Winter(A) Poems - Poems about Winter(A)

At first light trudging through the Arctic Snow, Is it for thrill or just a Facebook photo show? As the Arctic wind buffets our flushed face, The long-awaited walk soon becomes a shambles of a race. Hands morph to splintered wood, eyebrows deftly freeze, And yet the brochure promised we’d do this trek with ease. Soldier on, embrace the frigid grind, Pray...

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It's to be expected this time of year, mid Winter, a merciless wind straight off the bay blowing leaves left over from Autumn, lifting them like dead prey flicked up by the claws of a cat reliving the kill in its remorseless play. ...

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Original Haiku by Michael R. Burch Keywords/Tags: winter, love, dream, kindness, sun, sea, leaf, leaves, autumn, spring, life, poets, words, stars, moon, war Such a frigid winter day, our words also icy —Michael R. Burch Her love, sheer and ***** as gossamer, did not adhere... —Michael R. Burch I dream of love as bankers dream of repossessing Ferraris. —Michael R. Burch The hummingbird fans an iris: myriad acts of kindness go...

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I recall the yelling but silent voice of winter that broken December when the lights from lanterns shot up from their wicks with the fading strength of departing glows abroad. Twilights hastened through the spine of receding days, halting the approach of a wayward Christmas. The wilderness around us yielded froths from a puking snowstorm, fastening laces of Hell with strings of abundant sleet....

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Heart-shaped box of chocolates, late Winter surprise. See sailor, in a dark uniform, hiding his eyes. She knows him now, all too well, every inch of him. This sailor, in a dark uniform, hiding his eyes. A straight and narrow arrow flew from Cupid’s bowstring. Struck sailor, in a dark uniform, hiding his eyes. He had to open them then -...

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Your love is as welcome as a gentle summer breeze, Feeling its depth brings me to my knees. It's as soothing as a massage at the end of a long day, Yet intriguing and exciting in its own way. For lasting an eternity is that for which I pray, ...

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It was all about a grim, Foggy, smoggy, old Thursday night In Hithergreen, London’s belching south, Below Europe’s icy, dark trees and In the silence of grieving mornings . . . Bulbous clouds bleeding with strained oomph Would stir the ingravescence of patented ills. The trains always come railing! Railing loud and silly Like heathen bandits with no shame. But before such mornings, A half-distilled liquored, low-brewed Evening...

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Impossible beauty, summer in swell, Fragrance aflowing and fluttering around; Though now, I admit, I don’t see it well, I know – my ears! – all the birds by their sound. Heaven surrounds me, but only for now; Howling the winds that shall crash on my head; Ripping the flowers that live on the bough, Never see summer return in its stead. Perhaps...

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Christmas is a long song sung in winter, An epic poem written with white quill feather pen and Gold ink, and on clouds of paper, Beginning from a sneezing December to a Dizzying twelfth-calendar month, When snow drizzles gently into the souls of Those who hearken to the tinkling sound of The church bell which rings gently with the weight of The slow-passing...

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Again the dreams, each dark cold night, of a white horse, oh sweet delight; he turns to me, waiting it seems, each dark cold night, again the dreams. The snow falls, each flake filigree, waiting it seems, he turns to me; a small bird sings, with sad birdcalls, each flake filigree, the snow falls. Oh ... be still, I ask my heartstrings, with...

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Time seems to be picking up speed a freight train without engineer Hendrix electric guitar on amphetamines. Time is picking up speed children born yesterday wobbling off to college the next. Time used to be gentle like bike bells singing harmony with a summer breeze. somewhere. once upon a nursery rhyme time became an indifferent brute. A trickster taker-a mass grave maker playing the shell game whisking...

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Mid-winter down south, Climbing roses need pruning. Blooms faded like youth..........

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in the spring, when petals praise within the song of grace who’ll amaze beneath the silence of a gentle bud there is a power, power in the blood in the summer, when stories reveal hope so sacred, sacred enough to heal beyond the sun grows a life of wonder singing exultation in the raging thunder in the autumn, when leaves begin to weep there...

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weathering Wales in bleak winter is hard though starred sheep remain sleek taverns roaring fires a feat making Celtic maidens sweet ~~~~~~~ ...

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Looking over my northern shoulder at the changing shades of day a weak winter sun turning twilight grey teardrops of rain on the window the gentle sigh of the wind storm clouds in the evening sky bring it all back again poring over unwritten letters in the solitude of night a dim lit candle shining star white light telephone silent unanswered candlelight quietly dimmed unwritten letters to...

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