Heat The Body Gave
rain falling...
cold salvation drops,
tis blackberry winter...
the earth groans, trembles,
and shakes.
birdsong and coffee,
a warm place on the sheets.
coat on the hook, shoes on the floor,
but the body is gone.
now its bad news, hate news,
gunfire and heavy fog.
night and day, black and white,
the footprints all look the same.
the tin roof whispers in rhyme
to the cobwebs and shadows.
the tree that fell last winter,
becomes a house, perhaps a home!
the angry taste of change
still lingers in the mouth.
the hammer worn, the nails heavy...
and the heat the body gave,
turns chill, and black with empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Winter Pond
Sting-chill of winter matt –
Her frozen hand caressed us all;
And calming bleach of silence
Pressed upon the rustic scape
To leave an ashen underbelly –
Once raging summer chroma.
Even Winter’s gelid lungs laboured
Under heavy drag of flakes –
Their pilgrimage: to stay a deadened floor
In crunch-white peace.
And round about, the weight of time
– Collapsing under Winter’s drag –
Transmutes to grey: it’s three o’clock –
No lights pricking black out here! –
Even the night globe,
The Great Reflector – stonewalled;
Camouflaged by lead-laden cloud
Lolling in the claustrophobic noon.
At ground, a farm pond –
Seized in a dark hiatus –
Offered up repentance –
Why, it dared to harbour life!
I forgave it in my desperate gaze
Upon the crazy-paving surface,
That sealed in the black-chill temperature,
Where at bottom, something nithered
Still survived.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
win ter winter
winter winter winter
winter winter winter winter winter
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Lonely In Your Nightmare
Even on the darkest night when empty promise means empty hand
And soldiers coming home like shadows turning red
When the lights of hope are fading quickly then look to me
Ill be your homing angel,Ill be in your head.
Because youre lonely in your nightmare let me in...
And theres heat beneath your winter let me in...
I see the delta traces living lonely out on the limb.
And a passing glimmer warm beneath your skin
Please tread gently on the ground when all around you earth
Turns to fire
Only get a second chance when dangers on the wind.
Because youre lonely in your nightmare let me in...
Because theres heat beneath your winter let me in...
-
Must be lucky weather when you find the kind of wind that you need
Cmon show me all the light and shade that made your name
I know youve got it in your head, Ive seen that look before
Youve built your refuge turns you captive all the same
Because youre lonely in your nightmare let me in...
And its barren in your garden let me in...
Because theres heat beneath your winter let me in..
Because youre so lonely in your nightmare let me in..
And its cold out on your stone range let me in...
Because theres heat beneath your winter let me in...
Do, do-do, do do do do
Do, do-do, do do do do
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Winter
The misty snow,
and the dew drops.
As the snow falls,
my hot coffee pops.
The leaves are dry,
and I do cry.
My garden blows,
and my tears flow.
With cold and coughs,
my time is tough.
Doctor-Doctor do we run
and then there is no fun.
To go to school,
feels like a fool.
Its good to sleep,
and in the rug i creep.
Jersey and Jacket, Socks and caps,
are my winter pairs.
With them I have a nap,
and they are my winter cares.
Pizzas, Wraps and Biscuits,
are my winter bakes.
Hot chocolate, Milo and coffee,
are my winter shakes.
The room is warm,
as firewood is on.
The room is calm,
as music is on.
And the winter goes on and on.
poem by Anju Addanki
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The Cruel Winds of Winter
Got up this morning, no sun in my eyes,
The house is so cold, no warmth to the fire,
My love is gone, he took all my desire,
And cruel winds of winter howled all night.
My love could warm me in the coldest time,
Bring the light of day to the darkest night,
As tears of my sorrow fall from my eyes,
The cruel winds of winter cry in delight.
Pull on my coat, keep the chill from my side,
I walk by the sea, the salt stings my eye,
The caps are all gray, like clouds in the sky,
And with those cruel winds of winter, I cry.
As tears of my sorrow fall to the sand,
My love is not here to warn my cold hand,
He’s gone like the sun from this harsh, gray land,
And only the wind seems to understand.
This endless winter has replaced his light,
My sweet love gone, no warmth in my sight,
I drift lost and lonely, no sleep I find,
Still those winds cry with me deep in the night.
My heart so heavy, life has no delight,
And the cruel winds of winter, torment my night.
poem by Teresa Dearing
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Sacrifices
All winter the fire devoured everything --
tear-stained elegies, old letters, diaries, dead flowers.
