Winter I
The changling that is winter,
Heralded by the bitter wind
Rattling out of the east,
Is upon us as the nights extend.
The savage frost laces windows
Covers the trees branch and stem
With a sugar coating of ice
Diamonds they sparkle in the sun
Only to dissolve at its touch
To evaporate into the frigid air
A smokey dream an illusion,
For this is winters alchemy.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Related quotes
On a fateful day, an unlucky time
On a fateful day, an unlucky time,
Unannounced, it may happen thus:
Stifling, blacker still than a monastery
Utter madness descends on us.
Bitter frost. The night, as a decency,
Is observing the icy cold.
In an armchair, the ghost mumbles on and on,
Still the same, in his winter coat.
And the branch outside, and the parquet floor,
And his cheek, and the poker's shade-
All are shot with repentance and sleepiness
Of the blizzard that raved night and day.
Now the night is calm. Bright and frosty night.
Like a puppy suckling, still blind,
With the whole of their darkness-the palisade
Drinks the sparkle of stars through the pines.
Seems-it drips from them. Seems they're glimmering.
Seems-the night is brimming with wax
And the pad of one fir warms another pad
And one hollow traces the next.
Seems-this stillness, this height's an elegiac wave,
A concern of a soul for a mind,
The expectancy after an anxious 'respond'!
Or an echo of different kind.
Seems it's dumb, this enquiring of needles and trees.
And the height is too deaf or too blue,
And the shine on the frozen swerve of the road's
A reply to that pleading 'Helloooo…'
Bitter frost. The night, as a decency,
Is observing the icy cold.
In his armchair the ghost mumbles endlessly,
Still the same, in his winter coat-
Oh-his lips-he is squeezing them horribly!
Face in hands-shaking-ready to choke!
Whirls of clues for the gifted biographer
In this pattern, as dead as chalk.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Frost Roses
Ice Roses
Frost on windows? Not where I live now, but where
I grew up, winter windows had thick layers of ice.
And in mornings, before anyone got out of bed, I
carved landscape and faces and saw my work fade
slowly away, by noon I could see the landscape
I had carved through clear windows, the mountain’s
stream, frozen solid now, and trees; mother’s face
also as she was busy in the kitchen baking bread.
I do not miss the cold Nordic land I came from, but
wish windows here too have frost roses, or be as
blank as a new page I could write. “I love you on.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Sell Me A Coat
La la la la la la la la la la la la la
A winters day, a bitter snowflake on my face
My summer girl takes little backward steps away
Jack frost took her hand and left me, jack frost aint so cool
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
And when she smiles, the ice forgets to melt away
Not like before, her smile was warming yesterday
See the trees like silver candy, feel my icy hand
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
See my eyes, my window pane
See my tears like gentle rain
Thats the memory of a summer day
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
La la la la la la
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sheltered Garden
I have had enough.
I gasp for breath.
Every way ends, every road,
every foot-path leads at last
to the hill-crest --
then you retrace your steps,
or find the same slope on the other side,
precipitate.
I have had enough --
border-pinks, clove-pinks, wax-lilies,
herbs, sweet-cress.
O for some sharp swish of a branch --
there is no scent of resin
in this place,
no taste of bark, of coarse weeds,
aromatic, astringent --
only border on border of scented pinks.
Have you seen fruit under cover
that wanted light --
pears wadded in cloth,
protected from the frost,
melons, almost ripe,
smothered in straw?
Why not let the pears cling
to the empty branch?
All your coaxing will only make
a bitter fruit --
let them cling, ripen of themselves,
test their own worth,
nipped, shrivelled by the frost,
to fall at last but fair
with a russet coat.
Or the melon --
let it bleach yellow
in the winter light,
even tart to the taste --
it is better to taste of frost --
the exquisite frost --
than of wadding and of dead grass.
For this beauty,
beauty without strength,
chokes out life.
I want wind to break,
scatter these pink-stalks,
snap off their spiced heads,
fling them about with dead leaves --
spread the paths with twigs,
limbs broken off,
trail great pine branches,
hurled from some far wood
right across the melon-patch,
break pear and quince --
leave half-trees, torn, twisted
but showing the fight was valiant.
O to blot out this garden
to forget, to find a new beauty
in some terrible
wind-tortured place.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Winters passing
Winters passing
~
A winter passed into day
In the morning sun I saw
Frost melt in the early light
The garden filled with dew
And birds return to sing
The night is going soon
Winter is passing away
The bare trees stand tall
Swaying gently to the wind
Which blows from the east
A season of change
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Wintertime
Snow falling on the ground,
Little white flakes to be found.
Lift your head to the sky,
And watch the snow zippin’ by.
Cold wind at your back,
Nothing winter seems to lack.
A blanket of snow covers the Trees,
Winter can’t end. No please!
Can’t Jack Frost do his Job?
For a little longer, don’t make me sob.
Can’t I stay in this Wonderland?
I don’t want to return to golden sand.
But under the layer of cold, white snow,
Lies little seedlings ready to show.
I must say a grateful farewell,
To winter fun, for it was swell.
