Winter Rhapsody
The leafless, arthritic branches
of the sycamore and maple
trees stretched their grotesque, naked forms
now stripped by the blasts of winter;
splaying drearily overhead
casting cold, rickety shadows
over recently fallen snow.
A prevailing wind rushes through
the trees and a choir of creaks
begin their rasping rhapsody.
A momentary lull begins
and the wooded composition
in a Larghissimo tempo
ends on a melancholy note.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Related quotes
When the winter strip trees
When the winter strip trees, uncovering them to naked,
where they stay behind like stripped skeletons
with only here and there birds remaining,
the secret of survival is still hidden,
even when it becomes icy cold,
doves and sparrows still fly past.
When the winter strip trees, uncovering them to naked,
where they stay behind like stripped skeletons,
it is looking as if the season is making an assault
on everything living, nothing can escape it,
there are still flowers blooming,
as if protected against the cold they are keeping watch
when the winter strip trees, uncovering them to naked.
poem by Gert Strydom
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First Snowfall
The last of autumn’s leaves begins assault
Of winter gales. The sap within the trees
In hibernating xylems call a halt
To most activity to some degree.
The birds that once resided amongst them
Already left for warmer spots unknown.
A few remain behind but are condemned
To weather winters snow and ice alone.
The snow begins to fall. At first, a flake,
Then more and more until the trees are white
And weighted. Branches, weak, begin to break
And fall to earth and soon are crowned despite
The slackened storm. The wind subsides and all
Is quiet and calmness follows the squall.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Now is The Winter With Trees Stripped Naked
Now is the winter with trees naked
when there is cold and sifting rain,
stripped bare without leaves
and then you first come past and then to me
like a sun rising over the horizon
with a yellow raincoat, your pants splashed wet, laughing and glad
and your company is full of fun
in bands of gathering fog.
Now is the winter with trees naked
cutting off every ray and light
and I know our time is only borrowed,
like a sun rising over the horizon
but stopping the rays in this winter,
in a cold world without hope or pity,
stripped bare without leaves
where you shake out your hair like a dog does with rain,
whereupon I take the clips from your hair
and I know our time is only borrowed
but your are glorious like a poster
and for long moments time is missing.
Now is the winter with trees naked
with bliss descending between us
and you are only mine, with soft lips and big eyes
whereupon I take the clips from your hair
and I see your beauty
our passion goes to practical reality,
stripped bare without leaves
we shine like the world outside in vulnerability like rainbows,
where passion sweeps us away from uncovering
and you are only mine, with soft lips and big eyes
pretty, pure and untouched
in moments of ecstasy without fatigue.
Now is the winter with trees naked
stripped bare without leaves
and I am totally lost in you.
and then you first come past and then to me,
where passion sweeps us away from uncovering
with a yellow raincoat, your pants splashed wet, laughing and glad.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Winter's Come
Sweet chestnuts brown like soling leather turn;
The larch trees, like the colour of the Sun;
That paled sky in the Autumn seemed to burn,
What a strange scene before us now does run--
Red, brown, and yellow, russet, black, and dun;
White thorn, wild cherry, and the poplar bare;
The sycamore all withered in the sun.
No leaves are now upon the birch tree there:
All now is stript to the cold wintry air.
See, not one tree but what has lost its leaves--
And yet the landscape wears a pleasing hue.
The winter chill on his cold bed receives
Foliage which once hung oer the waters blue.
Naked and bare the leafless trees repose.
Blue-headed titmouse now seeks maggots rare,
Sluggish and dull the leaf-strewn river flows;
That is not green, which was so through the year
Dark chill November draweth to a close.
Tis Winter, and I love to read indoors,
When the Moon hangs her crescent up on high;
While on the window shutters the wind roars,
And storms like furies pass remorseless by.
How pleasant on a feather bed to lie,
Or, sitting by the fire, in fancy soar
With Dante or with Milton to regions high,
Or read fresh volumes we've not seen before,
Or oer old Burton's Melancholy pore.
poem by John Clare
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Autumnale for M lady ernestine
The falling leaves dance in the breeze
and clothe the ground beneath the trees,
in autumn colours rich a rare.
The trees themselves will soon be bare.
Left no defence against the wind.
