Wolves Out Tonight
Wolves out tonight.
The smart dogs are stay-at-homes.
No berries. The bears have torn up
the garbage dumps and heaped
what fat they could manage in caves
to sleep their hunger away
in whatever a bear dreams of.
The natives are predicting a hard winter
by counting beads on an abacus of holly.
Corrugated drifts of the first snow,
wavelength after wavelength of a frozen tide
even if you were to take it at the high
would lead to nowhere but here
where the common mullein
whose cobs and towers of yellow flowers
are now rags of light
thrown to the back of the closet of the sun,
its grey-green felt leaves
too brittle and withered
to insulate an Ojibway’s moccasin.
And there, Jupiter rising in the east,
every planet so sublimely immersed
in its own business, it hasn’t got time
to interfere in the worldly affairs of this one.
Here, six months of the year,
earth in a coma of its own
and everything waiting like a relative
beside a rumpled white hospital bed
for spring to open
the eyelids of the flowers again.
The wind whips and spurs
the flanks of the horses
that have dug their hoofs
into the frozen earth
standing in the meagre fields,
bridges to nowhere,
half-finished wharfs in the snow,
the wind whipping
their ice-encrusted manes
like a cat o’ nine tails
stinging the soft lustre
of their wounded eyes.
Wolves out tonight
down by the lake
searching the cattails for muskrat,
an agony of longing in their howling
that’s older and deeper than pain.
The moon almost full in Taurus.
Does it ever answer them
like a snowy owl
high in a basswood tree nearby
or the echo of a wavelength
long after the loon has gone
it left as a keepsake in a locket
like the sea leaves itself in a shell?
Languages in a polyglot wilderness
you can only listen to
but never speak until
you let the silence speak for you.
Tracks in the first snow
like a junkie’s arm
leading away from a shell-shocked juniper
each with glyphs and scripts of their own.
Just like poetry.
Line by line.
There goes the hare.
Here comes the fox.
Or tonight, more likely, a wolf.
poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Song Of The Evergreens
Listen to the briskly whistling winter evergreen
Whispering through the frozen morning light
And tell me whats to come
Saying my time is near
Never fear
I close each year
Im winter
Reminding me to trade my t-shirts for my woven wools
Trade my sandals for my skis
Whispered warnings in the wind
Saying soon come the dancing snowflakes
Theyre kissing every tree
Theyre kissing you and me
Please hurry
Falling
Dazzling dancing diamonds from the sky
Prisms
Rainbow sparkled flurries in our eyes
Whipping across the frozen crystal meadow
Pond of ice
Race the snow
Well build a warming fire there
And cuddle close and wine and dine
The setting sun
The morning light will find us high
Shooting down the glistening mountain side
Screaming through the whispering pines
The freedom of each day
Will cleanse our minds
I can hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
I can hardly hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waiting For the Snow
Waiting for the Snow
When the leaves turn golden
And the geese fly south
Where will I be?
When the wind turns cold
And the bear is in hiding
Where will I be?
When the streams are frozen
And the rabbits’ color turning
Where will I be?
When the leaves begin to fall
And the northern cardinals stay
Where will I be?
When the nuts fall down
And squirrels store walnuts
Where will I be?
When the corn is harvested
And the deer seek shelter
Where will I be?
When the grass is brown
And the pheasants are flying
Where will I be?
I will be riding before the wind
And winging t’ward the sun
Flying from the snow
I will be waiting for spring
And sleeping till then
Hiding from the snow
I will be hiding till I’m white
And searching the ground for food
Waiting for the snow
I will be looking for berries
And singing merrily
Waiting for the snow
I will be saving acorns
And jumping form tree to tree
Waiting for the snow
I will be searching fields for corn
And hiding in thickets
Waiting for the snow
I will be hiding under grass
And calling out loud
Waiting for the snow
A Winter Pack
The wolves run in the night
Searching for something thats just out of sight
They hunt together on this frigid winter's night
Searching for food that will take the hunger away
The alpha stops, followed by his pack
Along a frozen lake shore is an elk
Who plays alone in the deep winter snow
The wolves are hungry they're ready for attack
The wolves circle 'round without a sound
The elk doesn't notice at all
One sharp yap and the wolves charge
The elk has fallen and tonight will be a feast
The alpha eats with hungry gazes upon him
When the rest of the pack eat it is time for sleep
But first the alpha howls and it rises through the pack
This is not a mournful hungry howl, but a joyus happy one
The wolves go to sleep under the full moon
They are happy and filled with food
They dream dreams of the coming spring
When the toll of winter will leave this winter pack.
poem by Hannah Branz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tonight
stood on top of the world
New York city high above the streets below
where no one was around
from up here it seems
that has gone and stopped
and I cannot believe the world's
still spinning round
Have you ever
wanted to be king
well I don't think I
ever have been
so close to that feeling
standing between
the earth and the sky
well I wont ever forget tonight
I won't ever forget
tonight tonight tonight
tonight tonight tonight
saw snow for the first time
watched it come down white and cold
covering up all that i could see
I've been waiting for this moment
since I was a child
and now it's finally happening to me
song performed by by Unsung Zeros
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autumn Thoughts
Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers,
And gone the Summer's pomp and show,
And Autumn, in his leafless bowers,
Is waiting for the Winter's snow.
