A Heart Is Surely Bound
With branches coated topside white with snow.
And blue the shadows stretched along the ground.
Trees adding sharpness, a wintry view on show,
With dazzling, flickering sunshine, such can astound
The observing eye, which will discern and know
Each picture of nature's wealth, times made renowned.
And on a bench in silence sat a crow,
Held captive by a vista, with no sound.
Then flapping his wings, flew off, swooping quite low,
Leaving behind a frozen prospect to dumfound.
Thus, looking here and there, and to and fro
Across this painted scene, a heart is surely bound.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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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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October Day
The bright white clouds against the blue
are moving slowly, passing through.
Their shadows cast upon the ground
move slowly too without a sound.
The winter sunshine’s slanted rays.
Join in the game and seem to chase
the shadows which the clouds have cast
Shining brightly when they’ve passed.
The sky is clear unbroken blue.
It feels a little warmer too.
A little sunshine does I find
lift up my spirits change my mind
about the way I view the day
I do not like it when it’s grey.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Night and Day
I painted a picture of the day
Nature in her sweet tranquil
Her beauty was dazzling in every way
By her sun upon the hill!
I made her grasses the color green
Blue the color of the sea
In pink and red her flowers sheen
In brown, her rocks sit solitary
I painted a picture of the night
But nature has lost her spark
I colored her beauty in black and white
What glory is there in the dark?
I made her sky with dotted light
Of stars in their endless space
But there was no color to make her bright
But the moon with her golden face
I placed both pictures side by side
Media of dark and light
The night to nature, a time to hide
The day her sweet delight
Were i to vote between these two
I will give all to the day
I will paint in her a perfect view
I will have her all the way!
But wait! There is more than meet the eyes
For things are not all we see
For all stuffs are made of good and ills
Beyond our phylosophy
The day i painted with color bright
Is marred with worries and woes
And just a covering with colors and light
Of all beneath her throes.
Now, the night in her dreaded sight
When half the world is asleep
Is an illusion, a passage of day to night
Whereon i sleep free and deep
Free from all worldly pain indeed
That by day plagued every soul
And away from mortals lust and greed
Is a man's life long goal
I cannot choose one, the other bid farewell
In both, all things are one
So i kept the day, and the night as well
For both made me a man! !
poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen
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A Winter's Delight
The snow was falling from the sky,
Skillfully concealing the land once more
With a variety of glimmering snowflakes,
The shapes and forms never seen before.
The snow was falling from the sky,
So beautiful, the vault of pearl white
Made it appear as if the world were new.
It was a scene that made it an artist's delight.
The snow was falling from the sky,
Enchanting the land with a glistening snow.
Nature's wildlife leaving a visible trail
That vanished as the wind began to blow.
The snow was falling from the sky,
And in my caring and sensitive heart,
I marveled at the wonders of nature
Of which we are a genuine part.
The snow has ceased falling from the sky,
As elated children rush to their favorite site
To build snowcastles, forts, and snowmen
Before the emerging of a cold, winter night.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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The Magpie and the Young Dove
On the ground they struck each other
with their wings out stretched.
But the dove was so much smaller
and couldn’t evade the magpie’s pecks.
As feathers flew, it held down the dove
with its powerful grasping claws.
Once, twice, three times, it pecked,
and again several times more.
The tired dove’s resistance vanished
as the magpie took one hop back.
It stood admiring the results of its conflict
before making its final attack.
This brief encounter was nearly over,
the dove turned to face the magpie,
but then a dog approached the scene
and the magpie flew into the sky.
Keeping a close watch over its prey,
it waited in a nearby tree.
The dog lost interest and sauntered away,
giving the magpie opportunity.
One hop then two, it approached for the kill,
but the dog returned to save the day.
This time the magpie didn’t come back,
and the dove recovered to fly away.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Nature' S Kindergarten
Deep, blue sky,
Overcast
With clouds white.
Gentle breeze
Kissing the branches, trees, leaves
And the nascent buds in between
Caressing
The concrete crust.
Stronger it blows
Trees take to the floor
Branches conduct the choir
White to grey
Synergy high
Bang the floor
Dance
To tunes of thunder
Lightening strikes
In the milieu
Pours the virile
The entire show
In silence bids bye.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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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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One Chistmas Eve,1938
The snow was gently falling,
the gusts of wind the only sound.
