Long Frosty Poems
Long Frosty Poems. Below are the most popular long Frosty by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Frosty poems by poem length and keyword.
Down at Wingfield Park
about the time of mid-December,
the boardwalk lights up after dark,
for a holiday to remember.
So many trees in a row,
displayed to the left and right,
with colored lights all aglow,
rising fifteen feet into the night.
The snow is cleared off the walkway,
the air is a crisp twenty degrees,
a stop at Dreamers for a hot latte',
in mittens, scarves, and collars of fleece.
Sparkling ice crystals are falling,
on your face, hair and all around,
just the slightest breeze is calling,
swirling ice crystals on the ground.
Sugar plum dreams dancing so free
in the young and old alike,
just set your presents under a tree,
for Santa's annual flight.
Frosty carolers are heard to sing,
"Oh, come all ye faithful..."
and the children's faces glowing with glee,
showing that their hearts are truly grateful.
Young lovers kiss in passion sublime,
then stroll on, hand in hand,
Wingfield Park at Christmas time
is a magical winter wonderland.
Do you remember walking in the park
In the frail sunset of that Autumn day?
The grass was frosty and the lamp was dark
You told me that you had to go away.
My Dear, you repeated a call once again
While grasping my numb hands within your own;
Too tightly, but I did not feel the pain
Lips could not move or speak, my heart was stone.
How pale the grayish smoke of night,how cold
In the long twilight when cinders had fled,
The moon sank quickly on words that grew old
"Why did we waste so much time?" I pleaded.
~
And now the summer trees are full of leaf
The pond reflects the shining blue above,
But still I cannot put away my grief
Nor have I learned to breathe without your love.
Sing To Me Contest of JTAP
*Inspired by Procol Harem's Whiter Shade of Pale
nette onclaud
Blistering drought assembles vacant sun stroke’s radiance
An empty solar ray’s destruction leaves waxing shadows of a doubt
Jennifer’s mental wheel chair is leaking slimy midnight oil
A candle burnt at both ends struggles like thundering whiplash
Metastases have bound her ice-cold soul and vacant mind
Malignant growth revels in cachectic apathy like frosty fire
Passion torched and skinned alive dwells raw in molten agony
Her soul eclipsed fragmented memories have replaced
Once vibrant sparkles suffocated and deprived of joy
Neoplastic gloom’s surrender has high-jacked myriads of love
Lonely lacerations have captured her Self and World and Future
Metastases conform on auto pilot inhabited by grief sadness sorrow
She feels lobotomized but the surgeon’s knife cannot dissect
The hollow solid growth of malignant cantankerous co-optation
For when the topic of her cancer strikes the cure evades salvation
At times the scorching heat unleashes flashing floods of tenterhooks
Incinerates the one remaining hope that terminal means lasting Peace
Environments are feeble though and as she grasps Pandora’s box
Boards falling rapids lets go and meanders to a novel solar system
Evening settles evermore again as Jennifer settles for a rising moon
29th May 2019
The falling leaves serenade and ballet
Whilst the harvest moon slowly waves good-bye
The sky; a straw-like yellow chardonnay
As the "Good morning" sun rises a nigh
The frosty glitter on naked corn stalks
Waltzing between orange pumpkins and gourds
Flying in tango a parlay of hawks
Doves in bachata as wind plays it's chords
Branches on trees all barren and leafless
Rose bush's thorns- "Be careful" a splinter
And slowly, the scarecrow starts to undress
'Chills in the air, falls dancing with winter
Caressing together- autumn and fall
The prettiest days of the year of all
Overnight the temperature which started in the teens
causing the ground to freeze…and shivering the trees….
warmed up a little…just a little…to around 33 degrees.
Early in the morning a light snow started falling all around
and being that it was a wet snow…accumulated on the ground.
When we opened our eyes….and saw snow everywhere we scanned
What knew we were waking up…to a winter wonderland.
So we did what any 73 year old Floridians would do
(at least the two 73 year Floridians we know)
we smiled at our good fortune….bundled up,
and went out to play in the snow!
What made this silent snowfall…so wonderful…so extraordinarily sweet…
the only noise being made was the snow crunching under our feet.
We made and threw a few snowballs…
then as quickly as two 73 years old people can
we started packing snow and created a miniature happy snowman.
It wasn’t quite Frosty but our snowman had his own particular charms.
We used two nails for his eyes, washers for his buttons,
and two sticks for his arms,.
We used a link from a chain to give him his smile….
and before we completed our task…
a deer who was eating corn in the yard…looked up at us and asked,
“On the top of your snowman’s head.” He said,
“That hat….is that what I think?”
