En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Never

I wake. Yes, it's a coffin lid.-With effort
I reach my hands out and I call
For help. Yes, I recall the tortures
Of dying.-Yes, this is no dream!-
And without effort, like a spider web
I push aside my casket's rotting wood

And stand. How bright the winter light appears
In the crypt's doorway! Can I doubt it?-
I see the snow. The crypt's without a door.
It's time to head for home. How stunned they'll be!
I know this park, I cannot lose my way.
But oh how different it looks now!

I hurry. Snowdrifts. Frigid boughs
Of dead trees poke deep into the sky,
There are no tracks or sounds. It's still.
The realm of death in an enchanted world.
And here's my home. But what decay!
I'm shocked by this heartbreaking sight.

The village sleeps beneath a snowy blanket,
There is no path in all the boundless steppe.
Yes, there it is: upon a far-off hill
I see the ancient belfry of the church.
A frozen traveler in the whirling snow,
It stands out clear against the cloudless span.

No winter birds or midges dot the snow.
I understand: the earth has long lain chill
And dead. For whom do I conserve
The breath within my chest? To whom did death
Return me? What's my mind
Connected to? And what's its final purpose?

Where shall I go if there is no one to embrace?
And time has lost itself in space?
O, Death, return! And hasten to assume
The fatal burden of this final life.
And you, stiff corpse of earth take flight
And bear my corpse on the eternal path!

poem by Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song Of The Evergreens

Listen to the briskly whistling winter evergreen
Whispering through the frozen morning light
And tell me whats to come
Saying my time is near
Never fear
I close each year
Im winter
Reminding me to trade my t-shirts for my woven wools
Trade my sandals for my skis
Whispered warnings in the wind
Saying soon come the dancing snowflakes
Theyre kissing every tree
Theyre kissing you and me
Please hurry
Falling
Dazzling dancing diamonds from the sky
Prisms
Rainbow sparkled flurries in our eyes
Whipping across the frozen crystal meadow
Pond of ice
Race the snow
Well build a warming fire there
And cuddle close and wine and dine
The setting sun
The morning light will find us high
Shooting down the glistening mountain side
Screaming through the whispering pines
The freedom of each day
Will cleanse our minds
I can hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
I can hardly hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow

song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mystic Journey: Earth 1

the moon is an immortal soul which breathes life
into the earth, and life, in its ebb and flow
waxes and wanes with breaths of seasons. to know
the moon's mind is to understand life on earth.

into the first full moon of the auspicious
Year of the Rooster you disappeared, into the
living dead of unconscious winter. the relentless
snow stretched like skin over lakes and fields

buried cold, bony ground in bright veil of ice.
ice was everywhere. the arteries of rivers
clotted, frozen air stuck in silver trees. sap
stored below ground, nature cocooned coma,

the lifeless world was timeless too the day they
packed thorsby* church. pale clouds crowded
like heavy canvas sack the bloodless sky,
dull gray sunlight drained from blank pupil.

all but a few black winter birds were fled.
a sun-streaked cat kept lip of the parish door.
friends flocked before your flowered casket.
a frocked minister stood behind the pulpit

intoning; all great feeling is grave. feelings
were expressed, and suppressed. families
gathered, then scattered. you, felled wood
robbed of root, dried grain bled of blood,

mirrored blood lines back. in death you
resembled your father; he, no doubt, his.
before you were born, you were: after your
death, you are. you became your ancestors.

*thorsby, alberta, canada

poem by Doug Bentley
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The First Day of Snow

Snow, is a luxury
In our tropical world
Snow is a fable
Never saw, never touched, never smell

The first day of snow drifting onto a winter wonderland
The first time I felt it, on my face, around me
Boundless joy, wonder, ecstasies
Unreal, beautiful, white
A winter wonderland of ecstasies
Just for me

Silvery icicles, hanging off branches golden like the autumn days fading into winter
Silvery, like fairy tales
Pond of frozen winter clear, ducks swimming chasing their own tails
In ecstasies, in wonder, like a fairytale unfold