The branches of the trees were white,
Snow drifted on the ground.
The couple walking through the snow
wore layers of warm clothes.
Their cheeks, half frozen from the cold,
the only skin exposed.
How good it felt to step inside
And close the wind away.
Soon the kettle made a cheery sound-
Hot chocolate on its way..
In the corner stood a Christmas tree
The best they could afford
Dressed with tinsel and with ornaments
to celebrate the Lord.
Theirs was not the largest house
Nor the newest on the block
They tried hard to live sensible
by staying out of hock.
Last Christmas had been difficult
Jobs had been hard to find.
The husband worked at two or three
Taking what he could part time.
This Christmas looked much better.
They were comfortable and warm
They listened on the radio
To a sweet Tenor’s Christmas song
In the distance they heard church bells chime
As Midnight mass was sung
And the babe, there in the manger,
was revealed to old and young.
Her husband held her in his arms
as she opened up his gift.
He thought she rather liked it
By her warm and loving kiss.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Black Crow (in answer to Ted Hughes)
Crow flew up into the air
looking, always searching
with a keen eye
roving down to earth from the sky
with wings flapping
under the blazing sun
almost blurring in
their quick movement
and flying from the blinding sun
with paws folded in
but at a time he had to dropp down
like lightning falling from the sky
to find something somewhere
a mouse, a rat or a bigger rabbit
to feed with claws ripping
with blood oozing red under them.
Blacker than the night,
spreading his wings
again he challenged the sky
thinking about being supreme
and that was his undoing
as he flew up as high as eagles do
against bare cliffs to a nest of their young
and faster than light, was pierced, was flung from it
dropping down from the heights
and heard the screaming roar
of a eagle’s triumphant song
just before death ended everything for crow.
[References: Wodwo and Crow (extract) Two legends by Ted Hughes.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Picture Me
Picture me on a cold, wintry day,
the snow crunching under my feet,
snow flakes kiss me as we meet.
They whirl and twirl in wintry dance,
on the look-out for romance.
My joyous heart beats its wintry song,
I once again feel young and strong,
Revitalized and energized, I record
my footprints in the snow to tell
this day has not gone by,
watching through a window pane,
the magic wonder of transformed rain.
poem by Elke Nigro
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What Mother Nature?
The often used phrase Mother Nature that to many seems to be so dear,
When used to describe the weather's maker is very blasphemous I fear.
The term is simply degrading and not befitting to The Creator of all,
And it is just one more sign of the depravity created by man's fall.
The Creator Himself makes the clouds his chariot in the sky up above,
And He rules from His Heavenly Throne with both wrath and with love,
He's not mother tending nature, but the Sovereign Master of the sky,
Who sends rain on both the righteous and unrighteous from on high.
From His hands He sends the lightning flashing down upon the earth,
This is The Creator's gracious warning to all of a new storm's birth.
God then follows this with the sound of His Majestic Awesome thunder,
And all this is just a small glimpse of God's Mighty Awe and Wonder.
When it becomes cold God sends the snow to blanket the now bare land,
Leaving a beautiful winter scene painted by The Master's Mighty hand.
The breath of God produces ice and the broad waters become frozen.
And the ice and snow that covers the earth stops the labor of all men.
No one truly knows from where the lightning and hail is dispersed,
Or exactly how and why the ice and snow is spread upon the earth.
The test will be the tribulation for all the learned and the wise,
To explain how Mother Nature made hailstones 100 pounds in size.
Snow
Early in the morning, I stood at at my window
In my flat in a Chicago suburb,
And was delighted to see the snow
Gracefully descending on earth.
Fascinated I looked on,
As a carpet of powder white
Noiselessly spread on the ground.
Trees with outstretched arms, a pretty sight.
The memories of Christmas back home
Flashed across my mind,
How we went of to sleep in the hope,
That Santa Claus would come at night.
I snapped out of my reverie,
And pulled out my muffler and coat.
Excited like a child, in a hurry
Put on my gloves and boots.
As I rushed out
Of the warmth of my room,
To feel the snow in my hair
Chill crept down to my bones.
I made a Snow man
And aimed snowballs at no one.
For sometime I think then
I felt I was not alone.
In an alien land,
Thousands of miles away from home,
I didn’t feel sad,
It was cold but I felt warm.
