A Sunny Day In February
I stood by my car and looked down
at the still waters of the small lake below.
Several anglers with their rods cast
sat on small chairs along the lake bank.
Sheep grazed in a field
with not a care in the world,
on a sunny day in February.
The blue sky seemed
to stretch forever everywhere.
Peace drifted across everything
that was there
on this sunny day in February
at the farm I go to.
9 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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February Has Returned To Normal
After a week of summer sun
February returned to normal.
Grey skies to the horizon
and a light falling rain.
It is the February
that we all know so well,
and the sunshine
while it lasted
was an unexpected bonus to us all.
15 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Fishing Time
Hands in pockets
Pants tucked neatly in his boots
He stood looking at the river
Brown cap with earflaps down
Keeping the cold at bay
This sunny February morning
Longing by the river
His eyes measured the banks
Dreaming of fishing time
February 20,1997
poem by Marjorie DeBol DeFazio
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Hooray February!
I love February
because it’s a brewery
of chilly winter
and sunny warmth.
I love February
because it isn’t a cocky first;
but only a modest next
like how I always prefer
taking a second row chair.
Likewise my car, hello,
is not a Uno, but an Alto!
I love February
because it’s the baby
of the promising January.
And with that promise
February bears March
with all its vernal vibrancy.
I love water, aqua:
It’s the spring of life.
I love February
because I am an Aquarian.
I love February
because the holy water eponymous
purifies me and makes me vigorous
a la
Februa
the great Roman festival.
I love February
because it’s doughty,
has the will to survive:
From a long monthless limbo
to the twelfth place
then to the second
in the calendar -
it was a saga of freedom fight
in the hoary history of time.
I love February
because it’s a month of lovely violets
of diverse hues and scents galore
and
of amethysts that keep you sober.
I love February
because it’s the one month
that determines the leap
or otherwise of a year
shortie it is though.
They malign February as ‘hollow’ and ominous.
Don’t fib, I reply, it is ‘full’ and luminous:
I work for twenty eight
and get paid for thirty one.
Then isn’t it ‘full’?
No triskaidekaphobe,
I love the thirteenth
for it symbolises
the eternal crusade
against superstition
and discrimination.
God loves it too
for He has made the date
a rendezvous
of countless events
no less happy than any other.
I love Feb thirteenth
because I came into this world
on that unique date.
For me it’s always the first.
In their nineties and seventies
still going strong
on me shower my parents
a golden pot of blessings full.
Long live Februarians!
Long live humanitarians!
[Feb 11,2009: : Hyderabad - 500 056]
poem by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri
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Fishing in Winter
A man staring at a small lake sees
His father cast light line out over
The willows.He's forgotten his
Father has been dead for two years
And the lake is where a blue fog
Rolls, and the sky could be, if it
Were black or blue or white,
The backdrop of all attention.
He wades out to join the father,
Following where the good strikes
Seem to lead.It's cold.The shape
Breath takes on a cold day is like
Anything else--a rise on a small lake,
The Oklahoma hills, blue scrub--
A shape already inside a shape,
Two songs, two breaths on the water.
poem by Ralph Burns
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This Fabruary
This February took me to the frosts,
Experienced me by heavy snowstorms,
Wanted to know how much my love costs.
But…I was laughing boldly.
Happiness can't live lonely.
I warmed myself by this verity.
This February tried to cool my heart,
It wanted us to live forever apart.
But…it forgot: March will be a start.
It tried to ice-bound my feelings,
To reveal my longings and likings
Drawing its beautiful paintings.
It tried to show me the ring,
It cried: Forget the spring!
I am the only one! Your king!
It showed me the pictures of the past,
It wanted to say: Love do not last!
All events finish so fast!
I thought: Dear February, you are strange!
The spring will take its revenge!
The whole world will be changed!
You can frighten me, you cold month!
But I will always dance, having a chance!
In Spain under the rain and even in France.
At last this February took Mersey on me.
Tomorrow it promised to let me free.
It was also tired showing minus degree.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 14th of February,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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February
February’s time is short,
But it’s my first resort.
Filled with chocolates, flowers and cheer,
It’s my favorite month of the year.
I love how each day shines
As they spread forth with valentines.
It’s a month dedicated to love
In this world of push and shove.
So stop and think of what really counts,
Like people and times that are small amounts,
But give your life meaning like February...