Snow, is a luxury
Unreal, beautiful, unbelievably soft
Boundless wonder, boundless joy
A magical world of snowy white
God’s glorious creation

A winter wonderland,
Beautiful beyond measure

poem by Iris Rain
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And, Magic!

and so once again,
spring hath violated
the tomb of god,
and brought forth magic!

shadows dance,
seeds are planted.
life bursts through
the frozen casket...

light begins anew,
poets too long slumbered,
cast the webbing from their eyes,
birthing words into being.

thunderstorms, and magic.
the sun carries the hands of time.
summer dares come, wave upon wave,
poets dance naked in the moonlight.

lovers come together,
fission, and creation.
worlds are formed,
history testifies!

wine lusts for the lips,
as flesh for flesh.
the drums beat wildly,
death is but orgasm!

all too soon,
autumn aproaches.
the harvest of desire,
fires built in the night.

hair turns grey,
thoughts lose form.
leaves begin to turn,
and fall, tis magic!

and poets rhyme the turning
of the earth and the sea.
worship the shell shocked earth,
dance in the memory....

then leaves turn brown,
decay, and return.
poets lose their eyesight,
follow the beat of the heart.

the winter chill comes,
barelimbed trees offer prayers...
at the graves of the poets,
marked by fresh fallen snow.

words lost, or engraved forever,
in the coming of spring,
in darkness to light...
what else could it be...

but magic!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Winter Wonderland

There are strange and mysterious sounds
When the winds of winter blow,
The long nights are crystal clear and cold,
And the fields and meadows are covered with snow.
The stars are frosty against the sky,
And the wind's whistle is shrill,
As the snow blows against the house
And drifts against the hill.
Yet, I like to see during the winter
A white carpet on the ground,
To plod aimlessly in the deep snow,
where deer tracks abound.
I like to feel the stillness
Of a crisp winter's night,
Watching a full moon rise over the horizon,
Exposing a winter wonderland beautiful and bright.

poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Gods Little Forest Creatures

(10/01/11)

All that she knew was that it was a snowy day
And she was in a horse pulled sleigh
The blanket was covering her
From her knees to her feet.
The thermo of hot chocolate was such a treat.

The frozen lake, the snow covered trees
Was truly a sight to be seen.
the birds high up in the trees
Whistling so cheerfully

Singing songs of summers past
And how the winter came so fast.
The ground hog not wanting to come out
He knew well what winter was about.
The ground was covered in a blanket of white
All roads and paths were out of sight.
That did not stop this horse pulled sleigh
He had gone thru this many a day.
He had a covered barn that awaited him
That was the reason he had a grin.
The animals were frantically searching for food
The possums, the raccoons, the rabbits
And The squirrels too.
With one purpose in mind
And that was to stay alive.
As she got to where they were gathered
She pulled out from under her blanket
A five pound bag of peanuts and seed
for her to feed - these poor
Little creatures who always came around
When there was no food to be found.
She was the snow white of this land
Always there to give a hand.
So when you see a squirrel stop and stand
on its hind legs, it’s to see if it is their snow white
Who helped them on this cold winter night.

poem by Louis Rams
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The Beauty Of Winter

The sun shines on the cold, white, snow,
It spring through my blinds, and my room starts to glow,
I got out of bed, and walked out the door,
And walked right outside, unknowing of what’s in store,
I stop and I sit, on a stump in my yard,
Reached down for a handful of snow that is hard,
I think of this snow, and its short time spent here,
It shines and it sparkles, almost causing a tear,
The crisp, bitter, air makes me shiver with cold,
I let the snow fall from my chill-induced hold,
Winter’s icy fingers wrap around me tight,
The snow-filled wind blows by, limiting my sight,
I breathe in deep as I warm my hands,
And enjoy this winter wonderland,
My nose turns red, and my cheeks do too,
The rest of me turns a rather pale hue,
The smell of smoke, and the warmth of fire,
An inside place for when I tire,
The Earth warms, and snow melts away,
To return it’s chilling grasp another day.

poem by K.N. Sheldon
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The Winter Love

Such a cold was in january.
In december love had come vainly.
Winter love is short,
Obviously.
Snow is quiet falls
Down on earth.

