Groundhog Day
February 2nd, a rodent’s inane holiday
To predict whether Spring is near or far away
Rooted in Candlemas tradition
The groundhog was a later addition
“For as the sun shines on Candlemas Day
* “So far will the snow swirl until May”
People flock to Gobbler’s Knob
To see the marmot do his job
A woodchuck named Punxsutawny Phil
Sees his shadow and we get a bitter pill
Six weeks of winter, still
But if he sees skies cloudy and gray
Spring is only 42 days away.
* quoted from a German couplet; author unknown
poem by Nancy Chambers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
If Candlemas day be sunny and bright, winter will have another flight; if Candlemas day be cloudy with rain, winter is gone and won't come again.
Shadow
It's the second day of February so out the hole he creeps.
We wait to see does he see his shadow to know whether
or not we get six more winter weeks.
How crazy are we?
We're letting our future depend on a Groundhog's shadow.
Maybe the really shadow we are afraid to see
is the shadow that is our own insecurities.
Because how secure can we be in ourselves when we sit in wait in anticipation for to see if a Groundhog sees his shadow.
Groundhog Day 1 'The Legend of Punxsutawney Phil
Punxsutawney Phil, yes that's his name,
Predicting the weather is his game;
Phil knows how to call it, so rest your fears,
He's done it for a hundred n' twenty years.
They say that he's a loner, maybe a snob,
He hails from a place called 'Gobbler's Knob; '
He lives in a cave, and will never roam,
Except when he travels in his motor home.
All over the world, he's one of a kind,
Though imitators are never hard to find;
Punxsutawney's also a real heart breaker,
For the girls all love a weather maker.
He's quite a celebrity, you might say,
Even has his own 'Punxsutawney Day; '
He has a web site and fan club too,
Personal trainers, and a make-up crew.
He's had his breaks with TV and radio,
Even made an appearance on Oprah's show;
Yearly his town has a parade in his name,
Seems for Phil, there's no end to his fame.
He made his first forecast, or so they say,
In 1887, February's second day.
You might wonder, how Phil could live so long,
He drinks 'elixir of life' and takes it strong.
He speaks a strange language, but only to the ear,
Of the 'Circle' president, who's standing near;
He predicts the weather, that six weeks will bring,
Guiding us from the winter, up to spring.
He uses his shadow, that's how he knows,
Keeping us posted on upcoming snows;
He's 100 percent accurate, as records reveal,
Punxsutawney Phil, now he's the real deal!
So, if you plan to travel, through Pennsylvania land,
Why not visit this legend, and shake his hand?
But before you complete your travel log,
Check with Punxsutawney Phil, the weather groundhog.
HAPPY GROUNDHOG DAY!
poem by Loyd C. Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Candlemas, Candlemas, whether windy or rainy, winter has ended. And if the weather is good, winter will last another thirty days.
Spring Rains (a Villanelle)
There shall come Spring rains
When all seems lost to the cold decay
And Winter shall release its icy reign
When hopes anew are all but slain
By the bitter hold of frigid days
There shall come Spring rains
Vernal longings shall make their way
As colors emerge from shades of gray
And Winter shall release its icy reign
Nature's display may seem bleak and inane
As Winter's chill yet still remains
There shall come Spring rains
Joy will abound where sorrow had lain
As Spring once more holds sway
And Winter shall release its icy reign
Cold may rear its head time and again
Bear faith and do not dismay
There shall come Spring rains
And Winter shall release its icy reign
poem by Sheri Hockman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Winter's Spring
The winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please--no bees to hum--
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring--the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The summer it snowed
Blue skies
yards of green
flowers of mulitude
among such wonderess gifts
I walk towards my ever nearing
winter
My lungs full of dirty snow
I hear not the singing of birds
but the calling of my black forcast
Summer
kids play
boats sail
I succum
no longer able to shovel
the snow away
Yet in peace in tread
for months are now weeks
and soon weeks will be days
For me spring brought fall
and the summer brought
snow
and the winter will bring
my forever peace
poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Did Not Know
I did not know—
And it was but a few short days ago—
How near to spring, it was; the world lay still
In all the bitter cold of winter chill;
Yet even then the May-buds with the glow
Of burning lips pressed to the melting snow
Had kissed themselves a window, to the sky,—
And spring was nigh.
I did not know—
Ah, was it such a little while ago!—
Within my heart how near it was to spring;
I did not guess the blessed blossoming,
Until this gladsome morn I woke, and lo!
