missed
Man will soon discover this untouched paradise
This heaven on earth is a treat for anyone’s eyes
They’ll develop home sites so all can enjoy
Unfortunately all of this beauty they will destroy
Big square houses with manicured lawns
The fish in the stream no longer spawns
A gated community with pools in the rear
A local commented “ what the hell happened here?”
Surely I am He
I am of the son ship
I AM King
It is God’s privilege to conceal things
And the king’s privilege to discover them
No one man living
Nor womb-man knows
The height of heaven
Nor the depth of the earth
If I remove as a man, the impurities from gold and silver
If I remove the wicked from the kings court
O’ God Oh, how I await
As I sit at the table
It surely is a privilege to discover those things
The conceal things, you’ve brought you bring
No one man living
Nor womb-man knows
The height of heaven
Nor the depth of the earth
I AM KING OF The Height of Heaven and the Depth of the Earth
Timely advice is lovely,
Like golden apples in a silver basket.
To one who listens, valid criticism?
Is like a gold earring or other gold jewelry
Trustworthy messengers refresh like snow in summer
In you I remove as a man, the impurities from gold and silver
In you I remove the wicked from the king’s court
O’ God Oh, how I await
As I sit at the table so shall I be strengthen as we eaten
No one man living
Nor womb-man knows
The height of heaven
Nor the depth of the earth
If your enemies are hungry, give them food to eat.
If they are thirsty, give them water to drink.
You will heap burning coals of shame on their heads,
And the LORD will reward you
I AM KING OF The Height of Heaven and the Depth of the Earth
Putting confidence in an unreliable person in times of trouble, Hallelujah
Is like chewing with a broken tooth or walking on a lame foot
Singing cheerful songs to a person with a heavy heart
Is like taking someone’s coat in cold weather
Or pouring vinegar in a wound
Timely advice is lovely,
Like golden apples in a silver basket.
To one who listens, valid criticism?
Is like a gold earring or other gold jewelry
Trustworthy messengers refresh like snow in summer
It is God’s privilege to conceal things
And the king’s privilege to discover them
No one man living
Nor womb-man knows
The height of heaven
Nor the depth of the earth
Surely I am He
I am of the son ship
I AM King
I AM KING OF The Height of Heaven and the Depth of the Earth
12/18/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Referencing Proverbs 25
No objection to cold weather, but...
ah jest wanna boomerang
back into the womb
versus being threatened
courtesy beastie boy gang
beating me to a pulp
after accurately discerning
being scared less pang
suddenly imagining myself
buffered, and buttressed
within zen Sibyl
prophet table Chinese philosophy
known as Yin and Yang.
No matter birth canal
long since got breached,
countless scores of years
I quickly grew
impossible mission to plunge
(think Nestea commercial)
headfirst back into utero,
haint got any got any
handy dandy blues clue,
nonetheless said wish
I broach to you,
whether ye reside in Baku
Guangzhou
Kalamazoo
Kathmandu
Peru
Thimphu
Timbuktu.
Sudden pang roared awake
nsync like blazing saddles
hot enough to sizzle steak
torpid, humid, and
arrid extra dry to take
breath away analogous vacuumed
courtesy fire breathing dragon
chilling parched scales in great lake
already this doubting
Thomas doth hanker
for global warming yore
less than six months ago
geesh for goodness sake,
when Earth did bake
triple digit temperatures
no thirst could slake,
thus intravenous feeding
in tandem with trach
still inadequate to brake
yours truly did pine... for chill
against dehydration, ah only to wake,
when came the morrow,
where Jack and Jill
sweat buckets, this
before they climbed uphill
akin to madding crowd
clamoring, thirsting, gulping...
every last drop
essentially emptying damn
immense reservoir spill
futilely swilling parched lips till...
Old cranks shrugged off
exceptionally hot weather, and did scoff
younger generation's creature comforts
old geezers recalled
back in the day
as laddies and Tom boy
lassies did slough
no trespassing signs
skinny dipping after they shuck off
clothes giddily swinging
atop highest bough
playing hooky averse
learning would ever payoff
pitying other kids in school
former gathering rosebuds...
around lunchtime hunger
relishing stealing stroganoff
under nose of Mister Groff,
one former German World War II,
who colluded with American "boys"
despite heavily decorated luftwaffe
and posthumously honored
Veterans day getting last laugh!
I stand alone and gaze upon the field full of crosses,
In silence, with an empty soul, I think of the days that have passed,
My pockets are full of sad thoughts, like faithful dogs,
I stand alone and listen to the rustling of bones, the echo of the past, of vivid memories.
The wind blows gently, like a caress of wings, over the wax bell of my thoughts,
It resonates in my soul like a call, an untold story, a melody of silence,
But at the first crossroads, at the corner of the first street, someone might appear,
Wrapped in a rain of light, with eyes shining like stars in the night sky.
And then, in an instant, I will feel captured by his divine charm,
He will have to cover me with his cloak, to shield me from the morning chill,
For a gentle rain or snowfall might come, as a gift of fate,
To envelop us in its tenderness, to embrace our souls and bodies, gracefully.
