Long Snowfalls Poems
Long Snowfalls Poems. Below are the most popular long Snowfalls by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snowfalls poems by poem length and keyword.
Indigo coldness
obscures starlight
twinkles are lost
hidden from the sight
porch lights distant
shining bright
flickering starbursts
descending from the sky
crystals fragile
in frigid air
blankets the walkways
cold and bare
bundled deeply
seeking warmth
visions of summer
flow in my mind
half heard rumbles
steel scrapes
scattering crystals
hard and dry
rivers flow
through the night
herding the storm
to far away
radiant beams
warmth away
as glittering starlight
now appears
shines forth sunlight
new dawning day
as endless rainbows
spring into the view
enthalpy clings
to sparkling light
ascending the hill
of energy gain
crystals do slowly
with changing state
droplets become
and flow away
breeze slowly warming
attacking the chill
bright blinding sunlight
stealing away sight
blank verse
The winter of two ought fourteen
saw numbers plunge as ice storms rage,
and for the record, deep snowfalls.
Ma Nature showed her nasty side.
Capricious temperatures’ ebb tide
made life erratic: broken bones,
pow’r outages and highways shut.
Ma Nature found a callous streak.
Bizarre display of weather freaks -
appointments cut, no school for days.
The household suffered much on edge
for teasing found in Nature’s veins.
Now spring holds promise in her reins,
Ma Nature works redeeming grace
transforming what we knew would come .
Renewal is her middle name.
The same holds true throughout the year
each season bows to Nature’s call.
written March 10, 2014
I love the month of February,
The coldest month of the season,
For an array of emotional reasons.
And yet, it feels like she is the longest,
For the events that happen haphazardly,
Amid treacherous winter storm blasts.
Quasi everything is frozen near the nest
Of the American bald eagles,
Except the Mardi Gras masks under the rumbles.
Feb is the month of love,
The month of Saint Valentine,
A quintessential paradise cove,
Where lovers take refuge. Pure, Pristine,
Snowy, Short, Pure, Dark, and Lovely; She's now
The celebratory month of Black History,
One wonders why and how
We get the shortest one. It's another story
That we should let the nomad seagulls
Decipher. No swimmers on the wintry beaches,
Solely, a few birds are perched on the branches,
Far away from the cribs of the bald eagles.
February is a month of kaleidoscopic contrast,
Where snowfalls happen quite often,
And hardcore lovers dream under a heaven
Full of hope, love, beauty, and ice.
Copyright © February 2016, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
Happiness is heaven, ecstasy gratifying
Sensual and satisfaction zest and delight.
I am quite confident; it comes all the year round.
It comes in the springtime when new buds appear
And nature's perfume fecundates the parks.
The season is warmer and children can play,
Listen to them, it’s laughter all the way.
It comes in summer, with hot and humid days,
We lie near each other savoring our ways.
The sea is calm and bathers can enjoy
Both a refreshing swim or some cold lollipops.
It comes in autumn with air that's so crisp
As the first snowflakes bring down the red dry leaves.
Thanksgiving is organized, a sumptuous feast.
Tilled harvested fields prepared as the chill is a beast.
But wet windy winter comes cold and hoary days
Snowfalls cover the roads and all stay snug in homes,
Everywhere fireplaces radiate warmth and shelter,
For many people think that happiness is not far away.
And so, as the year draws to a miserable end,
Let’s open a bubbly, and happy greetings send.
I love the month of February,
The coldest month of the season,
For an array of personal reasons.
And yet, it feels like she is the longest,
For the events that happen haphazardly,
Amid treacherous winter storm blasts.
Quasi everything is frozen near the nest
Of the American bald eagles,
Except the Mardi Gras masks under the rumbles.
Feb is the month of love,
The month of Saint Valentine,
A quintessential paradise cove,
Where lovers take refuge. Pure, pristine,
Snowy, short, cold, dark, and lovely; She's now
The celebratory month of Black history,
One wonders why and how
We get the shortest one. It's another story
That we should let the nomad seagulls
Decipher. No swimmers on the wintry beaches,
Solely, a few birds are perched on the branches,
Far away from the cribs of the bald eagles.
February is a month of kaleidoscopic contrast,
Where snowfalls happen quite often,
And hardcore lovers dream under a heaven
Full of hope, love, beauty, and ice.