Sweet with new fragrance does the whole world grow
From that so fair and snow-sprung flower dear,—
And spring is here!
poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 24, Issue 2 (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Winter's Whitest Spurts
Although John Clare declared that he
saw spring in winter’s whitest spurts,
for many this is hard to see
when, freezing, all our body hurts,
and winter’s direst discontent
makes cold blasts pierce the frozen soul.
We wonder where the summer went
when icy winds exact their toll,
and whistling toll for all of us
on nights we wish would be more silent.
each blast a blaring blunderbuss
that’s aimed to make us all an island,
disconnected from the spring
and summer, fall, that we remember
when we for warmth our cold arms fling
around each other in December.
Inspired by John Clare’s “The Winter’s Spring”:
THE winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please-no bees to hum-
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring-the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
12/24/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The First Of September
The morning it is breaking cloudy and gray
It does seem another cool late Winter's day
But the birds in the Parkland they whistle and sing
Believe it or not 'tis the first day of Spring
The first day of September the day of the year
When to Australia in the Southern Hemisphere
The Spring she arrives for her three months stay
With much warmer weather just a few weeks away
The Spring has arrived with her wildflowers and green
And her beauty in gardens and parks to be seen
Spring she arrives and she brings with her new life
And in parks and gardens Nature's beauty is rife
For the first day of September a cool chill in the breeze
But the birds chirp and whistle on the bushes and trees.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Is that spring going to come?
When March was sleeping, two other
Gentlemen began rather
A heated argument. The 1st
Was April, the 2nd, of course,
Was May. So, April and May
Were both crying that the main
Month of spring was… Guess which one, but
Although March was in the hut
(Number 2, there’re four huts all
In all) , you should choose April or
May. April said, “It’s my time when
Snow-drops begin to bloom, and
Everyone can feel spring’s come.”
“Ha-ha! ” laughed May and added, “Some
Snowstorm, and no one can
See your tiny snow-drops. When
I rule nature, all the trees are
In blossom and bushes too! ”
“But
Unless I melted snow, they
Couldn’t blossom, my brother May, ”
April objected.
“Unless I…
Wow! You can melt snow, guy!
So, it isn’t the sun that
Does it! ” mocked May.
“I can laugh at
Your conceit, May. For example, March thinks
You and June are as like as two peas, ”
April said.
“ I don’t care, ”
May replied, “A brown bear
Sleeps less than this sleepyhead! ”
“Are
You about my best friend March? ”
Somebody cried outside, and
February came in. “Well, when
Is he gonna wake up? ” he said.
“Answer one question, and we’ll let
You wake him up, ” April and May
Stopped February on his way
To March’s bed, “Which of us is
The main spring month? Feb, tell us, please! ”
“What a question! No doubt,
It’s March. Until he gets out
With me, spring won’t begin, and
Winter will continue more than
Ninety days. But I’m not gonna
Work any longer. I wanna
Enjoy my holiday. Now
Let me wake him. Oh! How
Long I’ve been waiting for it! ” cried
February, but at the sight
Of their faces he laughed, “What’s
Happened? Ha-ha! You think it was
A bad idea to ask me,
Don’t you? ”
“We’ll never agree
With you! ! ! First of all March is your
Friend! ” April waxed indignant.
“First? ”
February smiled, “And what else?
Time’s flying! ”
“Nobody says
You and March differ too much! ”
It was May, “And… And there is such
A thing as politeness, if you
Talk with a host! ”
“If I should
Forget about March because
He’s sleeping, I can’t. Well, I’ve lost
My patience! If you wanna be
The main, you can be, but let me
Wake March as it isn’t a leap
Year now! My time’s up! Keep
On arguing but without
Us as we’re getting out! ”
February caught his sleepy friend,
Then said, “Bye-bye! ” and out he went.
poem by Konstantin Ananin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There 'Use' To Be A Winter In New England
Pretty soon people will be complaining,
About getting any snow at all.
Especially in New England...
When Summer and Fall,
Seem to rush to connect with Spring.
It is January and there is a dusting of snow.
And people heard strolling on the streets...
Say it is cold.
Wearing nothing but jackets and no Winter coats.
There 'use' to be a Winter in New England,
This time of the year.
And many would ski and slide the slopes.
Prepared in their snow wearing gear.
And every year Winter seems to be taking a backseat,
As warmer days come to tease...