When April finally arrived,
I opened the woodstove one last time
and shoveled the remains of those long cold nights
into a bucket, ash rising
through shafts of sunlight,
as swirling in bright, angelic eddies.
I shoveled out the charred end of an oak log,
black and pointed like a pencil;
half-burnt pages
sacrificed
in the making of poems;
old, square handmade nails
liberated from weathered planks
split for kindling.
I buried my hands in the bucket,
found the nails, lifted them,
the phoenix of my right hand
shielded with soot and tar,
my left hand shrouded in soft white ash --
nails in both fists like forged lightning.
I smeared black lines on my face,
drew crosses on my chest with the nails,
raised my arms and stomped my feet,
dancing in honor of spring
and rebirth, dancing
in honor of winter and death.
I hauled the heavy bucket to the garden,
spread ashes over the ground,
asked the earth to be good.
I gave the earth everything
that pulled me through the lonely winter --
oak trees, barns, poems.
I picked up my shovel
and turned hard, gray dirt,
the blade splitting winter
from spring. With hoe and rake,
I cultivated soil,
tilling row after row,
the earth now loose and black.
Tearing seed packets with my teeth,
I sowed spinach with my right hand,
planted petunias with my left.
Lifting clumps of dirt,
I crumbled them in my fists,
loving each dark letter that fell from my fingers.
And when I carried my empty bucket to the lake for water,
a few last ashes rose into spring-morning air,
ash drifting over fields
dew-covered
and lightly dusted green.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Richard Jones
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The Burdens of All
We may sigh o'er the heavy burdens
Of the black, the brown and white;
But if we all clasped hands together
The burdens would be more light.
How to solve life's saddest problems,
Its weariness, want and woe,
Was answered by One who suffered
In Palestine long ago.
He gave from his heart this precept,
To ease the burdens of men,
"As ye would that others do to you
Do ye even so to them."
Life's heavy, wearisome burdens
Will change to a gracious trust
When men shall learn in the light of God
To be merciful and just.
Where war has sharpened his weapons,
And slavery masterful had,
Let white and black and brown unite
To build the kingdom of God.
And never attempt in madness
To build a kingdom or state,
Through greed of gold or lust of power,
On the crumbling stones of hate.
The burdens will always he heavy,
The sunshine fade into night,
Till mercy and justice shall cement
The black, the brown and the white.
And earth shall answer with gladness,
The herald angel's refrain,
When "Peace on earth, good will to men"
Was the burden of their strain.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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As Winter raged
Winter was at war.
Her subterfuge:
Crumble grey-white flakes upon the scene.
The air, dead;
Dead too, the sound –
Blunted by the whitewash.
Motion, dead –
Bluing chill saw to that.
Everything ground to a halt –
Like an empty train, crawling, seizing;
Eventually to die sprawled along a ghosted platform –
A lifeless plain of concrete.
I still had far to go –
Or so this brain computed
– Tried to –
Inside my own raging storm of white noise,
Howling in its desperation.
Now wild, blitz-wild,
I bore an irrepressible thought –
A goal, focus, idée fixe:
To clasp a frosted hand around
A radiant mug of sugar-laden
Calorie-heavy
Full-fat milk chocolate –
Steam wraiths writhing over
A freshly-spooned whirlpool,
Sultry in their invitation:
‘Come, sip, sip some more;
Soothe yourself in balmy richness.’
I still had far to go…
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
winter winter winter
winter winter winter raged
winter winter winter winter winter winter raged
winter winter winter winter winter winter winter raged
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Last Night About The Black Bird
last night this black bird
arrived in your house
bringing you the news
from its master
your hands and feet
tremble
for this was something
very terrible
last night you went
down from your room
and reflected upon the
roots of that old
big tree on the
yard of your house
the black bird had
already flown away
like a stone
thrown in the middle
of a dark night
things always disappear
from you
you ponder
about yourself
the first hello
the happiest moment
the past passes
like a film strip
in your mind
things always tell you about
some unhappy endings
the news about a
certain blackout is inevitable
the blackbird, yes,
the blackbird, now you are pretty sure about it
it was a crow bringing you
about a sad news
the color of which is
as black as the color
of midnight.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Heavy Weather
(michael sembello)
In the news today
Heavy weather
Oh, I can remember
The skies were so blue
That lucky old moon I promised to you
Now its gone lately
Somethings happening
I dont understand
Oh, how come decembers
Are hotter that june?