With him will also come a cursed sleet, people would say it's just cold weather,
But in our hearts, it will find fertile ground, it will freeze even the warm thoughts,
So, while the light surrounds our memories, we will remain here,
With bones freshly washed by all the tears and experiences, with souls open to life.
While the begging pigeons fly above me, in endless circles,
Philanthropists have put bread crumbs on balconies, but I think of something else,
In my heart, a millstone weighs heavily, a symbol of pain and renunciation,
But now, determined, I have chosen to leave, to start a new journey, another path.
I imagine that I start from a barn drowned in steam and twilight,
Traveling through dense forests, crossing endless expanses of greenery,
Until I reach a grove, a bush, where Sister Well awaits me,
I will lay my thoughts on the damp grass, I will lean against her old trunk.
I will lose myself in her deep gaze, in the clear and silent waters,
I will let all the sadness and unrest drain away, lost in the depths,
For in her presence, in her cold arms, I will find rest and comfort,
And the field full of crosses will become a place of peace, and my suffering will be conquered by love.
20FABEL8
20FABEL8
THANKFULLY CHARLAX
20FABEL8
CURRANT EVENTS FOOD REPORTED
A man quite gleefully pointed out to me that JESUS is not a dumpster JESUS
however eye shot back at him gleefully is GOD and iff there is SOMETHING in
that dumpster that HE wants me just to have then SIR oh eye will have it see eh?
A survivor is the eye.
John 6:35-36
Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go
hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty. But as I told you, you
have seen me and still you do not believe."
On the way to this cold freezing day eye found my strength lies not in my right
hand or arm but in my faith eye walk. Eye find things that no one else wants, as
eye walk eye soon survive. Pizza sometimes fish sometimes coffee on my list no
cokes no tomatoes SOK eye have some tomatoes in a can
The list is endless in my mind and desire comes from a man and coffee is the
plan. Cups are full or half empty is it half full or empty? Pizza is okay when found
in cold weather a man can be the judge of whatever food he finds eye do not fill
mee up with unpleasentness or brine eye drink but not the water that eye find OH
FAITH will end my misery OH FAITH will feed me too bread is in the pizza that eye
dew.
When Jesus saves me at the final trumpet and eye make my last ditch stand at
that time then he is not going to say WHY oh little man did you eat the scrounge
pizza on the way but iff a loving GOD did ask me this is what eye say
PIZZA is food and leftovers is fine my mind works much better with some eye can
find. FOOD is never a sin or a problem to me. The eye does not eat strips of left
over pieces he eats the entire pizzas. Eye am good at what eye dew eye can
survive. And iff ewe ever get the word out to the people in the twilight zone just tell
them scrounging pizza is better than the bone of chewing fat from steaks and
living high on Hogg eye am better off alone and living with my love she knoes just
who she is she knoes just who she loves.
This was written after reading another's poem on this site.
It just grabbed hold of me and well, I had to do something, so here it is.
Those dreams that he promised
Have gone up in smoke
She loved him and surrendered
Now he thinks she’s a joke
The job down at the diner
Helps out a little it seems
But it’s not what she hoped for
While searching for that dream
Panic sets in
What should she do?
No period this month
And all the other signs are true
He wants to know her problem
As he roughly has his way
So she spit it all out
Before she thinks what else to say
He’s no longer here with her
Witch doesn’t seem fair
Cause the job down at the diner
Well it’s up in the air
Seems that times are hard
And someone has to go
Since she’s low on the totem pole
It’s goodbye Cotton Eye Joe
She’s hustling the streets
And bringing in some cash
But it’s not adding up
Just a small little stash
And the land lord is threatening
And no money for the room
So she’s just getting swept out
With another worn out broom
Now it’s cold weather and rags
But the baby finally arrived
And now she must find food
To keep the little one alive
But who needs a worker
With a newborn by her side
It’s so long, see ya later
Take off and let it slide
She’s trying her best
But Mother Nature rebels
She’s throwing sleet and ice
Which is really mortal hell
The woman and child
Seek cover to live
But the cover in winter
Is very stingy to give
She finds a small shelter
In a rotted out tree
And places in the bundle
And gets down on her knees
She prays to God above
Will You listen she cries?
As the howling wind are relentless
On her and the child
She then falls to the ground
Exhausted and beat
No strength to gather herself
And get back to her feet
She finally pulls up
But the night has passed her by
And when she checks the cavity
She lets out a cry
Little Liza didn’t make it
She blames God for her pain
But she knows it was hers
As the ice turns to rain
Form:
I love Christmas traditions…from the food to the presents to the tree…how each family has our own traditions…locked into our memory.
I remember Christmases in Ohio…where I was born…where I did my earliest growing…I remember our aluminum Christmas tree with rotating colors…I remember cold…I remember snowing.
I remember sipping hot chocolate watching those tiny marshmallows floating on the top…I remember opening our presents…with our Christmas stockings as backdrop.
