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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Now it is winter when trees are skeleton
Now it is winter when trees are skeleton,
stripped bare and have no more leaves
as if they are lifeless
and the weather is grey as if
there’s only chill and sieving rain
with banks of covering fog
that cuts the sun and light,
into a cold pitiless world
and then you first past and come to me
with a yellow raincoat, your pants splashed wet
where you shake your hair out, like a dog does with rain
in a blizzard of spray, getting it out of your hair
and I know that our time is only burrowed
when you stretch against me, cuddly and slim, just you and me alone
and you are hot like a ray of light that unexpectedly comes down,
we are one in passion, in a moment
after which I remove the hairclips from your hair,
your eyes are gleaming like shining pieces of steel
and you are only mine, with soft lips and big eyes
and bliss descends between us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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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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A winters morning
A winters morning
~
Amongst a listless morning
still thoughts linger
in the soft pale light
cold dew hangs in the air
bare trees line the horizon
a backdropp of grey cloud
there is nothing more
or less beautiful seen
within a winters portrait
than a world changing
stripped bare, naked
the frailty of life
witnessed
poem by Matthew Holloway
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In another time of year
There are autumn leaves
creaking under my shoes,
some of the trees are stripped bare
and the wind has a chill
that cuts right through all my clothes.
It is as if the whole of nature longs
for leaves to be hanging on branches,
for a bright hot sun,
and for rain to come at the right time
but when I am with you
it’s as if we
are in another time of year
where no cold winds blow
and you cuddle me in your sunny world.
When I hear your heart beat
through your bare body,
your skin clings possessively against mine,
I see suns living in your eyes,
you lead me to a magical garden
and I wonder what has to happen
to make our spring
a summer?
poem by Gert Strydom
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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
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Late autumn
The yellow veldt, the skeleton chestnut trees
specs of orange-red aloes in the kopje
are near to the old white house
and in the late afternoon shades draw long lines
while I walk up to the house on the red-brown dirt road
and most of the flowers in the garden are stripped bare
but a few irises are flowering yellow,
purple and cream brown
and the sky is dull blue and the early evening cold
is already on the wind that is rustling everything
and after years I open the garden gate
are coming back to my childhood home
stripped from illusions,
and I am bare from the childhood innocence
but full of hope
and looking through a mature man’s eyes.
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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Winter rain
She comes as an uninvited guest
when she’s expected less
and in times of the year’s
cold misery
she falls like icicles
out of a grey winter sky.
Her coming when the faded earth
is at its bare rest
with stripped trees
and yellowed grass
and bare patches
where flowers should be;
vexes me, as nothing rise when she falls
and just more chill follows her drops.
poem by Gert Strydom
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There and back again for M 'lady Chitra
There are no blossoms to be seen.
They’ve served their turn and left the stage
The trees are clad in shades of green
One further step on their passage
from the bare twigs of winter time.
Stark silhouettes against the sky
then blossom time which is sublime
Providing pleasure for the eye/
The trees are in their summer dress
More subtle than their spring attire.
Waiting for autumn to impress
with leaves that seem to be on fire.
The autumn winds well strip them bare
and spread their glory on the ground.
A coloured blanket everywhere.
and twigs now dancing to the sound
of early winter gales that blow.
Creating eerie harmonies,
bare branches moving to and fro
produce discordant melodies.
The trees endure the winters rage,
the bitter cold and falling snow,
The know it’s just another stage
they’re well prepared to undergo.
Before the welcome spring returns
to prompt new tender leaves to grow
Followed by blossoms in their turn.
As seasons come and seasons go,
07/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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 the last day of May
It was the last day of May
and winter was creeping,
in to every thing.
Dew had turned
to ripe and a chill,
was in the night air.
Brown trees were stripped
from leaves
and the yellow grass,
waved in the winter wind
as if dead.
Even the contract
was drawing to its end,
but I did not want to give away
knowledge from my speciality
that was acquired through studies
and by the experience of years.
How could any employer
expect the sun
of intimate knowledge to arise,
with a job’s demise?
poem by Gert Strydom
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As long as I have you with me
This day passing at autumns end
with stripped trees, some flowers spent
and still two doves fly by
in a frivol of feathers
as if charming each other
the blue sky has a cold wind
touching with the breath
from a ice dragon
and the sun’s rays
has lost their compassion
and are growing dim
but another spring,
another summer will surely come,
even if my years
are nearly spent and at their brim
and this is no winter of my despair
while a smile’s on your face
and the fire in your eyes
makes my blood race
and everywhere live is still abounding
and your fine care
is in every little thing about me.
Let any winter then come
even if it rains for days long,
even if snow like a miracle falls
and frost leaves its mark
as long as I have you with me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Have Seen Autumn
I have never felt the chill of winter
Nor the birth of spring
Only the two faces of Nature
The golden sun shining
Or the heavens openly weeping.
But I have seen autumn
As I looked at her
No cold winter in her smile
A promise of summer in her eyes
Her hair of autumn leaves.
I have never felt autumn
But I have seen it
It’s the canvass of Rembrandt
Dark, red, crimson, gold
But I have never felt it.
Is the autumn breeze damp and soft like her lips?
Is the autumn sky naked and warm like her skin?
But I have never kissed her lips nor touched her skin
I have only seen autumn
But I have never felt it.
poem by Shogunoka Ledesma III
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Color Me Autumn
Clouds and glooms hang
Sunshine nowhere in sight.
Herein lies an autumn mood.
Daylight shorter and shorter,
darkness longer and longer,
trees know winter is nigh.
Fallen amber leaves make beds
bare trees-limbs just
as empty as my arms.
Green leaves disappeared,
yellow and orange appears.
Color despair and sadness
with a coat of autumn
Making winter the etching;
make spring the oil painting and
Autumn a mosaic of them all…
What luminous work of art!
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Once Upon An Autumn Day
Once Upon an autumn day,
Colorful leaves began to fade
In the midst of a chilly, frosty air
As multitude of trees grew steadily bare.
Once upon an autumn day,
The whispering breeze was here to stay
Moving aimlessly through the countless trees
Scattering leaves with the greatest of ease.
Once upon an autumn day,
The leaves whirled freely in every way,
Until at last they came to rest
Finding a haven in which to nest.
Once upon an autumn day,
The trees were dormant, and the leaves lay
Waiting for the winter snow to fall
To quickly obscure them one and all.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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My Winter Freedom
Freedom across all oceans and skies
Looking through a window into white
Into a glassy, cold terrain
I see my winter freedom
Into the mountains and pass the bare trees
I see my winter freedom
Pass the snow white roads and trees full of mysteries
Comes the joy of the first snow
The innocent breeze across your face
The endless walk into the night
Gazing across the sky at the night’s moon
To the morning sun across the horizon
Reflecting off the glassy ice and foggy mountain tops
Seeing and breathing in the first days of winter
But mostly…
Believing
In the wonders and joys of
Your Winter Freedom
poem by Rachel Pedroza
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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
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Autumn Becomes Winter
Autumn is becoming Winter,
And as it does everything dies.
Autumn is a slow decay in warm colours,
And Winter is grey and absent.
Some of the redy-brown leaves sit on the trees,
Yet the cold chill sings a song
That could only be the Winter.
It is scarf weather now.
I turn my collar up against the cold and damp.
The Sun has stopped shining all day,
Now we see it for a few hours a day
And then we are entombed in darkness.
You could run to catch up with the Sun,
But you’d never make it.
Be left like ship smoke on the horizon,
Just a spot in the distance.
You cannot escape the Winter.
Autumn is becoming Winter,
And as it does everything dies.
poem by Charlie F. Kane
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