Long Frostbite Poems
Long Frostbite Poems. Below are the most popular long Frostbite by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Frostbite poems by poem length and keyword.
What was I made for?
I was made to be God's poet
Every day
Writing some poetry
With my poems
I hope to send
A message to the world
That is in trouble
I hope the God's people
Gets my message
That I am trying
So hard
To send to them
I seem so many poverty
In the streets of Toronto
The poor people
During the Summer
Sleeps in the street
Of Toronto
Also they are always starving
Because nobody else
Feeds than
Besides me and God
We can't afford to let the
Poor starve
So we feed the poor every
Single day
Also we give them a drink
With their meal
Because they are dehydrated
When the Summer is over
We will bring the poor
To the shelters for
The Fall and Winter
Because we can't afford
To let the poor die
Of frostbite
In that cold weather
That would not be
A good thing
Two weeks ago snow turned
trees into beautiful chandeliers,
and at night they glittered...
not broken by the howling wind.
" We finally got a break from the bitter cold...
being slammed by winter is everybody's demise;
rejoice that on the ghostly trees the ice is melting.
Brandon thrillingly shouts, " It feels like spring!"
His mom turned to him him saying, " It's ice
slowly melting, tonight cuddle up...do as told! "
Yesterday eyebrows froze, it seemed Finland;
breath emitted vapors, kids rode ice skates and laughed
braving the brutal weather with warm hats and gloves;.
their mom came out to warn them of dangers,
but they ignored her and got frostbite on fingers:
they rushed into the warm house screaming aloud.
It's past supper time, and they are huddled
on the sofa talking about the fun they had;
school is closed tomorrow, a huge storm predicts more snowy days,
but mom reads their thoughts admoning," Keep your room clean, boys! "
Through veils of bright red pain
They bring us to this life;
Through tears and laughter
They love their small pink wonders
Through all those gates they must pass
On their way to full humanity.
They are lilac-love and discipline
Navigators of our stormy seas
Heedless of themselves for our sakes
They bring us all the soft sweetnesses of home and hearth
That ever call for our return.
So from every tongue
There falls the sacred one-word prayer
When the wide cold world affrights us
When the hand shakes, palsy like
As the heart beats hard against its cage:
In deep of night
When something unseen stirs
The whispered hope is "Mother".
When the flat grey weight of grief
Lies hard across our shoulders
The word that lifts the stone is "Mother".
For scorch of stove, for frostbite sting
We conjure cool and warm with "Mother".
In the place for giving birth: "Mother".
On the battlefield: "Mother".
Whatever pulls us to our knees
To rudely remind us how small we be
In the Grand Scheme of Things,
The idea of Her pulls us up again
For we are hers entire
In a way unique to Her -
Things will be alright
Because She says it shall be so,
And one may never never Never
Disappoint that Sacred One:
"Mother".
Inside woolly mittens, they kept each other warm
From frigid, chilly temperatures amidst a winter storm
They huddled up together, these friendly fingers four
Until they heard, "Hey! I am not here to ignore!"
It was their stubby next door neighbor, Thumb.
"You're warm together in a mitten but I'm going numb!
It really isn't fair and what's worse I cannot see.
I'm bustin' outta this mitten, I'm going to be free!"
So this stout, angry thumb worked until he poked a hole
Looking out into the snow as cold began to take it's toll
Just as he began to regret and gain some clarity
Four friendly little fingers poked holes in solidarity
What's a bit of frostbite for four loyal digits smitten
In a fingerless glove that used to be a woolly mitten
January 19, 2023
Watch existence burn; see vermilion flames flicker in my eyes
Whilst you stand amongst the ashes and bones of what was never meant to be.
Inhale the murky smoke of contempt,
Choke on particles formed from your contrition.
Feel the accelerating heat scorch distressed flesh.
Quiet—lest my demons hear you scream.
Perched, waiting to devour
A soul so frigid, frostbite seeps from your stagnant veins.
Mercy is nowhere to be found.
Hysterical laughter escapes from my broken lips
As you writhe in pain, trying to escape.
Vines of razor-wire belladonna barricade;
The hunter is now wholly ensnared.