Snow is on the streets,
Snow's in wood.
Snow in words I hear,
In your eyes, too.
Winter love is short,
Obviously.
Snow is quiet falls
Down on earth.

You are saying: 'Bye'
To me now.
And I hear your voice
Icy, round.
Winter love is short,
Obviously.
Snow is quiet falls
Down on earth.

And the oaths
are cold
In winter time.
I'll wait for long
The spring love.
Winter love is short,
Obviously.
Snow is quiet, falls
Down on earth.

poem by Robert Rozhdestvensky, translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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Late Snow

Late winter snow gains impact
through element of surprise
and potential disappointment
burying, as it may,
the tender shoots of spring

Stepping on the toes
of springs first warming rain
the sudden return of snowflakes
guarantees a thicker flocking
on every branch and twig
Night’s chill will seal this fluff
like crystallizing sugar sets cake frosting

I would rather dream of green
buds on trees and shoots of flowers
spared swaddle beneath snow’s blanket

Such choice will not be given
Snow falls, snowfalls
till winter discerns its end

poem by Mary Havran
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The Homeless

Dry and cold were the bitter winds
that crackled the ice on the panes.
Dry and cold were the old woman's hands,
red and raw from the pains.

Old were these winds that had no end.
They surfaced every winter.
Old were the hands that were this woman's
that felt as if they would splinter.

The winter winds were not welcome
for she had no place to go.
Looking for shelter from the cold,
she welcomed the sight of snow.

For the snow would blanket the box she was in
for a night or two.
She stayed inside it for many long hours
as if it were an igloo.

All through the hours she rubbed her hands.
Through a slit she looked to view,
looking for a slant of sunshine soon
but still the cold winds blew.

This is the plight of the homeless.
This is a curse on our lands.
They found her dead when the sun finally came
with stiff and frozen hands.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Wintertime

Snow falling on the ground,
Little white flakes to be found.
Lift your head to the sky,
And watch the snow zippin’ by.
Cold wind at your back,
Nothing winter seems to lack.
A blanket of snow covers the Trees,
Winter can’t end. No please!
Can’t Jack Frost do his Job?
For a little longer, don’t make me sob.
Can’t I stay in this Wonderland?
I don’t want to return to golden sand.
But under the layer of cold, white snow,
Lies little seedlings ready to show.
I must say a grateful farewell,
To winter fun, for it was swell.
And say hello to summer sweat,
Instead of getting cold, we get wet.
Hello Spring! Hello Summer!
Goodbye Fall! Goodbye Winter!

poem by Fane Oat
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Father Winter

Welcome back home Father Winter
we have waited all year for you.
Your lovely trees, so tall
their branches now bare
they stand there waving you
back home you brought with you
your winter jewels, now they hang
on those naked branches.

The summer flowers, have
now laid down for a long winters
nap their waiting for you to cover
them with your winter blanket.

Your blanket will keep them
warm till spring then they'll
all pop up and sing.
Now all the small animals have
laid their heads down too sweet
dreams every thing will awake to
fresh new season.

You have dressed everything for
Christmas. your ice snow flakes
have landed on our pond it looks
looks like big white frosted glass
mirror it also created beautiful
glass like ornaments that
hang on the ever green trees.

Your cold fluffy snow lays upon
their branches it drapes like a
pearl necklace among their branches
they all look so lovely.

The winter clouds that you have blown
in float beneath the stars so bright
the full moon shines down upon the
hill tops all covered in your beauty.

The fresh snow glistens like stars
and silver gliter it looks like
millions of diamondseen have been
scattered on the beaten paths.
Your winter air smell so crisp
and cold as you speak, you can
see your breath in \the cold air
the only lights are from the new
full winter moon.

As you can see Father Winter has
blown, in with such briskness.
Every where you now look,
now looks bright and fresh.

Little children have started the
count down.To that special
night which is not to far off in sight.