I said to Earth, so cold and gray,
'An emblem of myself thou art.'
'Not so,' the Earth did seem to say,
'For Spring shall warm my frozen heart.'
I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams
Of warmer sun and softer rain,
And wait to hear the sound of streams
And songs of merry birds again.
But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone,
For whom the flowers no longer blow,
Who standest blighted and forlorn,
Like Autumn waiting for the snow;
No hope is thine of sunnier hours,
Thy Winter shall no more depart;
No Spring revive thy wasted flowers,
Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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A Winter of Discontent
I remember a winter a few decades ago.
Where our dear England was covered in snow.
It started on Boxing Day with a blizzard from hell
then in the course of a week the snow just fell.
This once green paradise was now a shroud of white
and everyone was suffering from chillblains and frostbite.
Outdoor life was like an indoor fridge
where everything had frozen like a mountain ridge.
Abandon lorries on the side of the road
men were freezing even their load.
Villages cut off all over the land
so in came the troops to lend a hand.
This was the winter of discontent that lasted from
Christmas, and way past Lent.
As one lot of snow cleared, it would return again
to bring freezing cold tempretures and a lot of pain.
Wind would blow both night and day, and still the snow
never went away.Drifts of snow standing six foot high
just being topped up with snow from a winter sky.
So what of this winter of ice and snow
one that happened a few decades ago.
I remember it as one that was cold and wild
because in the summer God presented me
with my first born child.
In this year, where snow fell in December
it was the coldest winter I will ever remember.
poem by Sylvia Spencer
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A Farm's Diary In Winter
In the frozen life of this farm
animals dwell in the golden hay
flowers sprout in fields like Siberian
clouds float as summer ducks on a lake
time flows as an under water ice cavern
snow drops as if leaves in fall
hoofs of deer feet sink as snow descends
stew boils as fire ruptures beneath the kettle
the snow covers the road as if it was a bed
sunlight spreads over the snow as it arise
poem by Montel Maggitt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Night
Night is a wounded sea
Wolves of golden waves
My ice lover with yellow roses
You are the glow of Norway
You are the snow of seagulls
Walk with me in Walden
Cry with me in Scotland
I am the Irish tide
The moon of pain
Tempt me again
Night is the earth
Swirling stars come again
Lawn chairs in the back yard
Pie and ice cream
Clouds in the swaggering dusk
Children in a hayloft
Sailboats with masts of hope
My memories of burning fall leaves
Tonight you are joy
Sometimes night is the soul free
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Wavelength
This is a song about your wavelength
And my wavelength, baby
You turn me on
When you get me on your wavelength
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
With your wavelength
Oh, with your wavelength
With your wavelength
With your wavelength
Oh mama, oh mama, oh mama, oh mama oh mama, oh mama
Wavelength
Wavelength
You never let me downno
You never let me downno
When Im down you always comfort me
When Im lonely you see about me
You are evry where youre sposed to be
And I can get your station
When I need rejuvenation
Wavelength
Wavelength
You never let me downno
You never let me downno
I heard the voice of america
Callin on my wavelength
Tellin me to tune in on my radio
I heard the voice of america
Callin on my wavelength
Singin come back, baby
Come back
Come back, baby
Come back
Do do do dou-dit do do dou dit do do do do do
Do do do dou dit do do dou dit do do do do do
Wont you play that song again for me
About my lover, my lover in the grass, yeah, alright
You have told me bout my destiny
Singin come back, baby
Come back
Come back, baby
Come back
On my wavelength
Wavelength
You never let me downno
You never let me downno
When you get me on
When you get me on your wavelength
When you get me
Oh, yeah, lord
You get me on your wavelength
You got yourself a boy
When you get me on
Get me on your wavelength
Ya radio, ya radio, ya radio
Ya radio, ya radio, ya radio
Fade
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Winter Comes
The leaves have finished their journey
The trees are naked now
As the first flake falls it flickers and sparkles
The clouds build piles of snow on the ground
Children jump up and down excitedly waiting to be freed
Dead frozen grass underneath the piles of snow waiting patiently for spring
Snowmen, snow angels were left alone to vanish with the winds and foot steps
Snowball fights had forced everyone to hide
When winter comes i want to stay under my blanket all day long
poem by Innocent Rose
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Snow Dancing
Frozen ground, frozen ponds,
Overgrown fields awaiting spring.
