Metaphor Snow Poems | Examples
These Metaphor Snow poems are examples of Snow poems about Metaphor. These are the best examples of Snow Metaphor poems written by international poets.
The sun having a frozen side~
a wish like a snowball in hell,
or netting the wind while oceans b o i l
in f i r e.
The rage of its heat needs curtailing.
I'm melting...
like chocolates and candles~
roasting like chicken in an oven.
How then
do I hide the cry of my fat?
With the frozen side of the sun,
snowflakes fall but never thaw,
painting my doorstep in white,
chilling my bones dry,
shaking my limbs stiff.
Birds hide their faces...
and songs become faint echoes in snow-draped distance,
while rasping hoots of early-rising snowy owls
mimic the whispers of restless winds—
announcing the coming of an impending
dark sky
that will not abate...
the ceaseless dropping of white flakes.
I'm b o i l i n g—
a tempest brewing...
not as a boiling frog syndrome
but like a fish out of water
in a slough of despond.
My skin scathes,
heat burns leave sores on my soles.
Long rays of shine pierced my sunshade;
sweat formed oceans on my skin.
And I w h i s p e r e d—
in the absence of ears~
"I need the frozen side of the sun."
The winter stared at me, hollow-eyed and grim,
flakes of snow draped the earth in silence.
My lips quivered, teeth rattling their cold refrain,
and they danced—not with legs, but with their whole bodies.
Then my head went numb, my thoughts unwound,
consciousness slipped beyond the veil.
I soared like the angels—we all grew wings,
new arrivals, lost among strangers.
Before a great gate, we were set apart,
memory severed, the past a whisper.
The snow had risen~an unbroken white peak,
and the trees stood crowned in frost’s embrace.
My eyes grew misty, each tear frozen mid-fall,
my mind still locked in winter’s grasp.
Like thieves vaulting from shattered glass,
memories took flight, then scattered like dew on rooftops.
I searched for myself in pools of melted snow,
but my past had fled like a startled horse.
No trace remained~no pain, no triumphs,
only the wait to whine or wine and dine.
Yet even if a cup were placed in my hands,
the taste of good wine lay lost upon the wind.
As snow is melting,
It's as though even buildings
Are softly crying.
night of frost
skyscrapers of the metropolis
dress in cold snow
The sleigh glided through heavy snow
Santa was worried about the blizzard blow
When suddenly Rudolph stubbled, his leg amiss
The reindeer sighed to see their leader down
The North Pole wore a worried frown
Elf doctors worked with healing care
Santa looked on distraught
While backup plans filled the frosty air
The sleigh, now powered by a magic spell,
Would soar through the sky, still chiming bells
Rudolph cheered as they started their journey
For Christmas joy would save the night.
ice on my window
falling snow, falling eyelids
freezing makes me warm
Watching the snowflakes
Gently glide through the chilly air
Watching the snowflakes
Slowly combine and fall together
This one snowflake flew into my hands
It melted and drip out of my palm.
Why are my hands so destructive?
Whatever is in my grasps ends up disappearing.
I started to think about you and I.
We were snowflakes floating in the wind.
We were so close and became one
We split apart now, and I lost you.
Once the wind settles down
Maybe I’ll find you.
Instead I hit the ground
And started to melt apart.
I became water to become flexible to find you
You became ice because you repelled me
I came crashing and rushing to find you
While you were tranquil but so rigid
Instead of melting together
You pierced through me
And I evaporated away.
I took shape of any vessel you desired.
I kept changing who I was.
I tried to be what you wanted.
Instead, I lost myself trying to find you.
WINTER IN AN IOWA CORNFIELD
Why start nattering about lucky tracks
Neath a tarnished night of a waning storm?
Haystacks in a disciplined platoon wait
With hooded coats, caves of hibernation,
Standing in formation with watchfulness.
Six columns and six rows of perfection
Thirty-six baled soldiers in transition
Marching forward in a biting snow storm,
Blindly floundering in a final surge.
A good resistance fighter is lonely.*
Haystacks in the Snow, Grant Wood (1941)
* Winter in Wartime, Jan Terlouw (1972)
Oh, my wondrous winter rose!
I live to see you bloom in all your charming chilling grace.
Awaiting your pearly presence to embellish my arctic stance stilled in mystic motion,
where my frosted saccharine soul craves only your ethereal embrace to cast a spell of life.
Although distance divulges myriad of yearnings in vacant vermillion veins,
yet I am willing to weave scintillating seconds in a rosary of tears upon my eyelashes,
till I see you glistening at the edge of every silver splashed storm.
I long to press velvety warmth to your glacial glazed petals with my devoted touch,
as I know how I can comfort pink pastels present somewhere deep in your snow-kissed soul.
Lost and found in each other's gaze,
you and I would tango upon twilight tinted tundras for winters to come.
I dream of us together wrapped under the blanket of icy indigo nights,
where our jasmine scented saga would hymn in our rhyming dewy breaths pouring in majestic monophony.
Precipitate so white!
What shivering delights!
Cool blankets ‘pon the brim,
Though much more be quite grim,
God moderates good gifts,
Too much makes fools of them
Who enjoy cold ice drifts.
As quiet
as a whisper,
swirling
snowflakes begin
to tumble and twirl
as they fall
gently
from the sky;
sparkling
like jewels;
as sunbeams
highlight ice crystals
hidden amongst flakes of
white;
in the guise of snow.
Another sleepless night,
I watch the snow fall.
Furious flurries in a heavenly jailbreak,
they pile up in the window corners anonymously.
One itinerant catches itself on the middle of the pane,
an unafraid renegade.
I lean closer to admire but its identity slides down the glass,
melted by my curious breath.
Joining others of a lesser fate,
they form a rivulet and fall to the frozen earth below.
Snow slowly fills
An empty nest
The metaphor
Now empty
12 May 2022
15 syllables
Snowflakes falling
Away from the Heavens...
Just like how we were (before)...
Fallen beings.
Each of us one of a kind,
When shall He free our minds...?
When will that day come
When we find The One
Whom loves us forever more...
Someday, we will rise
In evaporating waste...
When will we be saved
From our unclean
And shameful world?
Freeing our souls
(Freezing our pain),
And condensing into repentance.
His tears of joy and judgement;
Shall fall from the skies
As we melt away,
Then He cleanses our world,
Flooding all of our tears away...
Just like snowflakes,
We have fallen.
Now we wait for that
Very same, rainy day...
Winter arrives with a cold, blustery wind,
sashaying in on a carpet of white.
And freezing Fall with Her frosty breath,
She wears a crystalline gown;
transforming Autumn's tattered dress
into a shroud of crumbling colors.
The Queen of icicles
and mistress of the North,
She rules with a frigid heart;
and as legions of flakes carry Her forth,
She scatters snow across the land.
A sterile maiden with ice in Her veins,
She bears no resemblance to Spring.
Yet, She is loved by children, skaters, and skiers,
and while Nature's hibernating animals sleep;
She tucks them in with a blanket of snow.