And like ''SANTA'
You'll be gone, in the wink
of an eye.

We thank you for all the beauty
that you have given us, you'll
only last a while upon you I'll
walk a brisk mile.

We'll love you as long as you'll
last..Upon your snow we'll
dance and play.

We'll do this each cold day..
Until you melt away.
and then we'll say a sad good-bye.,

GAYLE ANNE GOFF
DECEMBER
2008

poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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To Elizabeth Ward Perkins

Dear Bessie, would my tired rhyme
Had force to rise from apathy,
And shaking off its lethargy
Ring word-tones like a Christmas chime.

But in my soul's high belfry, chill
The bitter wind of doubt has blown,
The summer swallows all have flown,
The bells are frost-bound, mute and still.

Upon the crumbling boards the snow
Has drifted deep, the clappers hang
Prismed with icicles, their clang
Unheard since ages long ago.

The rope I pull is stiff and cold,
My straining ears detect no sound
Except a sigh, as round and round
The wind rocks through the timbers old.

Below, I know the church is bright
With haloed tapers, warm with prayer;
But here I only feel the air
Of icy centuries of night.

Beneath my feet the snow is lit
And gemmed with colours, red, and blue,
Topaz, and green, where light falls through
The saints that in the windows sit.

Here darkness seems a spectred thing,
Voiceless and haunting, while the stars
Mock with a light of long dead years
The ache of present suffering.

Silent and winter-killed I stand,
No carol hymns my debt to you;
But take this frozen thought in lieu,
And thaw its music in your hand.

poem by Amy Lowell
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Snowy Hills

Ah, the winter snow has come at last!
Ah, the sounds of battle finally cease!
Gently, I creak open the door,
Only to see,
The blood of our troops,
In deep pools of maroon,
Staining the snow,
That beautiful knee deep snow,
Many men lay dying,
As I stand by,
Just watching,
Many others seek shelter in their homes,
From that horrible sight,
Of limp bodies,
Yet I feel nothing.

poem by Cheyenne Baughman
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A Tale Of Winter

A Tale Of Winter
my wings of ice
flutter twice
the snow yet so white
my gleaming sun hovering at great height
silver birds gliding gently
icy snow flakes falling silently
my giant wings of frost
a frozen pond that once was lost
frozen plants shining in the sun
snow balls flying, oh what fun
a giant snowman standing in the wood
children playing like good friends should
a coal fire burning bright
a red robin about to take flight
my new sledge with only one splinter
i will never forget my beautiful tale of winter

poem by James Chaplin
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A Dream in Winter

When all the daisies and daffodils
are buried deep below,
and summer's but a memory
hidden 'pon the drifting snow ~
'tis there beneath the whitened glow,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives the dreams of springtime hue
with a gleam of emerald sheen.

When all the trees are bared and bent
against wintry winds that blow,
and spring is but a wistful sigh
'pon the branches that bow low ~
'tis there within the boughs so wide,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives the buds of springtime hue
with a gleam of emerald sheen.

When roses fade 'pon winter's morn
as their petals flee on frosty breath,
and thorns are left to sadly yearn
in their bed of beauty's death ~
'tis there beneath those roses grown,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives a vision of springtime hue
with a gleam of pastel sheen.

When winter brings a world of white,
a wonderland of icy glow,
and ends the seasons of green, and gold,
hidden 'neath a field of snow ~
'tis there the sleeping earth awaits
in a bed of springtime green,
sighing softly through winter's chill,
'pon a dream of emerald sheen.

poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Whiter Than Snow

As the snow falls from up above, it falls down on the earth below.
It covers everything like a glove, with The Creator’s winter show.
But peeking out is a contrast of, the dark earth beneath the snow.
Soon the sun will return and then, the blanket of snow melts away.
Although it all was covered friend, the earth below is there to stay.
The ground will be exposed again, as before all that snow did lay.