Snow dancing across the roads,
Snow too cold to melt
when it hits the ground.
To light to stay down,
blowing every which way.
Cars pass by disturbing the air
making the snow dance
on swirling currents of air.
Swirling up, down, all around,
spinning, wildly, round and round,
trying to get to the ground.
Almost bare roads covered
with swirls of snow.
Everywhere the flowing snow.
No cars pass by. Now, only the wind.
Wind still blowing the snow,
up, down, and all around,
dancing lively to the ground.
From my poetry book 'Snowed in by a Warm Fire'
available on Amazon.com
poem by Joe Wocoski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Borderstone
The night is as black as the coal dust on the tracks
Up to the east day is dawning
From time to time I get women on my mind
Im a son of a gun
Borderstone, borderstone gonna cross your line tonight
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight
The train that Im on is a hundred boxcars long
So I dont sleep through to the morning
Thats some chilly wind in this gondola Im in
I wish I had a glass of beer
Borderstone, borderstone gonna cross your line tonight
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight
Borderstone, borderstone gonna cross your line tonight
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight
The boardinghouse reach is a thing no school can teach you
I confess Ive been outfumbled
And the sound of the beans boiling through the evergreens
Sure do please a hungry man
Borderstone, borderstone gonna cross your line tonight
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight
Borderstone, borderstone gonna cross your line tonight
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight
The sound of the wheels rebounds across the fields
Im a name with no number
And so I guess Id be drifting more or less
But still its not meant to be
Borderstone, borderstone gonna cross your line tonight
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight
Borderstone, borderstone gonna cross your line tonight
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight
Borderstone, borderstone gonna cross your line tonight
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Listen To The Silence
I listen to the silence, not the ambassador birds of the message
aligned along the branch of a black tree,
waiting to have their say, deliver
the formal meaning; I follow them back
to the original fountain-mouth of the silence
that isn't dawn or sunset, or a woman in a garden,
but a clear light with the presence of a feather
and, almost at times, a face, that's always been there
behind the racket and the paint rags
of the cacophonous actors gathering on stage,
the understudy that hovers like a silver fish
in the reeds and the shadows of the undulant curtains,
rarely seen, and more of a fragrance of light
than a second queen, an unverifiable void
with delicate gestures that turn all my questions
back on me like the soft underside of milky green leaves,
as if something took my hand and turned it over
to show me the answers pearled in my palm.
And it would be wrong to attribute eyes to this silence
though I feel it's the space where the seeing happens
in the beginningless moment before
the watcher and the watched rework the seeing up into a play
of heroes, villains, events, and fireflies of awareness
in a chronic struggle of opposites.
And it would be wrong to accord it a mouth, lips, a tongue
because it seems to say everything
without saying anything, without
wounding itself on the quick edge of a word. And there are times
when it almost seems to smile upon my childish efforts
to know what it is, to return to the sea,
to the corals of the moon, with my hands full of cherries and stars,
the abundance of living on the earth
with waterlilies and rat snakes.
It indulges me with the serenity of an old, unknown sorrow
that had to create the world to speak itself to the end
and now sits enthroned in the emptiness of its own presence.
And just when I think I've come up against its impassable clarity
like a fly against a windowpane;
I discover myself immersed in it like an eel
undulating like a free banner of water
through its unpartitioned enclosure,
hardly a wavelength of distinction between myself and it;
and everything I write is an oracle
that swims away knowing more about it than I do
before I decided not to ask it for a name.
And though it may have been the voiceless cachet
of the divine numinosities that opened
the resplendent roses of the past
that squandered their eyelids on asphalt and scripture,
the watershed of the snow-robed mountain gods,
now it's a dropp of water holding its breath like the moon
at the tip of the green sword of the cattails
ready to send a shudder of tears and blood and fruit
through the mirror again like the first pulse
of its falling into existence, hazelnuts into the mouths
of waiting salmon, things losing their balance
against the backdropp of the hidden harmony
by which they are created in the image of their own conception
and known: apple-blow from the orchard
or ashes from the nightshift crematoria.
And, perhaps, this is that silence that seizes the heart with the love
of an unsayable emptiness as infinite as the beloved
that can't be filled by anyone less,
as a question must be returned like a wave to the sea that asked it
before it realizes on the threshold of its own depths
there never was a brevity of being
that hasn't always been the perfect answer.
poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early Works - Leaves On The Ground
The sun was shining brightly
the moon was high in the sky
the snow fell gently to the earth
the wind whips up the leaves
the leaves on the ground.
