Snow wonderland
Matching scratches
White square patterns, design by print feet.
Back and forward & square.
Walking straight to shine light & moving shadow
Reflect the way home
Cold needles are sewing the red faces looking around.
Everything is enchanted by light and mud.
Pine tree green cover in a sweet icing.
Drops, smoking, cold melting ice
On my hands warmed pocket.
Broken snow, walking on the front steps.
Inside the house, outside a paint window
Nature a great painter.
After the night.
Museum of white morning colours
Shouting scarf's and boots
Angels games.
Raining melting tree.
Warm grey sky.
White bushes with orange and red berry faces.
White pyramids of smoking chimney.
Keeping warm thrones.
poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Chimney
this morning...this morning..this morning
the chimney of the desolate house in front of mine
is smoking...smoking...smoking
what a lovely sight
who may be there
on the snow
white smoke onthe white snow
the bare plum tree is
grinning...grinning..grinning
the black crow
on the hazel nut tree
crowing...crowing...crowing
as if life is newly beginning...beginning...beginning
guess..who is there...who is there
behind the yellow lignt seen at night
shining from the desolate window
someone...someone....someone
living. ..emerging from the house
ı wish all the chimneys of the lonely poor smoked
in the wilderness of the cold..cold of the snow
what a happy and a lovely sight
the desolate chimney is smoking...smoking...smoking
ı wish ı were in this old house too
with the mystery of the ancients
where they have come
ı never knew
the desolate house is reviving this morn
ı only see the shadows
growing...growing....growing..and moving
poem by Metin Sahin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A White Architect Of Light
8.8.88: She came back from the land of democrative destiny and dissolved
into the chaotic void.
Fighting for the freedom of reality
Building the light house in the darkest hours of life
Fixing up the spiritual essence through the existential nothingness
in the valueless zone
Layers by layers, realities of life theatre are turned into distilled light
out of trapped reflections
Mother of modern Myanmar honoured by consciencious tree of life
Curving away all the unnecessary parts
Curving away all the necessary parts
Communication revolution of the 21 st century
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
St. Valentine's Day
The South is a dream of flowers
With a jewel for sky and sea,
Rose-crowns for the dancing hours,
Gold fruits upon every tree;
But cold from the North The wind blows forth
That blows my love to me.
The stars in the South are gold
Like lamps between sky and sea;
The flowers that the forests hold.
Like stars between tree and tree;
But little and white Is the pale moon's light
That lights my love to me.
In the South the orange grove
Makes dusk by the dusky sea,
White palaces wrought for love
Gleam white between tree and tree,
But under bare boughs Is the little house
Warm-lit for my love and me.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Paint
Don't paint me red,
Red is for bold women that use cheap scent
Don't paint me blue
Blue is for sadness and regret
Don't paint me green
Green is for envy and not to be seen
Don't paint me black
black is for the night and I love the light
Don't paint me white
White is for virgins and me, I love a flirtin'
Don't paint me orange
Orange is vile and I have some style
Don't paint me brown or grey or cream
these colours are boring and really not me.
Paint me in silver, platinum or gold
so I remain precious as I grow old.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fog
Old movie morning...
The sun barely breathes, silver & grey colours.
Black & white grass heads, crying dew tears.
The land wakes with mugs of stemming smoke.
Revealing absorbing true shapes
Of tree grey morning bones
Wet tongue on my ears.
Whisper shadow from the lamp light.
Blind eyes draw, unintelligible figures.
Not much to see, on the walls' house.
Trapped in mimic cage.
The fog tricks silver and grey hats.
Of smoking breaths.
poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Return
The grass was gray with the moonlit dew,
The stones were white as I came through;
I came down the path by the thirteen yews,
Through the blocks of shade that the moonlight hews.
And when I came to the high lych-gate
I waited awhile where the corpses wait;
Then I came down the road where the moonlight lay
Like the fallen ghost of the light of day.
The bats shrieked high in their zigzag flight,
The owls' spread wings were quiet and white,
The wind and the poplar gave sigh for sigh,
And all about were the rustling shy
Little live creatures that love the night -
Little wild creatures timid and free.
I passed, and they were not afraid of me.