Fill your days with love so make them merry.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Valentine Comp Poem 2
The heart shaped card with pretty words
Be my Valentine, my dear
Is there because the poor old man
Knows if the old lady doesn’t get one
She’ll box his blinkin’ ears
9 February 1992
Author’s Note:
This little poem was read out on radio between 10 February and 13 February and won a box of heart shaped chocolates for my lady fair.
poem by David Harris
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Red Roses
Red roses for a lady blue
just to show her
that your love is true,
that you will never wander
with the setting of the sun
and that she will be at your side
for a long, long time to come.
Red roses are a symbol
of love eternally
when you give them to someone blue.
It spells out love for eternity
and the month of February,
when winter begins recede
comes a day of flowers, Valentines Day.
Special cards with hearts
printed all over them,
red roses for love true
just to stop the lady
feeling sad and blue.
Red roses to say a simple thing,
darling I love you.
1 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Second Sunday...
february is fickle
one gets inside a room, closes the door,
and spreads the mat and
turns off the light, but february does not
sleep, it boasts of love
till dawn,
there is an exit door at the left side
of the room
covered by a waterfall and
the sound of
birds mating, you know, calls, like that,
somehow, february is fun,
funny, makes the hearts of lonely people beat again,
dances under the moon,
begins to love again the rain at midnight
plucking rusty guitar strings
and kissing moonbeams
passionate as the
night blanketing the tall trees
erect to the
cold.
i like february, but i have none
for now.
the second sunday may prove
myself wrong,
she is coming, literally.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On The Bay
I walked beside a bay
taking in everything I saw,
several small boats
nudged at their mooring
with every incoming wave.
Ducks swam around
with their young in tow
watched on by some geese
who had stopped for a break there.
The sun spread a long finger
across every wave
as they rolled slowly to the shore.
As a sense of peace
hung over everything
on the bay.
11 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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February Girl
Her leaves can not crumble
But the earth is telling her to tremble
She can not listen
And will not hear
The sickness is keeping her still
February girl
Winter comes and goes
She wonders will it kill
Flowers grow
She prays for the sun to show
That February girl
Winter is here and she hates the snow
Chilled to the bone
Oh how she hates the snow
Put on your winter coat
She wishes to be a oak and not a willow
Oh February girl
Winter will soon go.
poem by Cassanndra King
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A
“Christmas In February”
I know it’s not Christmas time,
But my wish is to now have it anyway.
So I can hear the laughter of my little ones,
Opening their gifts on my February Christmas Day.
Wonderful scents of Christmas ham with gravy and biscuits,
Along with my mother’s spicy peach cobbler recipe.
All this is what I wish to have this February,
I pray for all those most precious of past Christmas’s memories.
Children are now all grown up,
They’ve gone on their ways.
Don’t write or call of visit me much,
I never wanted them to exclude me in such a way.
For my heart still remembers their childhood days,
But now they’re all grown and in their own world it seems.
And left me with just my memories of Christmas past,
And stuck with only my old timer kind of wishful dreams.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Christmas In February
“Christmas In February”
I know it’s not Christmas time,
But my wish is to now have it anyway.
So I can hear the laughter of my little ones,
Opening their gifts on my February Christmas Day.
Wonderful scents of Christmas ham with gravy and biscuits,
Along with my mother’s spicy peach cobbler recipe.
All this is what I wish to have this February,
I pray for all those most precious of past Christmas’s memories.
Children are now all grown up,
They’ve gone on their ways.
Don’t write or call of visit me much,
I never wanted them to exclude me in such a way.
For my heart still remembers their childhood days,
But now they’re all grown and in their own world it seems.
And left me with just my memories of Christmas past,
And stuck with only my old timer kind of wishful dreams.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Colour My World
Many colours
colour my world.
Blue,
when I’m feeling sad.
Yellow,
when I’m happy.
Grey,
on those days
when I am lonely.
Black,
when I am depressed.
16 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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The rain and the lake
And the lake asked the rain,
Why do you overwhelm with your love over and over again?
The rain broke for a while for a thought,
and came back with more showers as the eternal play of love.
Rain said I came from distant land and oceans to meet you,
Lake said I have been waiting forever for you.
Rain said I am the true lover, I dissipate and merge in you,
Lake said Thank you rain, I am the reservoir of love,
I keep your love and share it with others who want it.
Rain said I am glorious, come with thundering dark to fluffy soothing clouds,
I provide the world with the nectar of life,
Lake said I am still and adore the beautiful mountain and blue skies,
I provide heaven to all forms of aquatic lives.
Rain said even when I am breaking away, I bring the beautiful rainbow,
I provide a bridge from land to heavens for thoughts to ponder,
Lake said I have overcome the emotions of joyful sunny days and dark gloomy nights,
I only feel happy when I am desired by somebody.
poem by Jay P Narain
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Waters Of Scapa Flow
Seagulls fly low over the waters
of Scapa Flow
where giant warships lie sleeping
in the waters far below.