“Why yes it is.” We smiled. “It’s an old basket strainer from the sink.
As the deer went back to his breakfast…on a morning…completely unplanned…
Deborah and I spent a little more time…enjoying our winter wonderland.
Amazed at how the child inside us…always under the surface….lying low
can so quickly be awakened…by a little fall of snow.
Don your hat, grab your cape and walk with me,
let's stalk the streets, take in the frosty air
on cobbled lanes, necromancing we see
confined people of shade suspended there.
They strain against the lock, peer through the rail
of shadow gate where fear and pain collide,
destined to seek the path of peace and fail,
eternal slumber forever denied.
PC Moss walking the beat on last patrol
footsteps in Lock-up yard in echoes sound
in concert with the chains of fettered soul
never to seek solace beneath the ground.
Matins at the Friary can still be heard,
the brotherhood who walk, missals in hand.
In moonlit armour, Roman legions stirred
on Chester Green they march by night's command.
Take heed now of the child's plaintive cry
hurled from Silk Mill tower in ages past
unanswered call to mother, years go by
languishing, no comfort to the last.
These fragile frames of ours will end their days,
we live in hope for immortality
We know not what 'twixt here and heaven lay
so don your hat and cape, and walk with me.
Derby: known to paranormal investigators as 'the dead centre of England'.
For contest- Midnight
When the pall of gloom overcasts my mind
And at cross roads bewildered as I stand
I tell myself
This shall pass
When my mind is full of fear
And I find no single soul to share
I tell myself
This too shall pass
When darkness invades my abode
And there is not even a ray of light inside
I tell myself
This too shall pass
When my burdens weigh heavier than I can bear
And when no one around seems to care
I tell myself
This too shall pass
When storm clouds gather in the sky
And my tensions rise high
I tell myself
This too shall pass
When the road ahead stretches strenuous
And the distance makes me nervous
I tell myself
This too shall pass
When those I love and trust let me down
And look upon me with scorn and frown
I tell myself
This too shall pass
When misfortunes flow in torrent
And am caught in the eddying current
I tell myself
This too shall pass
When the cycle of seasons keep changing
Life, from sorrows to joy will surely be shifting
Let us wait for the pendulum to have its full swing
And let our hopes heavenward steadily wing!
Love will again fill the air
Doves of peace will coo in pair
The wintry chill will lose its frosty bite
Spring will come on wings like a sprite
‘‘Nevertheless, the hilltop hour
Would not be half so wonderful
Were there no dark valleys to traverse”
Helen Keller’s words resonate in my ears
Placed Second
'Hope' Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mohan Cutani
SEASONAL
Spring, The King of seasons to bring
leaves glowing, glistening, glittering,
blushing blooming buds, cheery chirping birds.
Cooing dove making love with care and regards.
My forgotten past is whispering.
Summer shows grammar of heat getting warm and warmer.
Sowing seasonal seeds to harvest, busy is farmer.
Sharp scorching Sun dazzles shiny
Sometimes stormy days go rainy. .
My forgotten past starts to murmur.
Autumn! Trees always feel glad to welcome.
Leaves tend to fall as Fall has come.
Plants are eager to get rid of
drooped dry dying leaves shedding off,
Pricking reminiscence, I wish to overcome.
Winter is entering slowly shyly aftermath,
with cool and cooler temperature on frosty path.
Cold climate is getting composed in snowy effort.
Chilled weather claims woolen comfort.
My forgotten past is seeking a little warmth.
.
"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape—the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show." - Andrew Wyeth
Gentle flakes wish on frozen stars
Poetries, like grace, write memoirs
The night sounds like a shadow’s song
Listening to rhythms who belong
Moon rises against black of night
Still as the words making hearts right
Remember the Poet’s words so strong
Listening to rhythms who belong
Snow falls in silence, soft as clouds
Causing night to sing to the crowds
Twilight kills whatever is wrong
Listening to rhythms who belong
Gentle flakes wish on frozen stars
Listening to rhythms who belong
Prompt for contest:
"Upon a ridge In misty blue A lone tree Sways in song
Dew drops Race A morning chill Calls Upon the dawn
Season's change Rearrange A flowers dream Is gone
A skyward gaze A quiet place Reflecting A long lost song"
upon a jagged cliff beneath a sky azure blue
a single tree whispers in the wind
rain came with the dawn
the season is changing the landscape
the mornings are now frosty . . . snow will change everything
the wildflowers have lowered their heads to sleep their season gone
I look skyward in this silent place contemplating the change
and each song that rests . . . as a single snowflake kisses my cheek