The view was straight out of a picture book.
My boots had sunk into the snow.
I couldn’t take my eyes off and just looked,
And marvelled at nature’s show.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Dream
Once in a dream (for once I dreamed of you)
We stood together in an open field;
Above our heads two swift-winged pigeons wheeled,
Sporting at ease and courting full in view.
When loftier still a broadening darkness flew,
Down-swooping, and a ravenous hawk revealed;
Too weak to fight, too fond to fly, they yield;
So farewell life and love and pleasures new.
Then as their plumes fell fluttering to the ground,
Their snow-white plumage flecked with crimson drops,
I wept, and thought I turned towards you to weep:
But you were gone; while rustling hedgerow tops
Bent in a wind which bore to me a sound
Of far-off piteous bleat of lambs and sheep.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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EMBERS n a FIRE ABLAZE
MEMORIZING, how the embers are flickering
each flame seems to be dancing
wood thats crackiling 4m the heat
and both it and the fire are bickering
as to the charcoal we added, now is turning 4m black to grey
and the wood starts to burn slowly, as it withers away
ashes...flying all around...up high in the air
pieces fallen upon us, as they fall to the ground
ashes that now have turned to dust
as the fire flames leap high, and the fire is so alive
each spark has spoke, with the words made out of smoke
speaking the words....of my love and lust
as each wind gust
reinforces it over n again
the truth that lay on the tip of my tongue
i wish i knew, what to say..what ive been waiting
to say to you...but everytime i try to....
i freeze, and begin the hesitation
as each flame reaches high, headin 2wards the moonlit sky
and as ember begins anew, as the wind and ash have flew
i catch the flickering shadows at play..streaming along your handsome face
then a small wind blew...a small circle around me n you
the forces of nature freeze the time
and across the fires, that slowly dim
then sets a bright blaze...i whisper into the wind
practicing what i want to say to him
my heart stands still as i take in the fill
of the handsome glow of your face
the only sounds...are of the wood crackiling on the ground
the very sound, of my heart that grew a bit
LOUD, as i recaptured the shadows across your face
over the fire pit....my heart skipping in place
in this frozen moment of time..as you come near, closer to my side
now the space was yours and mine...just for a moment in time
all that i could hear, was the echoes of the fire, and the fast beat
of my heart thats jumped with a start, as the 2 sounds seemed to just coincide
each phase of the burning fire, filled me with so much desire
turned the heat up within me
from the top of my head to the tip of my feet
hotter then the fire...ablaze..was my desire dancing in the flames
caught the out; ike, contour, and shadows of your georgeous face
embers that flew, around unto the ground
all around in the air..as the wind slightly blew
as it surrounded us 2
whispers of my love, lust, as the embers have all now turned to dust
as now would ever compare, not the fire, nor it blaze
but as you stood there
bit by bit......in the smoldering glaze..of the fire pit
as it n i caught the handsome shadows that played across your gorgeous face.........................
poem by Krissi B'williams
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The Swamp
FOR one whole day and a long night through
We made our camp
In a she-oak grove by a coastal swamp.
Our tent gleamed white in the she-oak trees,
Whose falling hair
Made a soft, brown mist in the sweet blue air.
A sound subdued from their tresses rose —
A moan, a sigh
As of unseen seas, when the breeze went by.
'Twas wattle-time, and the scented bloom,
New lit and young,
In a mass of gold from the still trees hung.
There music dwelt, and a splendour moved
Through all the day
From the green of dawn to the twilight gray.
For careless ever, like one who goes
Where Joyance leads,
Sang the little reed-bird in the tall, green reeds.
Blue, swift and slender the dragonflies
A-hawking flew,
And a hawk hung poised in the burning blue.
A crane, slow-flapping its great wings, passed
Across the scene,
And a parrot jewelled the leafy screen.
In twos and threes from the hills around
The peewits came,
And the brush-flower burnt like a crimson flame.
On ti-tree trunk and on frond and log
The lizards slept,
While the sun moved west, and the shadows crept.
The sun moved west, and the tall hills sent
Broad shadows east,
And the reed-bird's song in the reed-beds ceased.
Then fell a hush, and within that hush
Rose, clear and shrill,
A cicada note on a distant hill.