It was over the meadow and down the lane
The way to come to my house again:
Through the wood where the lovers talk,
And the ghosts, they say, get leave to walk.
I wore the clothes that we all must wear,
And no one saw me walking there,
No one saw my pale feet pass
By my garden path to my garden grass.
My garden was hung with the veil of spring -
Plum-tree and pear-tree blossoming;
It lay in the moon's cold sheet of light
In garlands and silence, wondrous and white
As a dead bride decked for her burying.
Then I saw the face of my house
Held close in the arms of the blossomed boughs:
I leaned my face to the window bright
To feel if the heart of my house beat right.
The firelight hung it with fitful gold;
It was warm as the house of the dead is cold.
I saw the settles, the candles tall,
The black-faced presses against the wall,
Polished beechwood and shining brass,
The gleam of china, the glitter of glass,
All the little things that were home to me -
Everything as it used to be.
Then I said, 'The fire of life still burns,
And I have returned whence none returns:
I will warm my hands where the fire is lit,
I will warm my heart in the heart of it!'
So I called aloud to the one within:
'Open, open, and let me in!
Let me in to the fire and the light -
It is very cold out here in the night!'
There was never a stir or an answering breath -
Only a silence as deep as death.
Then I beat on the window, and called, and cried.
No one heard me, and none replied.
The golden silence lay warm and deep,
And I wept as the dead, forgotten, weep;
And there was no one to hear or see -
To comfort me, to have pity on me.
But deep in the silence something stirred -
Something that had not seen or heard -
And two drew near to the window-pane,
Kissed in the moonlight and kissed again,
And looked, through my face, to the moon-shroud, spread
Over the garlanded garden bed;
And--'How ghostly the moonlight is!' she said.
Back through the garden, the wood, the lane,
I came to mine own place again.
I wore the garments we all must wear,
And no one saw me walking there.
No one heard my thin feet pass
Through the white of the stones and the gray of the grass,
Along the path where the moonlight hews
Slabs of shadow for thirteen yews.
In the hollow where drifted dreams lie deep
It is good to sleep: it was good to sleep:
But my bed has grown cold with the drip of the dew,
And I cannot sleep as I used to do.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Dream Does The Morning Sky Say To Me?
WHAT DREAM DOES THE MORNING SKY SAY TO ME?
What dream does the morning sky say to me?
A cold and white dream?
A fast moving white- clouded dream?
What dream does morning sky say to me?
An old man walking home from shul,
Happy and at peace
Looking forward to breakfast.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I want to be warm so freaking bad
I want to be warm so freaking bad
While the big winter freeze sets in
All this condensation and precipitation
With little perspiration and evaporation
Everywhere I go
There are blankets of white snow
I am indoors having phone conversations
With minus freezing temperature
The cold affects every living creature
This is the cold side of nature
When little drops of water have an adventure
I want to be warm so freaking bad
That's why I can not get out of bed
In houses hide the mass populations
While the nation is in depression
Faced with buses and train cancellations
Right now I face hibernation
When I open my doors
The cold wind blows hardcore
It bites into my bones
And I retreat back home alone
I want to be warm so freaking bad
That's why my heating is constantly on
I want to be warm so freaking bad
That's why I have so many clothes on
Because every time I open my windows
I don't need a pair of binoculars
To see that walking on thin ice
Is not a comforting struggle
I want to be warm so freaking bad
And I know my thoughts are not all that mad
I want to be warm so freaking bad
While the big winter freeze sets in so bad
poem by Sylvia Chidi (2010)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Goodnight Till The Morning Sun
Walking
Walking upon white sands
Imprisoned by thoughts and narrow walls
That holds no comfort within right now
Walking
Walking beneath the sun
Yes warm
But feel embraced by the coldness
As hands touch loneliness
Down on hands and knees I go
To touch the warmth once more
But through clouds of smoke
I search for you
And the sun
Oh hear my voice upon the ocean
Within your dreams
Till the morning sun appears
And as sunshine warm your face
Open your eyes in joy
And know my thoughts are with you
But for now I am walking
Walking upon white sands
Imprisoned by narrow walls
And thoughts
That holds no comfort
But as I walk beneath the sun
Upon white sands within a dream
My heart belongs… to you
As I say goodnight
Till the morning sun.
poem by Robert Sheridan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
As The Snow Falls (song)
As the rain falls down,
It turns to snow.