And how come the flowers
Dont know when to bloom?
Somethings wrong, people
Somethings happening
Happening where we live
The rising smoke against an endless sea of cars
As mother nature gets another senseless scar
In the news today
I guess were in for heavy weather
In the world today
Were heading for some heavy weather
The rain is falling harder each day
The faces keep changing
But the problem remains
Somethings wrong, people
Right before our eyes
Weve been hypnotized
The sound of silence
Broken by the sound of war
How can we heal
If we keep opening up the sore?
In the news today
I guess were in for heavy weather
In the world today
Were heading for some heavy weather
Will we ever hear the message?
Read the signs?
Stop all this talking now
Its time to save our lives
In the news today
I guess were in for heavy weather
In the world today
Were heading for some heavy...
The road ahead keeps leading back again
The train were on is coming to an end
Lets open up our eyes
In the world today
Were heading for some heavy weather
In the news today
I guess were in for heavy weather
In the news today
I guess were in for heavy weather
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter Must Be Cold With No Memories
Winter is a lonely season
if you have no one.
The snow lays on the ground,
white and pale as death.
You walk along any beach
see how deserted it can be.
Empty as a broken heart
living in loneliness.
For some winter
must be cold with no memories.
Something to lift the evening chill
to warm summer days
of two hearts entwined.
So winter can be cold
with no memories
of warm and happier times.
28 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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Gone spinning
I'm there
with the wind lifting the snowflakes from the ground
nestling some on the trees and boughs now bare
pulling through the broken windows homes
to open the doors now frozen
pushing white atoms of cold towards the heart to warm them
the atoms we were honoured the sky had finally decided
to make them visible for us
for when things are not seen
you've got to draw them real hard
the way a woman draws her eyes each morning
putting her winter shades on heavy eyelids
putting her long winter coat
that will turn into the wings once she's out
with the scarf around her neck not to winter break it
with the gloves on her hands flirting with drops of clouds
saying to herself - you look good
you'll look even better now you've gone spinning
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Black coffee and the news
Black coffee and the news
~
I hold the cup in my hands
Burning at my finger tips
My eyes half focused on the television
I’m still half asleep, but alert enough
Watching the news, the world go to hell
Half is pleading poverty, half dying
Somewhere the is a war going on
A young man has just died
The reporter talks of a climbing number
I am unable to digest it just yet
The coffee is extra strong and black
Giving me enough bite to face the day
It lacks what I need to face the news
Which reads out blacker still
I’d change the channel
If only I could find the remote
Looking for some happy news
Something, anything to make me smile
It’s a new day beginning with the old routine
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Crystal Tears And Blues
There is such a silence in the Vienna Opera
That you can hear even the quietest of Mozart's notes,
As if the city's elite has found its shepherd.
You can't hear the quietest of voices, just humble silence
And the occasional sigh of awe.
Oh, people, he ended up in an unmarked grave,
And look at them kneeling in front of him as if he was a king,
I think to myself while crystal tears
Slide down a dark face on this winter night.
It must be Mozart crying in anguish.
Yet, I'm not so much worried by his bitterness up there,
As by our empty hat down here,
As if ghosts pass us by,
Ghosts of those who threw Mozart into an unmarked grave,
But me and my black friend aren't thinking
Of putting our trumpets into worn-out leather sheaths,
Because the sad ballad warms the heart of the cold winter.
Someone might say that the two of us
Look like we just walked out of a black and white movie,
Not as much due to the color of our skins,
But due to our ancient clothes and music.
In this cold winter's night,
The good old blues wakes the nostalgia
In many walkers,
But there's no coin to sing in the old hat,
Just some black spider starting to weave its silky home.
We're not as worried by the empty hat
And our friend diligently building its new home,
As by the empty bottle.