Date unknown
poem by David Harris
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Winter Wonderland
There are strange and mysterious sounds
When the winds of winter blow,
The long nights are crystal clear and cold,
And the fields and meadows are covered with snow.
The stars are frosty against the sky,
And the wind's whistle is shrill,
As the snow blows against the house
And drifts against the hill.
Yet, I like to see during the winter
A white carpet on the ground,
To plod aimlessly in the deep snow,
where deer tracks abound.
I like to feel the stillness
Of a crisp winter's night,
Watching a full moon rise over the horizon,
Exposing a winter wonderland beautiful and bright.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Snow Is Falling
Snow is falling: snow is falling.
Geranium flowers reach
for the blizzard’s small white stars
past the window’s edge.
Snow is falling, all is lost,
the whole world’s streaming past:
the flight of steps on the back stairs,
the corner where roads cross.
Snow is falling: snow is falling,
not snowflakes stealing down,
Sky parachutes to earth instead,
in his worn dressing gown.
As if he’s playing hide-and-seek,
across the upper landings,
a mad thing, slowly sneaks,
Sky creeps down from the attic.
It’s all because life won’t wait,
before you know, it’s Christmas here.
And look, in a minute,
suddenly it’s New Year.
Snow is falling, deeper – deeper.
Maybe, with that same stride
in that same tempo,
with that same languor,
Time’s going by?
Year after year, perhaps,
passing, as snow’s falling,
like words in a poem?
Snow’s falling: snow’s falling.
Snow is falling, all is lost –
the whitened passers-by,
leaves’ startled showing,
the corners where roads cross.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Hopes
A PRINCESS, sleeping in enchanted bowers,
Earth springs to waking at Spring's voice and kiss,
And after winter's cold, unlovely hours,
Laughs out to find how beautiful she is.
Spring flings a song across the field and fold,
And sighs it through the glad wood's tangled ways;
And million, million tales of love are told,
And dreams are dreamed of undivided days.
In hollows where so late but dead leaves lay,
Through the dead leaves the primroses push up;
And wind-flowers fleck the copse, and fields are gay
With daisies and the budding buttercup.
So in our hearts, though thick the dead leaves lie
Of grief--heaped up by winds of old despair--
May there not be a spring-time by-and-by,
When flowers of joy shall blossom even there?
So long has Winter held our hearts in his,
We dare not dream of Spring and all her flowers?
Ah! the undreamed-of happiness it is
That comes--the dreamed-of joy is never ours!
When late the trees were brown and hedges bare,
And keen east wind cut sharp as human pain,
Did the Earth guess how soon she would be fair
With Spring's dear dainty loveliness again?
We do not guess of joy, but hope alone--
Like life's mysterious force that thrills the earth--
Lives in our souls, unrecognised, unknown,
Till time shall bring unhoped-for joy to birth.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Reflections Of Fire # 2
waiting for the snow
the cleansing frozen stillness
where spirits inhabit fossils
and the earth spins
naked and complete
in each turn.
this old body's worn out!
the turtle leaves its shell,
grows wings, flies into darkness.
lying again at the Mother's breasts,
watching her touch the wind
and create forms!
snow, tiny flakes
falling, defying gravity,
clinging to the windowpane
each a tiny lifetime
melting without a whimper,
melting into the light!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Eve Of Christmas
Gazing from picture window of my still home,
Summers pleasant panoramic view now gone,
Powered with whitish of snow a view serene,
Holly berries silhouetted by leaves of green,
In the street horse drawn sleigh ring and clang,
From dripping roof icicles now clingingly hang,
The gentle breeze builds drifts of powder snow,
Playful youth make snow angels; quite a show,
All over every thing outside wears a white lace,
Dusk comes with inside warmth from fireplace,
In the quiet stillness of the full moon lit night,
The glistening snowy white; a delightful sight,
My mind’s eye drifts and turns back the clock,
Catching visions of shepherds tending a flock,
As angles come into view to declare and sing,
News filled with peace and joy they did bring,
The Messiah coming as a babe by virgin birth,
As the King of all that I am coming to the earth,
As a sacrificial lamb to die, Yet all is not dim,
His Kingdom will be here when He comes again!
poem by Joseph Blitch
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What Else Can I Say
Where are you taking me
I cant follow you there
What do you have in mind
You know that I dont care
Where do you think Im at
I thought I made it clear
Please dont follow me back down
While Im standing here
Early in the morning
Waiting for me to rise
The light of a new day dawning
Catches the sun in her eyes
Tonight tonight tonight
Im standing here
And its clear
I miss her
Tonight shes so far away
What else can I say
Because I know that shell never let me down
And I know that shes gonna love me too
Tonight tonight tonight
Im standing here
And its clear
I need her
Tonight shes so far away
What else can I say
Because I know that shell never let me down
And I know that shes gonna love me too
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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