Their winter plans are well designed,
bare twigs and branches hold less snow
than useless leaves they have let go
The wintry gales to no avail
try hard but they are doomed to fail,
They can’t destroy the sturdy trees;
resisting with apparent ease.
Although they bow before the blast
they know that winter cannot last
The winds will die and fade away
the trees will they’re here to stay.
Spring will return the trees will green
as if the winter had not been.
The trees put on their new spring clothes
along with every plant that grows.
8-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Austere purity.
It’s autumn now; the trees discard
their final leaves in readiness
When winter comes times will be hard.
Their leafless branches suffer less.
From winter gales and hold less snow
Than they would in summer dress.
The time has come to let leaves go
Although bare branches don’t impress.
Mere silhouettes against the sky.
A tracery of black and white
They can still catch a poet’s eye
and may inspire him to write.
In praise of the simplicity
of winters cold sterility.
Friday,15 October 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Spring and All
By the road to the contagious hospital
under the surge of the blue
mottled clouds driven from the
northeast -- a cold wind. Beyond, the
waste of broad, muddy fields
brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen
patches of standing water
the scattering of tall trees
All along the road the reddish
purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy
stuff of bushes and small trees
with dead, brown leaves under them
leafless vines --
Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches --
They enter the new world naked,
cold, uncertain of all
save that they enter. All about them
the cold, familiar wind --
Now the grass, tomorrow
the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf
One by one objects are defined --
It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf
But now the stark dignity of
entrance -- Still, the profound change
has come upon them: rooted they
grip down and begin to awaken
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Whispers of trees
Trees whisper of the coming winter
Leaves mutter among themselves
Seasons silently steal upon us…
As Falling streams from rocky shelves
Soft sibilant sighs, indistinct…incoherent
Nature’s voices, spoken through the dells
It’s the trees whisper… of the coming winter
The voices of Trolls, faeries and elves
Branches freeing…captive leaves fleeing
Limbs bleakly waving…in poignant farewell
Listen closely! …to the trees soft whisper
Of places of mystery…where legends dwell
Trees whisper the coming winter
Voices elusive…secretive as well
Hear the murmur of the wooded heart…
muted tumble of an acorn shell
Trees whisper…coming winter…
Tales that only trees can tell
poem by David Whalen
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It Was An Icy Winter Afternoon (Roundelay)
It was an icy winter afternoon
when I heard a bird crooning a cheery tune
and suddenly although feeling quite old
its song came as barrier against the cold.
I saw branches of naked stripped trees
like skeletons rocking in the strong breeze
while quite happily that bird sang quite bold,
its song came as barrier against the cold.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Once Upon A Winter Day
Once upon a winter day
Gray clouds passed swiftly across the sky
As shapely snowflakes fell steadily down,
Covering the land in a dazzling white
Leaving a winter calling card on the ground.
Once upon a winter day
The snow-edged creek silently wept
Near the shadows of the tall pine trees
Trimmed in a glittering white lace,
Creating an impressive display in the breeze.
Once upon a winter day
Branches drooped to the impassable road
Due to the weight of the snow.
Icicles hung from the dormant trees
In view of the shattered daylight glow.
Once upon a winter day
Nothing is heard but rubbing tree limbs
And a stray dog faintly barking,
The vibrant sound of a frightened deer,
A broken tree branch suddenly falling.
Once upon a winter day
The distant snow-covered hills
Loomed in the path of the gloomy sky,
Where the northerly wind briskly growled
As chickadees and juncos fluttered by.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Beyond & Before
Sparkling trees of silver foam
Cast shadows in winter home,
Swaying branches breaking sound,
Lonely forest trembling ground.
Masquerading leaves of blue run circles round the morning dew,
Patterns understood by you, reaching out beyond and before.
Time, like gold dust, brings mind down to hidden levels underground,
Say a few words to the wind, thats all thats left of winters friend.
Reaching the snow in the days of the cold, casting a spell out of ice.
Now that youre gone,
The summers too long and it seems like the end of my life
Beyond and before.
Time, like gold dust, brings mind down.
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beyond & Before
Sparkling trees of silver foam
Cast shadows in winter home,
Swaying branches breaking sound,
Lonely forest trembling ground.
Masquerading leaves of blue run circles round the morning dew,
Patterns understood by you, reaching out beyond and before.