As the snow falls down,
It hits the ground.
You look outside,
And it’s a sheet of white.
So you think,
Oh what a beautiful night.
The fire is warm,
And the coco too.
And you wonder,
What is next to do?
Looking outside,
All you see is white,
And stars in the sky…ayyy.
The stars are falling,
The stars are falling,
And they cover the ground.
The snow has fallen,
Snow has fallen,
And it covers the ground.
You sit there,
Lookin’ out your window,
Sippin’ on your coco. Oh
Watching as the rain falls down-
The snow falls down-
The stars fall down.
And you see,
All of natures beauty.
The rain falls down,
And it turns to snow.
The snow falls down,
And it hits the ground.
Lookin’ outside,
And it’s a sheet of white.
you bundle up,
and step outside.
standing in the cold,
you look around.
its all so calm and still.
Oh there’s not a single sound.
It’s a silent night,
Oh what a sight.
Snow covers the trees,
So beautiful to see.
Back inside you go
To the fire you stand,
With coco in hand.
You’re cozy and warm,
All alone.
It’s getting late,
So you sleep the night away.
As the rain fell down,
It turned to snow.
As the snow fell down,
It hit the ground.
And the sheet of white,
It disappeared.
The next day you wake,
And the beauty is gone.
The morning sun,
Thawed the lawn.
And the snowy wondrous night is done.
poem by Tessa Monaghan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Six Significant Landscapes
I.
An old man sits
In the shadow of a pine tree
In China.
He sees larkspur,
Blue and white,
At the edge of the shadow,
Move in the wind.
His beard moves in the wind.
The pine tree moves in the wind.
Thus water flows
Over weeds.
II.
The night is of the colour
Of a woman's arm:
Night, the female,
Obscure,
Fragrant and supple,
Conceals herself.
A pool shines,
Like a bracelet
Shaken in a dance.
III.
I measure myself
Against a tall tree.
I find that I am much taller,
For I reach right up to the sun,
With my eye;
And I reach to the shore of the sea
With my ear.
Nevertheless, I dislike
The way ants crawl
In and out of my shadow.
IV.
When my dream was near the moon,
The white folds of its gown
Filled with yellow light.
The soles of its feet
Grew red.
Its hair filled
With certain blue crystallizations
From stars,
Not far off.
V.
Not all the knives of the lamp-posts,
Nor the chisels of the long streets,
Nor the mallets of the domes
And high towers,
Can carve
What one star can carve,
Shining through the grape-leaves.
VI.
Rationalists, wearing square hats,
Think, in square rooms,
Looking at the floor,
Looking at the ceiling.
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles.
If they tried rhomboids,
Cones, waving lines, ellipses --
As, for example, the ellipse of the half-moon --
Rationalists would wear sombreros.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
World of White
When I woke up this morning
My world was layered in white
So cold it was and very still
Snow had fallen through the night
No birds chirped a good morning
The bugs were hidden away
Instead was this harsh cold
I felt as though it would stay
I could barely see my lawn chair
For white had settled so thick
I wished I had seen it fall
This snow as it began to stick
The trees and bushes were
A fresh and lovely sight
Snow decorated the branches
Making winter look just right
We must enjoy the changes
So lovely and cold and bright
It will not last for long
This wonderful world of white!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Winter's Tale
Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow,
And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge;
Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go
On towards the pines at the hills’ white verge.
I cannot see her, since the mist’s white scarf
Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky;
But she’s waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half
Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh.
Why does she come so promptly, when she must know
That she’s only the nearer to the inevitable farewell;
The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow—
Why does she come, when she knows what I have to tell?
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On fairy lit night
On fairy lit night
When the snow shone so bright
And I held you so tight
I felt my love shine through you...
I felt the melting
Of every storm cloud blowing
Away under a summer breeze...
Like a broken healing shard
I felt my love shining in the moonlight
Blooming like a forest orchid
Rocking like a child in his crib
On a fairy lit night
When the snow shone so bright
And I held you so tight
I felt my love shine through you
As we rolled like a snowball
Jointly surrendering to the morning dew
Oh I felt the melting
Of two tear drops melting in mine
And your deep dark warm sparkling eyes...
