By The Lake
ACROSS the flat and the pastel snow
Two people go . . . . 'And do you remember
When last we wandered this shore?' . . . 'Ah no!
For it is cold-hearted December.'
'Dead, the leaves that like asses's ears hung on the trees
When last we wandered and squandered joy here;
Now Midas your husband will listen for these
Whispers--these tears for joy's bier.'
And as they walk, they seem tall pagodas;
And all the ropes let down from the cloud
Ring the hard cold bell-buds upon the trees--codas
Of overtones, ecstasies, grown for love's shroud
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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Bells Of Gray Crystal
Bells of gray crystal
Break on each bough--
The swans' breath will mist all
The cold airs now.
Like tall pagodas
Two people go,
Trail their long codas
Of talk through the snow.
Lonely are these
And lonely and I ....
The clouds, gray Chinese geese
Sleek through the sky.
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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Shadows And Tall Trees
Back to the cold restless streets at night
I talk to myself about tomorrow night
Walls of white protest
A gravestone in name
Who is it now
It's always the same
Who is it now
Who calls me inside
Are the leaves on the trees
Just living disguise
I walk sweet rain tragicomedy
I'll walk home again
to the street melody
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Life through a window
Discoloured pain
Mrs. Brown's washing is always the same
I walk street rain tragicomedy
I'll walk home again
to the street melody
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
(Out there)
Do you feel in me...
Anything redeeming
Any worthwhile feeling
Is love like a tightrope
Hanging from the ceiling
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
Shadows and Tall Trees
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter With a Question
The aging trees will creak and groan
To find themselves ringed by frost in sleep
And snow by the wind already blown
Cast upon snow already deep.
The cold is echoed only by silence all,
And the leaves of Autumn entombed in white
At the place where leaves fall
And passing time, vanish from sight.
Who is it that judges these—
Sends leaves beneath the snow
And trees to shiver alongside trees? —
And where do they go?
poem by Ronny Self
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A Journey Back To Ourselves
as i stare at the
rain
i remember
trees
transparent and
cold
trees without
leaves
i imagine
twigs
or roots or
trunks
they are never
there
no matter how
trees are tears
without leaves
without roots
with so much
salt in each
and then you
touch the waves
of the imaginary
sea and then
your journey back
to you begins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shadows & Tall Trees
Back to the cold restless streets at night
I talk to myself about tomorrow night.
Walls of white protest, a gravestone in name
Who is it now? its always the same.
Who is it now? who calls me inside
Are the leaves on the trees just a living disguise?
I walk the sweet rain tragicomedy
Ill walk home again to the street melody.
But I know oh no
But I know oh no
I know
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Life through a window, a discoloured pain
Mrs. browns washing is always the same
I walk the sweet rain tragicomedy
Ill walk home again to the street melody.
But I know oh no
But I know oh no
I know.
(out there)
Do you feel in me, anything redeeming,
Any worthwhile feeling
Is life like a tightrope? hanging on my ceiling.
But I know oh no
But I know oh no
I know
Shadows and tall trees ....
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The angels funeral
The angel sleeps
And the wolf starts to howl
And the wind stops
As they all listen to the great owl
The bears stand tall as trees
The foxes prick their ears
The leaves starts fall
As the trees start to cry their tears
poem by Little Wolf
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A Snowy Sunset
Snow Snow on the ground
Sun is sinking down down down
Trees trees covered in Wight
People gasp at the sight
Snow Snow on the ground
Animals scurry all around
Snow Snow in your hair
Stiffness and cold in the air
Snow Snow on the ground
People sledding down down down
Hot Coco and coffee inside
Why not go for another sled ride
Snow Snow on the ground
The sun has set past the ground
Lights light up the city bright
People every where say what a sight
poem by Miranda Will
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Old Man's Nursery Rhyme
I.
In the jolly winters
Of the long-ago,
It was not so cold as now--
O! No! No!
Then, as I remember,
Snowballs, to eat,
Were as good as apples now,
And every bit as sweet!
II.
In the jolly winters
Of the dead-and-gone,
Bub was warm as summer,
With his red mitts on,--
Just in his little waist-
And-pants all together,
Who ever heard him growl
About cold weather?
III.
In the jolly winters of the long-ago--
Was it _half_ so cold as now?
O! No! No!
Who caught his death o' cold,
Making prints of men
Flat-backed in snow that now's
Twice as cold again?
IV.