Those who love the snow,
To witness it quickly leave.
There 'use' to be a Winter in New England,
This time of the year.
Pretty soon people will be complaining,
About getting any snow at all.
When Summer and Fall,
Seem to rush to connect with Spring.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Metamorphosis - 3 variations on a theme
1. The Second law of Thermodynamics
Out of winter, spring,
out of spring, summer,
then autumn, winter,
and out of winter, spring,
always the same.
Out of the bud, growth,
out of the flower, seed,
out of death, life.
Entropy always increases.
2.
Once you were within my reach.
Suddenly you became a
g l i t
t e r
i n g
damselfly.
Just wait, I thought, I can change too.
Why did I have to turn into a frog?
3.
Consider the Paradoxical Frog,
so named because it is several times smaller
than its p h e n o m e n a l l y huge tadpole.
(But then, look at people,
whose achievements often fail to match
the promise they once showed.)
poem by Paul Hansford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring Sun Risen
In keeping with tradition the elders watched the sky
Around the last days before, the Winter Sun would die:
Like her Mother before her, she'd send the children up
To the highest point on Derry Hill west of Currahsceach:
And true to form - they'd bid the Winter Sun farewell
Knowing that - all the alignments were now set.
That was always one day before the arrival of Spring Sun
A shadow cast Winter aside, new life had begun.
© Calac.
poem by Chris Lane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
New Spring
Spring!
Spring! How beautiful is the
Spring! How wonderful is the
Spring! How majestic is the
Spring! How fantastic is the
Spring! How tantalizing is the
Spring! How glorious is the
Spring! How melodious is the
Spring! How joyful is the
Spring! How breathtaking is the
Spring! How uplifting the
Spring! How happy is the
Spring! How magnificent is the
Spring! How colorful is the
Spring! How tasteful is the
Spring! How memorable was the
Spring! How flavorful is the
Spring! How aromic is the
Spring! How sweet is
Spring! How beautiful is the
Spring!
poem by Mario Saboundjian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poetica
Spring is here
And I think spring is here to stay
The cold days of winter God took away
And winter is resting away for the summe
But now spring is working hard
Than when summer arrive spring will be able to rest all through the Summer
The nights are beautiful during the spring because they are mild
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Waiting For Spring
Though cloudy skies, and northern blasts,
Retard the gentle spring awhile;
The sun will conqu'ror prove at last,
And nature wear a vernal smile.
The promise, which from age to age,
Has brought the changing seasons round;
Again shall calm the winter's rage,
Perfume the air, and paint the ground.
The virtue of that first command,
I know still does, and will prevail;
That while the earth itself shall stand,
The spring and summer shall not fail.
Such changes are for us decreed;
Believers have their winters too;
But spring shall certainly succeed,
And all their former life renew.
Winter and spring have each their use,
And each, in turn, his people know;
One kills the weeds their hearts produce,
The other makes their graces grow.
Though like dead trees awhile they seem,
Yet having life within their root,
The welcome spring's reviving beam
Draws forth their blossoms, leaves, and fruit.
But if the tree indeed be dead,
It feels no change, though spring return,
Its leafless naked, barren head,
Proclaims it only fit to burn.
Dear Lord, afford our souls a spring,
Thou know'st our winter has been long;
Shine forth, and warm our hearts to sing,
And thy rich grace shall be our song.
poem by John Newton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Victoria's Weather
On fifth day of September five days into the Spring
The currawongs the birds of rain on the high gum trees sing
And weather back to Winter change and chill the breezes blow
And it's been hailing all the day and cold enough to snow.
In latter days of Winter the weather nice and fine
And morning paddocks gray with frost that melted in sunshine
And temperatures rose through the day to near twenty degrees
And warmth in the sunshine and warmth in the breeze.
Victoria's weather changes quick it's always been that way
And a heavy shower of cold Spring hail has left the garden gray
A high of five a low of two that's what the forecast say
In the only place that you will get four Seasons in one day.
The currawongs the birds of rain sing on the tall gum trees
On this the coldest day of Spring it's only five degrees
And through the wood on Selby hill the chilly breezes blow
And it's been hailing all the day and cold enough to snow.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Winter Born and Live
Some people enter the world
to indigo skies,
the sun beams
on their blessed souls
season after season.
Never a day of
storms or showers form,
in their world
there are no winters.
Their grin comes
without expense,
their soul
without pause flourishes.