When winter kisses you, you're bound to cry crystal tears, brother,
And so it's time to stretch our frozen legs,
Find some old hole
Where the poor heal their wounds with liquor
And good old blues.
poem by Walter William Safar
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The Soul Calls!
white twin, black twin,
concepts and lies.
images on images,
truth revealed dies.
prayers, simple touch,
falling prey to fate.
fires consume fires,
love is born of hate.
light fails, shadows talk,
the stranger stinks like god.
swords being sharpened,
horses being shod.
bombs fall, bodies cry,
the battle for the self.
the dead sing, the lost dream,
the book still on the shelf.
the hammer strikes the anvil,
the wind cuts you to the bone.
put on your boots, pick up your saddle.
the soul calls the body home!
the soul calls the body home...
hellbound streets, love stained sheets,
the lover is betrayed.
sold on the blocks, down by the docks,
hearts for pawn and trade.
poverty strikes, humility burns,
dignity lost in the crowd,
survival edge, walks the ledge,
only honesty allowed!
the hammer strikes the anvil,
the wind cuts you to the bone.
put on your boots, pick up your saddle.
the soul calls the body home!
the soul calls the body home....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Holy Spirit
I lift heavy legs and groping for glasses,
stumble through my dark house
to see if night will return the sky.
Aching for the new day
I sip strong coffee
and write.
Listen! Birdsong rings
from dark trees.
Wise winter birds
know that the world
begins
and ends
with song.
With the rush of wings
they teach me,
how to capture the infant sun!
They show me
how, with trill and vibrato,
to end the dreary night.
They use breath and light
to rise to heaven,
and renew with love
the face
of the earth.
poem by Steven Federle
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a Messenger from above
The rain came and came again
like only in the Cape,
in deep winter it can be.
The pain came and came again
like only in a dying thing
spreading throughout the body
and drenching all of it.
Yet it was a thing of the heart
and far apart
from illness, or accident
or broken body.
That desolate night
the sky and sea
and earth was blacked out dark
and a chill rose as if from the soul.
The metal of the revolver
gleamed ominous in the dark
and the man took a deep breath
before cocking back the hammer
and pressing the barrel
against his breast.
Somewhere against the clouded
night sky
a lonely gull stretched its wings
against the raging gale
as if a living thing
could out fly
a torment sky and sea
and could be free from it
and all catastrophes.
One lightning bolt reported sharp
and flashed bright
lighting up the night
and it fell and fell
like a messenger from above.
No bird was still in that sky
and as darkness fell
the man wondered why
and his reflections on ending
his own life
was stunted by a dying bird
that wanted to live.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Cold, cold is my bed in winter!
Cold, cold is my bed in winter!But for my
Lord, who will embrace me passionately?
Cold, cold is my bed in winter!
Today, dear, this harsh winter closes in
And scares the frail ones like me.
My frozen little body sets our being ablaze!
But for my love, who will slake me?
Cold, cold is my bed in winter!
But for my love, who will embrace me passionately?
Every single moment of this night is aeon to me!
How futile is my empty bed,
I thank heavens that I met Narsaiyya's Lord,
For I attained the Nectar of Immortality!
Cold, cold is my bed in winter!
But for my Lord, who will embrace me passionately?
poem by Narsinh Mehta
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Snowflakes Falling
Snowflakes, falling, from miraculous heights.
Snowflakes, falling, on a cold winter's night.
Snowflakes, falling, airy and light.
Snowflakes, falling, on a cold winter's night.
Snowflakes, falling, a blanket of white.
Snowflakes, falling, on a cold winter's night.
Snowflakes, falling, crystalline delight.
Snowflakes, falling, on a cold winter's night.
poem by Ben Payton
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July 1 2009***Giving His Boots a Rest
He is resting
In a comfortable Library chair
With his boots and jacket on
His backpack is nearby
He's reading today's paper
And has three plastic covered
Magazines stacked on the floor
To read next
He's in from the cold and rain
He's in where it's warm and dry
He's been to the men's room to
Wash himself and his socks and shorts
Wrapped in a plastic bag
He'll dry them later
Now he's trying to get his boots to dry
They're damp and well worn
They are not worn out
Just like him
They are well worn
They've covered many miles
He's worked in them
He's slept in them
To keep warm and to see
That they are not stolen
Where do you put your shoes at night?
Under you bed? In your closet?
It's been a long time
Since he's had either
How do you
Keep your feet from freezing
In the long hard-frost winter nights?
How do you keep warm?
If you'd never had to worry
You wouldn't appreciate
The warm dry Library chair
That gives his boots a rest
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Gothic Angel
Beautiful raven black hair with red streaks
Compliments her pale white heart shaped face
Encases the jeweled blue eyes
Her long Tripp pants rattle as she walks away
The black and red striped top hugs her upper body
Black platform boots make heavy footfalls, fingerless gloves warm her
One day she hopes to get her fluffy black wings
And what she wants the most: her black halo
Then and only then will she truly be a gothic angel
poem by Justina Nicole Haner
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