At the end of the First World War
the Germans gathered their ship in line
and the scuttled them.
Rather than hand them over
to the victors of the war.
Now the mighty warships sleep soundly
with the fish deep blow
in the waters of Scapa Flow.
6 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Hometown
Whatever place you hang your hat
you call that your home.
Whatever town you live in
you call that your hometown.
My hometown is a naval port
and at any given time,
you will see sailors there.
Men who go out in boats large and small
to face the fury of the tides
wherever they may go.
They face the wind and the lashing seas.
Sometimes they wish
for calm waters where the sun shines,
where the warmth there stills everything.
However, they are always happy
when they come back to shore
and their hometown once more.
15 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Fishing on a small lake
You had just left me
and I had relocated from Bellville
near Cape Town
to Centurion at Pretoria
and had travelled by airplane
and there was storm damage
to the roads
and I was still waiting
on my removal to arrive
and apart from going to work
I had a lot of time on my hands
and thoughts in my mind,
since I have lost
the only fish that really mattered
and I didn’t really know how.
My rods and reels and fishing tackle
from when I was a boy
was at my mother’s
where I now lived,
and the lake on the other side
of Centurion mall
caught my eye,
while I drove
over the bridge.
On the weekend
loneliness really caught up with me
and my mother
helped me prepare the bait
like she did
when I was a child.
It was nothing fancy,
just custard powder, baking meal
and honey
or baking meal and curry
or a fresh white bread and honey
that I used that summer.
At the lake some black kids
were selling tins with earthworms
to anglers,
but I wasn’t interested
as catfish goes for earthworms as well
and I wanted to catch blue kurper
or carp or maybe yellow-fish.
It was at about eleven o’clock
and some of the other anglers
had already being fishing
since six
and didn’t have luck,
but assured me
that the lake had
big kurper, carp and catfish.
They were very well equipped
with radio controlled bait boats
to take their lines in
and all kinds of modern gizmos.
I settled under a tree
next to the small red hanging bridge
with which visitors crossed the lake
and used two rods
and equipped two hooks on each line.
alternating between the custard
and the curry baits
and thought that I would have
some time to reflect on live,
but I didn’t even get time to wait.
Almost as soon as the sinker
struck the water
I had a bite,
and were catching two fish
at a time.
The biggest kurpers
that I have ever caught
were filling the keep net,
along with some rather large carp.
I came for solitude
and got everything but it
and was too busy
enjoying the experience
to notice
the three or four families
with children
who gathered on the bridge
to watch me.
Some of the other anglers
came over for a chat,
all of them believing
that I was using
some special secret
kind of bait.
I had brought more than enough bait
and gave them some
and that day all of them caught fish
and a little while later
to my astonishment
one even caught a huge catfish.
It wasn’t long before
I had friends right round that lake,
anglers brought me cider,
beer and whiskey,
and an angler
and his beautiful daughter
moved their lines
to right next to mine
and they roasted
chops and sausage
on a Cadac gas frying pan
and I got chops, sausage
and putu porridge
and many more bites
than I had bargained for.
poem by Gert Strydom
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February Weather
February sulks its shadow
Over moorland, marsh and meadow.
Dreary drizzle unabating,
Then there's weather worse awaiting:
Fog and frost and soft snow drifted
Deep in heaps that can't be shifted,
Rain that pours for hours and hours
Putting paid to plants and flowers,
Howling wind and gusting gale,
Slushy sleet and hammering hail.
Hopefully this woeful weather
Has to pass, not last for ever.
On a brighter note, a thought:
Just be thankful February's short.
poem by C. Richard Miles
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Our Tropical Paradise
I wonder how many times
we sit at our desk
and look out the window on a sunny day,
wishing we were on a tropical beach
lazing in the sun under a coconut tree
watching the sparkling waters
as they race up the sandy beach.
Having a lazy day with the sand and sea,
enjoying Mother Nature’s beautiful bounty.
A dream maybe,
but a dream to help us through
any storms that may weather our lives,
giving us hope for tomorrow
and the sunny day that might bring.
We look at the blue sky
and the odd white fluffy clouds
that shape into many things,
helped along with warm comforting winds.
Our mind is full of images
that build our favourite dreams
as we while away a few minutes
oblivious to everything.
Daydreaming our fondest dreams
before reality kicks in
and the opalescent workload
on our desk appears once again
to take us away
from our tropical paradise
and implant us back in our reality.
27 February 2009
poem by David Harris
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