And say hello to summer sweat,
Instead of getting cold, we get wet.
Hello Spring! Hello Summer!
Goodbye Fall! Goodbye Winter!
Meditations after Li Po for M lady Helen
I
I follow in the footsteps
of old poets of the past.
As geese fly south in autumn.
Instinct is my only guide.
My attempts to emulate,
may not bear such worthy fruit.
I can only do my best
II
The trees discard all their leaves
and face winter nakedly.
I ask myself why this should be
but I receive no reply.
Winter winds pass freely through
the leafless twigs and branches.
Dead leaves return to the earth.
III
The trees stand as sentinels
coated with white bitter frost
Bowing in submission
to the power of the wind.
Better to bend than to break,
the trees know instinctively
the wind dies as spring returns.
IV
Only when the time is right
the geese will return once more.
The trees will put forth new leaves,
flowers spring up underfoot
The spring sunshine will inspire
Poets to take up their brush
and ink: To write poetry.
21-Oct-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Now Close The Windows
Now close the windows and hush all the fields:
If the trees must, let them silently toss;
No bird is singing now, and if there is,
Be it my loss.
It will be long ere the marshes resume,
I will be long ere the earliest bird:
So close the windows and not hear the wind,
But see all wind-stirred.
poem by Robert Frost
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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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Where Does The Wind Go
Where does the wind go on cold, cold nights
Out of the sight of the bright sunlight,
Under the gaze of the glowing moon,
When all the world is tired and sleeping;
Moaning and carrying on something fierce
Could it be that the wind is weeping?
Where does the wind hide it's broken heart,
Out on the lake, around the boat
And even when no one’s there to hear,
Does the wind ever look for an alibi
When it's so quiet, you can hear your breath,
But the wind only heaves one threadbare sigh?
Where is the place wind could stay it's breeze;
So fidgety, flighty and full of glee
Holding it's breath till the doors fell in;
The windows all cracking their window jams,
Saving it all for a winter's storm
When the trees bend as low as they can.
poem by Patti Masterman
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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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Fall is here!
The days are shorter
The suns rays are dimer
The wind starts to feel
Closer to winter
Trees leaves turn colors
Birds fly to where its warmer
The animals that can't fly
Prepare for the cold weather
Nights come quicker
The chilly breezes
Make you wear clothes
That are thicker
Trees leaves start to fall
At night the wind
Start to whisper
The season is changing
Time has fell back
This means winter is gaining
Nature is most precious
When the weather is changing
Hot long days and warmer nights
Traded for cool short days and chilly nights
Summer is over and fall is here!
poem by Jaycee Wilkerson
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Juanita
Your rails
Your thin
Your thin paper wings
Your thin paper wings
In the winddangling
Your sun
Fly high
Your window shattering
Your rails
Your thin
Your thin paper wings
Sugar boy
Sugar boy
Riding in
Riding in
Sugar box
Sugar boy
Handheld candle sugar boy
Your rails
Your thin
Your thin paper wings
Your thin paper wings
In the wind dangling
Your sun fly high
Your window shattered in the wind
Your coca cola sign
Rattling
Rattling
Resonator [x8]
Homeless trees gathering
Outside your window bootleg babies call to you and lie among the mosquitoes
That summers fever coming
Cats are gathering outside your window
Homeless trees
Bootleg babies calling to you
Lie among lie among the mosquitoes
Your rails
Your thin
Your thin paper wings
Get up in your sun fly high
Dangling dangling
Your window shattered in the wind
The sun on your coca cola sign
Your rails
Your thin
Paper wings
Paper wings
Resonator, [x16]
Homeless trees gathering
Outside your window bootleg babies call to you and lie among the mosquitoes
That summers fever coming
Cats are gathering outside your window
Homeless trees
Bootleg babies calling to you
Lie among lie among the mosquitoes
Your rails
Your thin
Your thin paper wings
Get up in your sun fly high
Dangling dangling
Your window shattered in the wind
The sun on your coca cola sign
Your rails
Your thin
Paper wings
Paper wings
There is a sound on the other side of this wall
A bird is singing on the other side of this glass
Footsteps
Concealed
Silence is preserving a voice
Walking in the wind at the waters edge
Comes close to covering my rubber feet
Listening to the barbed wire hanging
There is a sound on the other side of this wall
A bird is singing on the other side of this glass
Footsteps
Concealed
Silence is preserving a voice
Silver chain
Thrown away
Broken wing
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Winter Started In May
With winter starting in May
you stir lentil soup around and around,
looking like the most beautiful housewife
while I am astounded by the odours of that meal.
When your lips find mine,
we are for long moments blinded to the world
and the soup almost boils over,
while a strong wind is rattling the windows.
poem by Gert Strydom
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An Afternoon Poem
it is all coffee without cream
no sugar, you say please, no sugar no cream
it is all about cold bread
nothing electrifying
unlike the softness of the arms of the beloved
it is about the coldness of bread
and the hotness of coffee
less the cream and the sugar
nothing sweet really
you guess it: there is something bitter
not from the water (for why should water be bitter?)
not from the cup (is there such a cup which has a bitter taste?)
guess further: you are wrong.
it is bitter, it is really bitter.
it comes from the heart. Not from the saucer
or the spoon.
it is the heart that is bitter. do not attempt
tasting it.
it can be toxic because it is mine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Winter is coming............