Groundhog never appears
to see his shadow,
for spring is
constantly assured.
Nothing did they do
to improve or disparage
their springtime birth.
Their blessed eternal Eastertide
is a purely bestowed.
Any other season
but the consecrated
spring they do not know.
Others enter the world
from inception
blizzards never cease
Hardly a day of a sunny beam
before began sqa ually rage spurned
upon their countenance.
One storm flows
in timely order
after the other,
giving them forever winter,
hail and snow and gales.
Zeus did not curse them
for a deed or word,
but in good fortune
they are not superb.
Though if to see their spirits
you would not presume,
that spring does not show its face
oft to the winter born.
They have a frosty smile still,
upon the winter they do not grieve.
They beam with joy peculiarly
like a summer baby born,
as if they are unawares to them
warmer days are forlorn.
Spring never begins for winters child,
though you can feel they
have a secret of enduring.
Never stopping to feel the bitter bite of frost,
feel adrift and ever lost,
in their winter tide.
Winter birth seeking a celebration
day to day from in the storm,
they rejoice to see the beauty
in winter solstice birth.
Their peacefulness heartily
defies the drifts of whiteness
with great acts of love.
They rise above their glaciated valleys
with compassionate repasts to share.
Are they cursed by Narnias queen
to live evermore in cheerless winter?
She is not their ruler for they know
a joy where winter is never keen,
they live aglow in a warmth
to a spring born is never seen.
I am of the winterbourne,
living constantly from storm to storm.
In the quiet before each whitewashed tempest,
I gather to see my days gone by.
I see unclouded firmament, sunny skies,
rainbow with a promise of better days,
a lingering unmelted powder,
grayness gone adrift.
Constant celebration of winter solstice
has me thrive,
with the storms passing I feel alive.
I have felt the sunbeams brightness
through the wintry sky.
My spirit feels springs lightness
in my winter life.
Some people enter the world
to indigo skies,
the sun beams
on their blessed souls
season after season.
Never a day of
storms or showers form,
in their world
there are no winters.
Their grin comes
without expense,
their soul
without pause flourishes.
Groundhog never appears
to see his shadow,
for spring is
constantly assured.
Nothing did they do
to improve or disparage
their springtime birth.
Their blessed eternal Eastertide
is a purely bestowed.
Any other season
but the consecrated
spring they do not know.
Others enter the world
from inception
blizzards never cease
Hardly a day of a sunny beam
before began sqa ually rage spurned
upon their countenance.
One storm flows
in timely order
after the other,
giving them forever winter,
hail and snow and gales.
Zeus did not curse them
for a deed or word,
but in good fortune
they are not superb.
Though if to see their spirits
you would not presume,
that spring does not show its face
oft to the winter born.
They have a frosty smile still,
upon the winter they do not grieve.
They beam with joy peculiarly
like a summer baby born,
as if they are unawares to them
warmer days are forlorn.
Spring never begins for winters child,
though you can feel they
have a secret of enduring.
Never stopping to feel the bitter bite of frost,
feel adrift and ever lost,
in their winter tide.
Winter birth seeking a celebration
day to day from in the storm,
they rejoice to see the beauty
in winter solstice birth.
Their peacefulness heartily
defies the drifts of whiteness
with great acts of love.
They rise above their glaciated valleys
with compassionate repasts to share.
Are they cursed by Narnias queen
to live evermore in cheerless winter?
She is not their ruler for they know
a joy where winter is never keen,
they live aglow in a warmth
to a spring born is never seen.
I am of the winterbourne,
living constantly from storm to storm.
In the quiet before each whitewashed tempest,
I gather to see my days gone by.
I see unclouded firmament, sunny skies,
rainbow with a promise of better days,
a lingering unmelted powder,
grayness gone adrift.
Constant celebration of winter solstice
has me thrive,
with the storms passing I feel alive.
I have felt the sunbeams brightness
through the wintry sky.
My spirit feels springs lightness
in my winter life.
poem by Sandra Dodd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring Did Come.
Spring did come,
On butterfly's wings.
On a flitting bird,
And the song it sings.
Spring did come,
When the flowers bloomed,
When it filled the air
With a sweet purfume.
Spring did come,
On the morning's breeze.
Spring did come,
On budding leaves.
Spring did come,
On blades of dew.
Spring did come,
In skies of blue.
Spring did come,
With a joyous ring.
Spring did come...
Welcome, Spring!
poem by Macy Dvirnak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!