Visions of the past materialize like static,
Disrupting the penultimate bits of your sanity.
Microscopic questions flow rapidly:
Is this version of reality just a delusion,
Disrupting the very fabric of time?
Or are you suffering for your incompetence?
The smell of sulphur grows stronger with each thought.
Through melting breezes, the Pied Piper plays
Such sweet music—wrath’s revenge.
The Devil’s Inferno is calling you home.
I wish I could prevent frostbite.
But sometimes that’s impossible.
Ice that is rugged and sleek.
Tapping my knuckles on it.
Brand new ice.
That came from nowhere.
The avalanche.
Almost killed me.
Now I’m hundreds of feet high.
And my arm and leg are visible just above the snow.
I try to move my arm.
It moves but I feel nothing.
Thinking.
Icy thoughts.
Forget the toasty fireplace at home.
Family around the couch.
Thinking about…
Ice cream. Ice skating. Icicles.
Will somehow keep me alive a little longer.
I hope the helicopter sees my red coat.
Before it snows again.
You’ve howled in approval. I’ve driven both forest and ocean through your channels. There was no hustle like their squeak of my rubber soles, running to you, to make you howl my approval.
Witches, wolves, and woods nymph. Propaganda, I say. No other sanctuary is as pure. Wet leaves whistle the wind when wild weirdos wax poetic.
I wane under the harsh scrutiny of oil lamps and blue lights. A marshmallow, dangling dangerously close to the heated hearth that you most assuredly are. I retreat to the warm frostbite of the thicket on the other end of that beckoning brick bridge.
I, self, lord, and master, submit to Mother’s milk during the witching hours.
Speak of me. Perhaps I will be found. Maybe I belong.
The heart and mind meld this time
I would that I bleed, not cry
Bleeding tells them my body hurts
Crying reveals my heart and soul hurt
The tree of life is uncertain and short
Season in; season out, my life; your life
Is like a vapour, only musters to vanish into thin air
A hidden life speaks essence, yet is shortlived
The joy of happy moments
Is having one to revel in them with
To watch the mountain flowers bloom alone,
Is as sad, painful as a growing thorn in the flesh
The hurting body forthwith heals
Sadness in the heart may never heal
A frostbite that can metamorphose into death
May subside with one to comfort the sadness at night
Are you affrighted of death? Everyone dies
Are you affrighted of loneliness? Sadly we are lonely
Does it hurt to be wounded or cry? We have our times
Does it hurt to move on? We get by everyday
When we find our way to something new
The memories of the old oft tend to conflict
None can replace a life once and for all truly loved
Huge is the tree of life with its roots deeply buried in lonesome mud and silence
One moment she was teasing him. He turned
his head. Sweet eyes that twinkled testified
that she adored him. Then his stomach churned!
A deer appeared from the forest wild-eyed.
He braked the car and swerved. A brilliant light
from headlights streamed upon the startled doe
which, swallowed up by fate that cold, black night,
was killed on impact from the crashing blow.
Now stopped beside the road, he turned to see
his wife, whose soft eyes soothed him when their car
would not start up and, prone to worry, he
envisioned they’d get frostbite. Town was far!
The flavor of those dear eyes, toasty warm,
now reassured him they’d be safe from harm.
8/11/14 - Theme is "An Accident"
For the three themes - Poetry Contest of shadow Hamilton
Santa brings toys much to children’s delight
la luna’s bright light guides him on his way
Nine reindeer pull the sleigh through the cold night
Guided by stars and the glow of moonlight
They’ll deliver presents for Christmas day
Santa brings toys much to children’s delight
Santa works quickly, he won’t get frostbite
Deep snow and ice won’t cause any delay
Nine reindeer pull the sleigh through the cold night
Children sleep; they won’t see the sleigh in flight
They’ve left some carrots and milk on a tray
Santa brings toys much to children’s delight
The ground’s covered with a blanket of white
Children wake, there’s toys with which they can play
Nine reindeer pull the sleigh through the cold night
Young Billy is thrilled with his brand new kite
He asks his parents why Santa can’t stay
Santa brings toys much to children’s delight
Nine reindeer pull the sleigh through the cold night
Deck the halls Villanelle Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
12/27/20