The snow just like the rain will fall, whether it’s in the day or night.
And the snow creates a quiet lull, as it covers all within our sight.
But the ice and snow in its all, will surely dissipate come the light.
Friend, we also cover up in life, our deepest inner hurts and pain.
The inner anguish and the strife, along with thoughts we disdain.
The pains cut deep like a knife, as deep in the heart they remain.

Hidden deep there is also sin, which is hidden down in our heart.
The sin that is buried deep within, creates a much darkened part.
But men in Christ who trust in Him, God gives to them a new start.
Although ones life is like a harlot, Christ will show you how to go.
And though our sin is as scarlet, He’ll make us whiter than snow.
Christ will give you a New Spirit, and in The Spirit you will grow.

All of your sins Christ forgave, this back on the cross of Calvary.
Now matter how darkly depraved, on that cross He set you free.
It was you The Lord had saved, when Christ died upon that tree.
Your sin He did more than cover, for He has washed it all away.
Friend you will soon discover, that in your heart He came to stay.
There His Peace, He will uncover, to fill your heart night and day.

(Copyright ©12/2005)

poem by Bob Gotti
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Mother Nature Can Be Fickle

Winter’s cold is Mother Nature’s way
Of saying, lie with me now, lay your head on my breast
It’s snow, a blanket under which to lay
Neath a crystal cover, enjoying winter's cold caress

Frost rimed windows … Mother Nature’s art
Icy abstractions painted with frosty finesse
Crystalline concoctions that form only a part
Of Mother Natures wonderful winter largesse

Ice coated limbs of slope shouldered trees
droop drowsily down as if fallen asleep
Unable to sway in winter’s frigid breeze
Appear as white mounds, when the snow drifts deep

The stillness one hears on cold winter nights
Broken by the sudden crack of ice laden boughs
The ethereal essence of undulating northern lights
Headlights in the sky for Nature’s snowplows

All is withdrawn, in awe of Nature’s might
Willingly waiting, deep neath frozen ground
Safely sequestered, from winter’s cruel bite
In warm tunnels and burrows, til spring comes around

Mother Nature invites winter into her domain
Cohabits with coldness, wantonly sleeps with Jack frost
Yet finds cold winter quickly falls to disdain
Invites in the spring…and tells winter to get lost

Mother Nature is fickle…and also the boss!

poem by David Whalen
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The Winter Wonderland

The fresh crisp snow crunched under my feet as I stepped out into the snow
A Winter Wonderland
The snowflakes dance and dazzle around me as I start running
A Winter Wonderland
I grab my sled and slide down the hill
A Winter Wonderland

Suddenly my sled goes berserk
And I crash down at the bottom

I lay down on the snow for quite some time
Quite some time

Later in the day the girl found me
Her cheeks bright and warm, and eyes shining
She took me into her house, and fixed me up

My parents have been very worried
Very worried
But now I'm well enough
Well Enough
To go home
Home

And to get out and play in
Play in

The Winter Wonderland

poem by Holly Cee
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How Great The Palace Stands

I

How great the palace stands
with its golden domes
in a city that is on seven hills,
snow white where it towers seven times.

As if everything holy, righteous and wonderful
comes to stature in it,
where hymns are constantly sung,
in the inner court and at the outside

with a central stela as a sign
of life originating, pointing into the air,
with the moon and sun meeting,
rises and dies as in ancient heathen worship,

circled twice,
almost like the throne of God Himself
and year in and out
have been seen as the very fortress against evil.

This place is full of light and darkness that mixes,
much like the checked surface of a chess board,
maybe symbolic of a cycle of life and death,
that is eternal for these people?

II

After a journey over the whole earth,
coming from far as a pilgrim,
the traveller looks at the big palace,
later he stops in front of a copper door,

where there are soldiers on guard duty
and these symbols are depicted on that door:

Jesus Christ on the cross, the death of Mary,
death by torture, death on earth,
or in space,
symbols of the communion,
a vine and sheaf of wheat

and on the edge of the door
birds of the night and day
and thus again light and darkness:
a dead dove, a sleeping guinea pig,
a hedgehog, a night owl,
a tortoise bitten to death by a snake
and a threatening raven.

poem by Gert Strydom
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