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Silesian Landscape

The January wind
bangs
against the window-panes,

maliciously twists
the black bones
of shivering trees,

racks
Baroque clouds
in a scudding cycle
of dreams,

under which rooks,
like cast-out
angels,

frolic,
cough up hermetic
blasphemies

on a grey day
without snow.

poem by Leo Yankevich
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Winter's Fingers

I’m looking out of the window,
watching the rain turn to snow,
the land is running from winter’s grasp,
but naked trees mean autumn’s past.

Trees’ bony fingers reach for the sky,
but the pale grey sky is a little shy,
and will not answer their call,
no matter how big or how tall.

But the clouds do speak and answer,
with snow, the subtle breeze dancer,
and the snows’ frisky little caper,
covers the land and blankets nature.

The land is under a white membrane,
but on my side of the window frame,
all is cosy with the fire ablaze,
my window is now a frosty glaze.

poem by Dale Mullock
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Daydreams

I sit every day in an office, and play
With a ledger that carries my name,
And stare from the window, the clouds scudding grey
On a sky that is always the same,
The river winds down by the weed-winding bank
But is sluggish and slow in its ride,
Heading on out to the estuary, carrying
Debris, adrift on the tide.

Just about here was the place, where in fear
They once straddled the river in chains,
And called up the hundreds, with helmet and shield
To defend this poor land from the Danes,
And often I peer through the rain and the mist
And the grime on the window without,
Imagining Vikings enmeshed in the chains,
And struggling there, to get out.

The office is staffed by grey people in need
Who would like to get home to the wife,
They mutter in tones of their essence and creed
While some of us just want a life,
But Caroline Chambers is not one of these
She's a flower, sprung out of the weeds,
And I see, as she flits between coffees and teas
She's a Saxon, her coffee is mead.

She pushes the trolley that carries the swords
And the helmets, and buckler's too,
As she stands by my desk for a chat and a rest
She's defiant; she's one of the few.
As she stares out the window, I hear her declare
That she's not going to put up with this,
The Danish accountant has stolen her chair
And her venom is mouthed with a hiss.

‘I'll poison his coffee, you see if I don't, '
And her Saxon blood comes to the boil,
I get fleeting visions of lopping his head,
Or perhaps we should boil him in oil?
She wanders away and she hands out the pay
As I ravish her there in my mind,
And she stares up at me from a puddle of tea
Mutters, ‘How could you be so unkind? '

The following day I can see the affray
As the Legions march into the town,
The Roman Centurions glitter with gold
With their standards held high, not put down,
And Caroline Chambers, Welsh bonnet and dress
With a lilt in her voice, brings the teas,
She stands by the chariot of Boadicea,
Brings the Legions of Rome to their knees!

I sit every day in an office, and play
With a ledger that carries my name,
And stare from the window, the clouds scudding grey
On a sky that is always the same,
But Caroline Chambers has shared in my dreams
Though she has no idea, she's my wife,
As I live in the daydreams of coloured and grey dreams
And desperately search for a life!

23 September 2012

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Snow Man

You’re looking out of the window,
you’re watching the settling snow.
Soft the snow falls like angels’ feathers,
bringing your children and joy together.

For they’re building a snowman,
from whatever snow that they can.
They give me a nose, eyes, hat and pipe,
so tell me now, what do I look like?

You say I am always still and cold,
stood here for all of you to behold,
but that was the way that I was made.
This is what I am, happy in the shade.

Then there was a break in the clouds,
and the great Sun shines out loud,
hurting me, until I do cry,
until I melt, wilt and die.

The sun is here and I’ve nowhere to go,
my tears run cold, turned from snow,
Until all that is left is my eyes of coal,
and my hat dancing in the wind, with my soul.

poem by Dale Mullock
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Snowflake

When the day dawns
Bright and crisp,
The snow yet to fall
Hovers on the horizon
In laden black clouds.
The chill air hangs ice,
Breathing on trees,
Sliding down drain pipes
Making zylophone icicles,
Playing a winter's tune
The wind whips scintilling,
Vibrating the telephone lines.
An aolian harp, zinging,
Then a silence covers the land,
Shivering in antisipation......
Awaiting the first snowflake.

P. H. Brookes Copyright 2012.

poem by Paul Brookes
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Silver Tear Drop, Crying

Moonlight shatters
The crystals disperse
Flakes of winter
Fright's curse

Grey clouds of nowhere
Silver world awakes
To the silver sun beams
To the silver birds of song

Silver world awakes not to pleasure
Not to rhyme
Silver world awakes to sorrow
To the silver tear drop, crying

And with every tear the color fades
And more silver becomes the day
Spindling more silver
The silver devils play

And in my castle I hear the cry
The sharp shrieks of broken delight
The blinding light
The shivering fright

And in my castle I hear the wind
That humbles the calls
That corrodes my walls
The silver hissing wind
Driving nails into my coffin
The silver hissing wind
A dead heart will never soften