Children awaken me in the early light;
'Winter is coming' they shout in unison
'The leaves have danced off the limbs and the the trees are going to sleep, Mama.' says one.
'Winter is coming' claps two and three as they parade around on my bed
'Hot chocolate' screamed one
'with marshmallows' yelled two
'I will pop the popcorn' states three
'Winter is coming, Mama, we had our first frost. I thought it was dew, but it crunched under my feet.' says one with bright open eyes and cold feet on my toasty legs.
'Winter is coming, Mama, no more mosquitoes to bite us when we play.' cried two in excitement
'Winter is coming, Mom, I better go out and chop some wood for the family.' states nostalgic three
Yawn
Stretch
pull the covers closer
Sleepy answers
'Oh good, Winter is coming. I can crochet you a new scarf.' pointing to one
'I can make you a new doll' pointing to two
'And for you' beaming at three, 'I will bake some fresh bread for you my darling'
Hugs all around
Wiggle
Jump
Skip
'Winter is coming! '
'Winter is coming! '
Hooray! ! Winter is coming! '
poem by Shala Drake
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Working of the wind
Wind doesn't always topple trees
and shake houses to pieces.
Wind plays
all overwoods with weighty ghosts,
in swing in thousands
sinsing from ever branch.
Wind doesn't always rattle windows
and push, push at walls.
Wind whistles
down curl de sacs and wrorries,
dry leaves and newspappers to leap
and curl like kite tails.
Wind dosen't anways
dry out sweaty shirts and blouses.
Wind scattters
polllen dust of flowers, washes
people's and animal's faces
and combs out birs feathers.
Wind doesn't always whips up waves
in to white horses.
wind shakes up
tree shadows to dance on rivers,
to jig on grass, and hanging
latern lights to play signalman.
Wind doesn't always run wild
kicking tinny dustbin lids.
Wind makes
leafy limbs bow to red roses
and bob upand down outside windows
and make desk papers fly up in doors.
poem by Bethany Ford
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Cancer Patient's Soliloquy
Has happiness ever come to my life?
if I go to North or to South
East or to West, somewhere else
Who brings me solace?
if there is a bitter capsule or a sweet sugar coated pill
can be swallowed easily
which kills the poverty or give strength to live peacefully.
if there is a doctor kind hearted
without spectacles which covers the humanity.
A bed of a soft mattress to kill the back-ache
I can sleep in a graveyard or a thick forest
listening to the birds and beasts.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Cold winter night
It was a cold winter night.
All was deadly still.
My guts so tight
I must kill!
The cry of a wolf enters my head
Like a train whistle that echoes far away.
Can it be…something lives on this winter night?
Follow the sound and pray
It does not go away.
My hunger juices flowing; I go.
I and the wolf both now know
Neither is alone in the land of snow.
Oh, how I wish I had his sight
On this cold winter night
The north wind moved in the night before.
The ground all snow and bitter cold…so bitter cold.
The sky filled with stars.
The snow grows old.
My guts so tight
What a cold, cold winter night!
The wolf stays hidden from my sight
With it’s furry coat of gray and white.
He glides across the snow without sound
Like a ballerina tiptoeing over the ground.
My guts so tight
On this bitter cold winter night
I with my blood running slow
My hands burning cold; my face red glow
Driven by the pain in my gut
On this cold-cold bitter winter night
I must kill
To make the night still
So the hunger pains
Will be gone again
I hear nothing on this cold winter night
My hair stands up on the back of my neck
I fear the wolf knows
I turn
Crutch to spring
His fangs showing white; my knife in my hand
We circle like two roosters in a pen.
For one this will be the end.
The pain in my gut is still tight
I will kill but not for the trill
On such a killing bitter cold winter night
With the grace of a cat he springs to flight
My throat his aim on this cold winter night
My knife hits his heart…he hunches in pain;
His fangs rip my throat cutting the jugular vein.
The snows now stain on this cold winter night.
Blood and flesh flung upon the snow
Cries of pain, moans of death…soon will go
From this bitter cold ground
All is still on winter’s playground.
The wolf dances no more
My lips move but there is no sound.
My gut is still tight
I feel alright
No more time to fight
On this bitter cold winter night
Wind and snow now fill the air.
The wolf has an empty den.
The snow will be tracked no more.
Twinkle, twinkle little star
Genocide complete
In a galaxy so far
poem by Ronald Brissette
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Early Works - The Edge Of Winter
The edge of winter
colours blanket the ground
bare trees with skeleton arms
out stretch to catch the wind
sky grey and clouded
wind with biting chill
scarves tightly tied
around necks of passing strangers
roofs white from first frost
cars aside the road will not start
batteries flat not antifreeze
fires chimneys plumes
rosy cheeks, icy breath.
The edge of winter here.
Date unknown
poem by David Harris
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