In the jolly winters
Of the dead-and-gone,
Startin' out rabbit-hunting
Early as the dawn,--
Who ever froze his fingers,
Ears, heels, or toes,--
Or'd a cared if he had?
Nobody knows!
V.
Nights by the kitchen-stove,
Shelling white and red
Corn in the skillet, and
Sleepin' four abed!
Ah! the jolly winters
Of the long-ago!
We were not so old as now--
O! No! No!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Summer's Wind
Be weary, Lord of the summer wind,
Lord of the heat that you blow in,
Away with flowers, land and trees,
To stay them not, least all the trees.
Listen to this, all that I say,
Our land does die, and drift away.
Our living born upon the wind,
All of ours, and those of friends.
So we called upon the leave-filled wind,
The autumn one, of which were friends.
This wind of cool and gentle hand,
Not like the wind that stole our land.
And the heat did melt into the leaves,
And turned them colors from the trees.
Then the leave-filled wind bore them away,
And upon the land, they came to stay.
And stayed them there, till land-hard cold,
And then the land, the leaves they stole.
And after the harsh cold wind had blown,
And living soil again was sown,
Summer's wind came again to prey,
Upon our lands, most every day.
But our living land, the leaves did save,
And the summer's wind did blow away,
Never to re-live, the seasons day.
The cool soft wind now blows so free,
Upon the land, and through the trees.
All through the people, and over me.
poem by Sandra Osborne
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The Trees Are Blabbermouths (Fun Poem 113)
A song on a south wind
whispers stories to the trees
of love affairs illicit
that no one should know,
but the trees are blabbermouths
telling anyone who’ll listen
all the secret that they know.
If you pass a tree one day
when its leaves are rustling
just listen and you will hear
the secrets it has been told
of love affairs illicit
that no one should know
because trees are blabbermouths.
They shout their words across the breeze
so everyone can hear.
If you have a secret
and want it to keep it that,
make sure the trees don’t hear
or that secret won’t be a secret
because the trees are blabbermouths.
14 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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Confused
I see buds on my Bradford pear trees.
It's too early for these tiny buds.
I'm afraid they just might freeze.
They were fooled into thinking winter is gone
for we had a few warm days.
I'm afraid they're just hanging on.
One day sunny, the next so cold
I wonder if they're strong enough
to place their buds on hold?
Confused they must be, just like me.
For I can't figure out what I need
a cold drink or some sweet hot tea?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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December Comment
I was born in December,
too cold to remember.
Every year I'm reminded
of being born in December.
Coming from the warmth of my mother
and coming from another
time and place of beauty
where I knew something other
than cold.
I am a lover of warmth and sun
but that's not how I'd begun
my life on this cold place.
And when my blankets were undone
I'd shiver.
Will I leave in December
so I can remember
the cold that welcomed me
on my first December?
I wonder?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Holly Leaves And Christmas Trees
Somewhere in, in the distant night
I hear Christmas bells
The gentle snow keeps falling down on people
Who are homeward bound
That's the it's always been
The circle really never ends
Christmas seems to come and go
From the place that I don't know
Holly leaves and Christmas trees
It's that time of year
Lights aglow and mistletoe
Don't mean a thing when you're not here
As I walk, walk this lonely street
The sound of snow beneath my feet
I'll think of how it used to be
Holly leaves and Christmas trees
Use to mean so much to me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autumn: A Dirge
The warm sun is falling, the bleak wind is wailing,
The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,
And the Year
On the earth is her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
Is lying.
Come, Months, come away,
From November to May,
In your saddest array;
Follow the bier
Of the dead cold Year,
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.
The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling
For the Year;
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
To his dwelling.
Come, Months, come away;
Put on white, black and gray;
Let your light sisters play--
Ye, follow the bier
Of the dead cold Year,
And make her grave green with tear on tear.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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A Winter of Discontent
I remember a winter a few decades ago.
Where our dear England was covered in snow.
It started on Boxing Day with a blizzard from hell
then in the course of a week the snow just fell.
This once green paradise was now a shroud of white
and everyone was suffering from chillblains and frostbite.
Outdoor life was like an indoor fridge
where everything had frozen like a mountain ridge.
Abandon lorries on the side of the road
men were freezing even their load.
Villages cut off all over the land
so in came the troops to lend a hand.
This was the winter of discontent that lasted from
Christmas, and way past Lent.
As one lot of snow cleared, it would return again
to bring freezing cold tempretures and a lot of pain.