Time, like gold dust, brings mind down to hidden levels underground,
Say a few words to the wind, thats all thats left of winters friend.
Reaching the snow in the days of the cold, casting a spell out of ice.
Now that youre gone,
The summers too long and it seems like the end of my life
Beyond and before.
Time, like gold dust, brings mind down.
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meditations after Li Po for M lady Helen
I
I follow in the footsteps
of old poets of the past.
As geese fly south in autumn.
Instinct is my only guide.
My attempts to emulate,
may not bear such worthy fruit.
I can only do my best
II
The trees discard all their leaves
and face winter nakedly.
I ask myself why this should be
but I receive no reply.
Winter winds pass freely through
the leafless twigs and branches.
Dead leaves return to the earth.
III
The trees stand as sentinels
coated with white bitter frost
Bowing in submission
to the power of the wind.
Better to bend than to break,
the trees know instinctively
the wind dies as spring returns.
IV
Only when the time is right
the geese will return once more.
The trees will put forth new leaves,
flowers spring up underfoot
The spring sunshine will inspire
Poets to take up their brush
and ink: To write poetry.
21-Oct-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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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World of White
When I woke up this morning
My world was layered in white
So cold it was and very still
Snow had fallen through the night
No birds chirped a good morning
The bugs were hidden away
Instead was this harsh cold
I felt as though it would stay
I could barely see my lawn chair
For white had settled so thick
I wished I had seen it fall
This snow as it began to stick
The trees and bushes were
A fresh and lovely sight
Snow decorated the branches
Making winter look just right
We must enjoy the changes
So lovely and cold and bright
It will not last for long
This wonderful world of white!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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There Is A Day In April
There is a day in April when autumn
truly sets in, when fallen leaves
smells like mould and loam,
when trees are stripped skeleton.
When windless the sun is still somewhat hot,
and there are only touches of clouds
here and there hanging like fingerprints
in an open clear sky.
Its then that the fear of death,
the fear of the winter’s helplessness,
the coming cold sets in,
even before it truly begins.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Poinciana
(simon/bernier)
Blow...tropic wind...
Sing a song...through the trees.
Trees...sigh to me...
Soon my love...i will see.
Poinciana,
Your branches speak to me of love.
Pale moon is casting shadows from above.
Poinciana,
Somehow I feel the jungle beat
Within me, there grows a rhythmic, savage
Beat.
Love is everywhere, its magic perfume fills the air.
To and fro, you sway, my hearts in time,
Ive learned to care.
Poinciana,
Though skies may turn from blue to gray,
My love will live for ever and a day.
Blow....tropic wind,
Sing a song through the trees.
Trees...sigh to me
Soon my love... I will see.
Poinciana...
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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!
Sonnet: Life’s Seasonal Paradox
Queen of the seasons, Spring- Thou could end soon!
When greenness, freshness, melody will cease;
Giving way to the hot summer’s Sun’s noon,
That dries the sheaves of grain rather with ease.
Sultry summer can’t go on forever!
God sends His spell of rain to break thy heat;
And autumn comes in, summer to sever,
As wind blows down fiercely, leaves/nuts to eat.
The sun no more shines brightly as it did,
For winter lays its icy hands on trees;
Snow-capping the mountains like a white-lid;
While stark-naked, leafless trees almost freeze.
But not for long as spring will soon come on!
With joyance, landscape to then green adorn.
poem by John Celes
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My autumn [2]
Around me trees are stripped
rigid, bare and totally naked
and heaps of leaves lie fallen
already colouring
from yellow to red and into brown.
Everything is lifeless,
like my life in pieces
and still there are thunderstorms
that repeatedly falls in this winter
out of season
and I am almost blinded by the thunder
as if it wants to devour everything about me
and still there’s new life
that this rain brings
and it’s clear
that my autumn is coming too early
and although my body still feels young
the greyness are creeping in
and you write words
of keeping yourself in vain,
of a child
that never will be born
and about everything becoming rotten
like a compos heap
and that love has also receded
as if everything this autumn
has elapsed for once and all.
Yet the grass is still green,
some trees are covered with leaves
and I wonder where you and I stand
when this season disappears
and the coming winter ends?
Still you are in my heart,
as if you are part of me
and I know that life without you
is totally meaningless.
poem by Gert Strydom
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