A note of farewell, it seemed to us,
Its singing bore;
And the night came down, and it sang no more.
Night came with shadows and fitful gleams
And mist and damp,
And our fire burned red by the coastal swamp.
Then life not known of the daytime woke —
That life that preys
On the feathered things of the leafy ways.
We heard feet moving, and velvet wings
On swamp and height,
And a dingo howling across the night.
As, faces lit by the red camp-fire,
We mused enthralled.
Like a lone, lost spirit a curlew called;
Brown crickets sang in the moisty mould,
And every breeze
Drew a moaning note from the she-oak trees.
And all night long, as they swayed and moaned,
Strange fancies woke,
And we could not rest for the things they spoke.
Thus much and more through the hours we saw;
Thus much we heard
In that place of blossom and tree and bird.
Since then gold wattles have bloomed and bloomed,
And moons aloft
In the sky have wizened and waned full oft.
And yet, at times, when the night is still,
In dreams I tramp
Through the white sand-dunes to that coastal camp.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Human's Soul Never Freeze
In snow on a bench a poor man sat,
He was frozen, so cold it was,
He didn't have any shelter,
But shared the bench with a dog.
His mustache and eyebrows were coated with snow,
His legs were numb, looking the color blue,
Although it was so cold, he didn't wear his warm coat,
Feeling for the dog he used his warm coat to cover the dog.
That poor man gave his coat,
To save and protect the dog's life,
Not caring for his own health, in the freezing cold,
He offered warmth and care to a dog.
People found them and took them to the shelter,
Gave them food and warmth to treat,
One sure thing from this is certain,
That a human's soul never freeze.
.................................. .......................
(This poem is inspired from a true story i saw on TV news)
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Snowy evening
Snowy evening
Snow filling the ground
Turning the city into white
She, in a bright red dress
Walking slowly, enjoying
Her walk in the snowy evening
Towards the Fence of the garden!
Greenaries of the garden
Now in white shades
With frozen drops of ice
Covering the grass
Every little bush
Like a cotton plant
Making a lovely sense!
Few snow flakes in her hands
To taste the pretty white snow
She opens her mouth
Awesome beauty with a white perl
In hand towards her mouth
With more innocence
Trees and bushes covered with snow
Wonders if she is pretty
Or the snow fall is pretty
Unexpressed silence persists
In the garden
Till the beauty
Went down the street!
poem by Archana Prabahar
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Enemy Tracks (Quatern)
There are many tracks on the ground,
enemies could be anywhere,
the spoor does the tracker astound,
he looks carefully here and there.
To me the tracks look all the same,
there are many tracks on the ground,
I do not know from where they came,
how enemies are to be found.
To the tracker it is renowned,
the way that it is set, its line
there are many tracks on the ground,
to me looking almost as mine.
We drink water under a tree
find a booby trap tightly bound
that almost is disposing me,
there are many tracks on the ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Graveyard in the snow
Today, I cannot find your grave,
because the stone with your name
is set in the earth,
down, where it is not in the way,
when the caretakers mow the grass,
now you are covered with snow.
Everything is white,
so full of peace, so still,
I sit on the bench,
it is so cold, but
I feel so close to you,
after all, you are cold,
under the earth,
under this white sheet,
hidden, but there, I know.
Only a raven,
shiny in funeral coat of feathers,
black against the white,
sits with me, in a tree,
not far, insistently cawing,
a warning, an emphatic word
of solace.
The trees, dark green
under the snow,
are so silent,
I can hear a soft sliding,
when the clumps of snow
fall on the ground,
startling the raven.
He flies away,
a shadow against the clouds
of winter sky.
I must leave you now,
the deep cavity of my grief
is like the silence
of your snow-covered grave,
enticing me to stay.
But I have promised
a pledge to live,
before I can sleep
under the snow.
poem by Martina E. Elenbaas
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A Captivating Sight
The artist's brush scoops up the shades of green,
and creates a scene.
Trees, banks, deep valleys, fields and gentle hills,
how the picture fills.
Some vivid yellows in the sunshine's rays,
on his canvas, blaze.
Rich blue envisaged in the summer sky,
is the perfect dye.
Such subtle shadows to be applied in black,
require the knack.
The whole portrayal is a captivating sight,
with highlights, white.
Then somewhere you'll find a signature in grey,
inscribed - Manet.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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