I felt the gravity as we rolled
In that white midnights snow
To a poets corner only we'll both know.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh roll with me
Like an Egyptian rug under the night
Of a burning sun
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh roll with me
Like a glacier river into a red tropic sun
Where the thunder in our hearts
Has, only just begun to burn and play
Out it's magic song before our eyes.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
White and Red
The cold,
the white,
that fell,
from the sky.
The warm,
The red,
That fell,
from my skin.
The white is clean,
stained by my red.
It is white and I am red,
But I am now one with white,
and the white is one with red,
What is white,
what is red,
If something is white,
Then it cant be red,
If something is red,
then it cant be white,
Something that is not white...
Something that is not red...
Something that is both...
Is what?
poem by Rebecca Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
White Shadow
Ten coaches roll into the dust
Chrome windows turned to rust
'hand on inside they know they must
Hanging on the green backed words "in god we trust"
No one knew if the spirit died
All wrapped to go like kentucky fried
Tring to read the flight of birds
Low on fuel, getting low on words
And she comes out like a white shadow
She comes out like a white shadow
Each one drawn to empty spaces
Outsiders, borderline cases
It's hard to tell black from white
When you wake up in the middle of the night
Weighed down by the absence of sound
Broken now by the cry of a hound
Looking for movement withing the haze
Light can be deceptive with her rays
And she comes out like a white sadow
And she comes out like a white shadow
She comes out like a white shadow
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
In Barracks
The barrack-square, washed clean with rain,
Shines wet and wintry-grey and cold.
Young Fusiliers, strong-legged and bold,
March and wheel and march again.
The sun looks over the barrack gate,
Warm and white with glaring shine,
To watch the soldiers of the Line
That life has hired to fight with fate.
Fall out: the long parades are done.
Up comes the dark; down goes the sun.
The square is walled with windowed light.
Sleep well, you lusty Fusiliers;
Shut your brave eyes on sense and sight,
And banish from your dreamless ears
The bugle’s dying notes that say,
‘Another night; another day.’
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Woman In White
As I look out the window
from where I work
at the car park
about fifty yards away.
Near the fence that borders it
is a tree stump about five feet tall.
Bleached white by the sun
it resembles a woman in a cloak.
It seems to change daily
though I don’t know why.
One day it seems she is praying,
the next day she has what looks like
a basket in her hand.
When it rains, she changes colour
from white to grey.
Now the summers here
and the greenery surrounds her,
she looks like she is walking through a garden.
It is strange how my imagination
changes her from day to day
and I wonder what more
this tree stump figure will give my imagination.
Now this woman in white
has me puzzled as to who she really is.
I can give her many names
of precious people from the past
who may have worn a cloak and gown.
However, for me she is
just my woman in white.
15 August 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Winter In The Fall
Five inches of cold, white, snow
Confront my door
Where is my shovel
Need I slog up the hill
Shall I clear my way down
From the shed
Past the unfinished greenhouse
Past the snow filled trench
The pickax and spade are buried
Somewhere beneath that soft, cold blanket
My warm fire is burning orange and blue
Looking out at a distant window light
The pure, clean of this first thick snow
Seems benign
Exactly right this morning
The unplowed road and driveway
Wait until the sun
November 15,1997
poem by Marjorie DeBol DeFazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Moonlit Night
Beneath a rather sensuous moon
They made a trail through the snow
Through the woods
That creaked from cold
On that Winter's night
She took the lead
Through feathery snow
That seemed the angels had spilled below
He followed swiftly, keeping pace
They stopped
They held a warm embrace
Upon this winter night
When all seemed calm
When all seemd bright
But most of all
It just seemed right
They trampled snow underneath
He made a bed
Wondering all the time
Could this be done...
On such a cold, cold night?
She offered wineskin sips
To him to warm his soul
And then she kissed him
Long, and deeply...melting snow
They gathered branches and pinecones
They struck a spark
And made a glow
They kindled that which they had known
On moonlit night
In bed of snow.
poem by Dee Daffodil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!