Wind would blow both night and day, and still the snow
never went away.Drifts of snow standing six foot high
just being topped up with snow from a winter sky.
So what of this winter of ice and snow
one that happened a few decades ago.
I remember it as one that was cold and wild
because in the summer God presented me
with my first born child.
In this year, where snow fell in December
it was the coldest winter I will ever remember.
poem by Sylvia Spencer
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A Walk on the Snow
It feels cold inside
when people cannot break the stillness
when human tongues revolve
around cars, TV and food
when the painful silence
is deep deep in the human heart.
I walk out of this coldness inside
away from the comforts and heating
installations in the house
away from the speed and heat of a car.
I simply walk on the field
looking at the vast space of emptiness
treading on the snow,
the snow that has
covered the grasses.
It gives me a deep sense of joy
that the walk to turn away
from coldness inside
becomes a walk with the Lord.
I walk with God on the snow.
Cars pass me by
Houses stand in the stillness
of their comforts.
I continue walking until
my exposed ears, hands and feet ache.
I walk with God on the snow
and I understand why people
fear the cold.
The Lord himself walks with me
on the snow and on the cold inside me
on the snow that covers the gound
on the snow that hurts and frightens.
But such a time of journeying
with God on the snow
becomes a cleansing and a healing
just as from the ground
the green will be reborn in spring.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Whats Become Of The Baby
Waves of violet go crashing and laughing
The rainbow winged singing birds fly round the sun
Sun bells rain down in a liquid profusion
Mermaids on porpoises draw up the dawn
Whats become of the baby this cold december morning?
Songbirds frozen in their flight
Drifting to the earth, remnants of forgotten dreaming
Dawning answer comes there none.
Go to sleep you child, dream of never-ending always
Panes of crystal ice sparkle like waterfalls
Lighting the polished ice caverns of the dawn,
But where in the looking-glass fields of illusion
Wandered the child who was perfect as the dawn?
Whats become of the baby this cold december morning?
Whats become of the baby this cold december morning?
Racing in rhythm of the sun
All the world revolves captured in the eye of woman
Allah, where are you now?
All eyes are blinded by the sparkling waters
Scheherazade gathering stories to tell
But where is the child who played with the sunshines?
And chased the cloud shape to the regions of mind?
Standing stream cries the south wind
Lost in the regions of
Shadow-like chains of illusion, delusions of living and dead.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memories II
Dreams steal soft thoughts from secret store.
How sad to gaze upon the shore
where once we wandered, long before
the fickle sickle struck shared core.
Like Autumn leaves windfall from trees,
what trace remains? Will memories
of old love linger on Time’s breeze
when we’re forgotten set of keys?
From secret store dreams steal soft thoughts
the sharing with the love one courts,
caring unchallenged in the courts.
When we’re statistical reports,
like leaves from Autumn trees, which fall,
what will remain, when over all
Time lays its winding sheet to call
game, set and match? What will befall? ...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Frozen
Frozen
By: Adam M. Snow
Memories frozen and gone,
like sands in broken time,
'gainst the blackest of dawn,
yet cold with no love sublime.
To be alone in ice of despair,
with hearts cold and frozen.
There's nothing left to bear,
for all who are chosen.
Like frost in the wind,
chilling a lonely being,
leaving nothing to mend,
like a ghost without seeing.
Dreams now cold like ice,
falling to pieces,
not once but twice,
as the days decreases.
What else is there to know,
with everything oh so cool?
Like being ghost in the snow,
and you being the fool.
All's now cold like a winter's night,
like little breezes dusk and shiver,
and with unpleasant delight,
with fear all is quiver.
Staring now out a hoar frost window,
alone, cold and wilted,
with your sufferings and woe,
waiting to strike you dead.
All's now cold hearted,
like frozen in ice,
as all's departed,
and you're the sacrifice.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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To Crap
Goldstein’s left footprints
In the snow, they go off
Toward the woods. Birds
Take flight at the sound of
Gunfire, their wings clipping
The branches of tall trees,
Disturbing snow; a fall of
Whiteness settling upon
Crimson stains; Goldstein’s
Dead eyes see nothing of this,
Hear nothing of birds in flight,
The open wound in his head
Seeps blood. Jackboots tread
Where Goldstein trod; the rifle
Silent now, hung over the sturdy
Shoulder, a cold hand gripping
The strap. The killer pauses at the
Edge of the woods, ready to pee
In the snow, time to ease and crap.
poem by Terry Collett
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