Hebert Logerie Tuesday, February 2, 2016
tablets on top of a tablet
thinking about existence and the what and the why
shaking a bottle of water fighting with the stubbornness of my reluctance
knowing i do not have the heart
trying to force the hardcore in
continuously stepping aside for my teddy bear exterior and interior
remembering i cannot fight God's creation
tablet becomes a sliding board over a trash can
choosing life
starting over
talking to myself
shutting my eyes tightly with face drowned in my hands
wondering how it all got to this....how it all got here....to this point....this destination
blowing off the powdery remains from the tablets on top of a tablet
remembering snowfalls and hot chocolate with marshmallows
remembering saturday morning cartoons in late september
remembering what people like about me past and present
thinking about the less fortunate or the even lesser fortunate
realizing that i do not have it so bad
opening my eyes to the steadiness, the stability, and the consistency in my life
grabbing me a dr. pepper from the fridge
putting the leftover bacon cheeseburger pizza in the microwave
cutting on the tv and turning it to 'snapped'
stifling an expletive and slapping myself in the face wondering what the hell i was thinking....
finally realizing Life Is God....Life Is Good....
When I cannot tell you how I feel
When I want to see you ,not to speak,
I talk about the weather like a fool
Sometimes when I’m tired I feel unreal
Or life seems lost and meaning seems to leak
Then I can not tell you how I feel.
Some months have their winds to make misrule
Winds to throttle throats and freeze the cheeks
I talk about the weather ,as its cool.
We must keep moving or our blood congeals
So sheep must on moorland frosty, bleak
I don’t want to lie for life is real
When winter mocks our age I find it cruel
Yet you are old and for amusement look
I talk about the sunshine like a fool
Oh,happy snowfalls keeping us from school
As on the ice we tumbled with loud shrieks
When I cannor tell you how I feel
The weather stands for what I have concealed
As Fall was leaving,
the chill gradually grew
and thinking of past snowfalls,
a wintry painting came to mind.
It puzzled me that the artist's name
was missing, then my curiosity began to grow.
I took it to Art Shows, nobody bought it for any price;
I posted on ebay and no one responded, no one ever bid.
Whoever painted it, had vivid imagination and perception;
all the beauty seen in the majestic mounts revealed splendor.
I decided to hang it over my computer desk,
and once in a while I glance at it with admiration,
but it still fascinates me since the day
I found it by the trash can; I guess they didn't know its value.
Sometimes my look wanders far being transported by fantasy,
and at the foot of the mounts I stand contemplating their majesty;
I long to hear that voice rising from the snowy peaks, " I am that painter. "
Entered in Debbie Gucci's contest,
" Ten Picture, Ten poems, Ten poets, Ten Days "
Written on 1/ 8/ 2016
Poem # 4
When nature takes a turn for the worst
grumbling rumbles shakes
great balls of fire falling
in her tears black snowfalls
Burning smell of sulphur burns
rolling down the mountains molten lava
they salute death rivers of flames
the chariots of Hell's fire
Crying infants wailing out mercy
embraced in their mothers arms
held together with fathers
They roared to the Gods for help
falling silver ashes remains
Imagining God had forsaken them
as the skies disappeared from their eyes
falling into the darkening death vision
Their universe plunged into darkness
Victims they felt death falling upon them
A deadly feeling they are the children
cursed by the damned volcano
No where to run
No where to hide
They stop and the black ash swallows them
like a carpet of night forever gone
but always remembered in hearts
the fall of a great city in living history
truly lives forever in the archives of our time
I would be the Celtic gladiator
Winter withers all the meadow’s flowers,
and the frozen hours
paint the woodlands pale:
as the snowfalls thicken,
lindens cast their stricken
branches stark against the season’s whiteness.
Yet I mourn this barrenness less sadly
than I grieve how badly
Shame and Honor fail:
Honor’s stream runs shallow,
Virtue’s field lies fallow,
no heart seeks to cull the rose of rightness.
The spring restores the leaves and petals to the flowers on the thorn-hedge,
but the man whom wickedness has taken
and who has forsaken
Honor’s holy pledge
walks a path of sorrows,
nor can face tomorrow’s
gleaming dawn secure in manhood’s brightness.
— translated from the Middle High German
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