I remember celebrating family traditions…customs I hold dear…I remember taking a moment to remember family members who are missing and those no longer here.
And then I moved to Florida…where I’d be blessed to see my own family grow…where we celebrate Christmas in the Florida winter…without the cold…without the snow.
Florida…where our blended family formed new traditions….did I mention…there’s no snow…where on Christmas Eve instead of eating turkey…we order pizza…from Dominoes.
Florida…where we can look at multi-colored Christmas lights without ever donning cold weather gear…where the weather is so balmy flowers of every color bloom all year.
We were in a nursery searching for flowers when Deborah stopped…her face a mixture of happy and sad.. “Whenever I see pansies,” she said, “it makes me think of Dad.”
Deborah’s dad was born around Christmas Day…the day when her owns destiny was cast…and, after a long and happy life, it was around Christmas Day he passed.
For her there are always mixed feelings when Christmas season dawns…she is happy to remember her dad…but sad that he is gone.
So what flowers did we choose? The decision wasn’t hard…Deborah took them home and planted her dad’s pansies in our yard…
Christmas in Florida is certainly different than all my Christmases long ago…as our blended family mixes old with new traditions in the absence of cold and snow…
But it is our traditions…old and new…I hope our family will forever happily remember…
Like celebrating with pizza on Christmas Eve…
and growing pansies in December.
No objection to cold weather, but...
ah jest wanna boomerang back into the womb
to escape unrelenting forbidding gloom.
perhaps cuz mine generation
nsync with baby boom.
No matter birth canal
long since got breached,
countless (three plus) scores of years
I quickly grew
impossible mission to plunge
(think Nestea commercial)
headfirst back into utero,
yours truly haint got any
handy dandy blues clue,
nonetheless said wish -
I broach to you,
whether ye reside in Baku
Guangzhou
Kalamazoo
Kathmandu
Peru
Thimphu
Timbuktu.
Sudden pang roared awake
nsync like blazing saddles
hot enough to sizzle steak
torpid, humid, and
arrid extra dry to take
breath away analogous vacuumed
courtesy fire breathing dragon
chilling parched scales in great lake
already this doubting
Thomas doth hanker
for global warming yore
less than six months ago
geesh for goodness sake,
when Earth did bake
triple digit temperatures
no thirst could slake,
thus intravenous feeding
in tandem with trach
still inadequate to brake
yours truly did pine... for chill
against dehydration, ah only to wake,
when came the morrow,
where Jack and Jill
sweat buckets, this
before they climbed uphill
akin to madding crowd
clamoring, thirsting, gulping...
every last drop
essentially emptying damn
immense reservoir spill
futilely swilling parched lips till...
Old cranks shrugged off
exceptionally hot weather, and did scoff
younger generation's creature comforts
old geezers recalled
back in the day
as laddies and Tom boy
lassies did slough
no trespassing signs
skinny dipping after they shuck off
clothes giddily swinging
atop highest bough
playing hooky averse
learning would ever payoff
pitying other kids in school
former gathering rosebuds...
around lunchtime hunger
relishing stealing stroganoff
under nose of Mister Groff,
one former German World War II,
who colluded with American "boys"
despite heavily decorated luftwaffe
and posthumously honored
Veterans day getting last laugh!
Canada Jays
Four seasons ‘round, Canada jays are found,
Perched in tree branches, safe and sound,
Resting after flying throughout the North,
In the Canadian boreal forests.
Heard and not seen unless it’s their intention
To disturb the silence, making known their presence
By confronting intruders in the area
With shrill barking, expressing displeasure.
Their shaded greys of feathery plumage bests
Darker on the back, with lighter puffed breasts.
On a round head adorns a snow-capped crown,
Endowed with dark eyes and a sharp, short, pointed bill.
They have feet equipped with talons to grip the limb tight,
While long, white-tipped tail feathers fan in flight,
Which serves the robin-sized creature well in this climate
And adapts the songbird to its environment.
Then, it’s off scavenging, preparing for winter
In territories established by mating pairs,
Who swish food in their mouths to coat it with saliva,
Ensuring successful seasonal survival
By hiding the sticky boluses in trees
And memorizing the local scenery,
As marauding eyes spy on the jays’ commotions
To steal morsels from the clandestine caches.
During cold weather, they fluff up their feathers
To stay warm and hide their feet from exposure
And twist their necks to tuck in their beaks
Under the wing flap joint to maintain body heat.
Sometimes, they snuggle for companionship
And share warmth during winter hardships.
The birds, confirming whispers to their mate for life,
Find comfort in their labours, making it worthwhile.
In early spring, when the air is cold and the snow deep,
The male selects the south side of the tree for a nest site for the sun’s heat,
Building the nest with dead twigs, bark strips, and lichens,
With caterpillar cocoons for reinforcement.
The cup is feather-lined for the female to lay,
Who does not leave the clutch until the eggs are hatched.
The male feeds her throughout the incubation period,
Then she joins him in the raising of their offspring.