Meaningless are my dreams
Evanescent dreams
Grey clouds
Silver world

Faded clockwork, clicks
The hour passes, the hand ticks
And I awake into my dreams
Decadent reality, bursting seams

The clock now stops and forever so
Till I return but I shall not go

poem by Oves Anwar
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The Circle

Saturday afternoon the sunshine pours like wine through your window
But I know golden june can turn an empty grey against your window
And I feel like Im on the outside of a circle-
If I walk by the trees Ill catch the falling leaves if the wind blows
But I know all this means is whiling on the hours watching side-shows
Will I turn my coat to the rain I dont know
But Im going somewhere I can warm my bones
Fare you well Ill carry me away
And sing for those I know upon their birthdays.

song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter With a Question

The aging trees will creak and groan
To find themselves ringed by frost in sleep
And snow by the wind already blown
Cast upon snow already deep.

The cold is echoed only by silence all,
And the leaves of Autumn entombed in white
At the place where leaves fall
And passing time, vanish from sight.

Who is it that judges these—
Sends leaves beneath the snow
And trees to shiver alongside trees? —
And where do they go?

poem by Ronny Self
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January Warmth

The leaves are whirling in the wind
Clouds a stirring
What a warm January day.
The squirrels have come out to play
Running and scurrying all the way.
The sun is hiding somewhere
Somewhere way up high

The warmth of a January Day
Warms the heart in everyway
Trees in motion swaying and
Swooping with a notion.

poem by Melanie Dickie
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The Grey World

Grey nights in the wind,
And the grey-faced dead.
Grey hairs in my head,
And grey eyes in my mind.

Grey mists in the morn,
And grey waves that rave,
Grey mould on my grave,
And grey eyes forlorn.

Grey clouds in the sky,
And the grey world asleep,
Grey ghosts that sigh,
And grey eyes that weep.

poem by Leon Gellert
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The Bones Of Angels

Long shadows
Bright light
That falls to the front
From a darkness behind
There is no end
To this mountain top
Inside these stones
Only peace will we find
Inside out
We're all part of the stone
That makes up the mountain
And harbours the bones
The bones of angels
That showed us the way
You can feel them at night
While they sleep through the day
The bones of angels
The bones of angels
Together we will be
Forever we will see
I see you
And I see me
And the bones of angels

song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clouds Of My Life

There moves the cloud
with the wind that blows
So bright and white
like the pages of my life…

I sit near the window
and watch those clouds
That shows me the way
my life is being shaped…

Never was I able to
see the clouds
Have the same shape
in every minute of my life…

Why does this happen
is what I think
But everyday is not the same
is what it says to me…

I see the winds
blow off the clouds
Which makes me think
when will my life be blown off? ...

It's hard to see
black clouds coming in between
Making my worst fears
strike into my mind…

It rains day and night
making me feel happy and sad
Happy to see the black clouds fading
but sad about losing the clouds…

Dreams of mine takes
shape in the clouds
Always showing me the face
of the person I like…

It always reminds me
my life is in world's hands
No matter how hard I try
can't change the fate of my life…

It's nice to see the clouds
every morning I wake up
This reminds me there is still a day
because I see the "Clouds of my Life"…

poem by Sowkoor Nischal Shetty
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The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The first Snow for M 'lady Tara

Now almost imperceptibly the snow is falling steadily.
Unruffled by the slightest breeze to coat the branches of the trees
with layers of the purest white which sparkle in the pale moonlight.
A sight that’s pleasing to my eyes. Beneath the trees a blanket lies
as yet a flimsy covering but it is slowly thickening.
As falling snow relentlessly, continues drifting quietly.
The world reverts to black and white. It is a bitter winter’s night
I sit and watch from my window backlit by the firelights glow.
I’m thankful that I need not go outdoors amidst the falling snow.
I am content to stay inside I much prefer my fireside.
Although it’s beautiful to see the snow descending steadily.
I am too old to brave the cold I leave that to the young and bold.
Tomorrow with the morning sun the children will be having fun.
With cries of glee they’ll greet the snow and I will watch from my window.
The antics of small girls and boys as they engage in childish ploys.
Just as I did so long ago when I could enjoy the snow.
One benefit of being old I stay inside when it is cold.
My aching bones will not permit me to do much more than sit
and watch the children as they play and remember my young days.

18/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com.poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Cold Winds Of January

Last night in my dreams i did hear the winds roar
Above the old high fields of far Claramore
A cold Winter moon crept behind clouds to hide
And on the bleak hillside the hungry fox cried
And a bird so distinctive even in his wild cry
The screech of the barn owl echoed in the sky
A Winter's night in January by old Clara hill
The howling of the wind drowned out the babble of the rill
That towards the big river downland ever does flow
Through many a field and by many a hedgerow
Old jack frost of January is in the cold air
And the hedgerows and deciduous trees of their foliage are bare
And the cold winds of January in the dead of night roar
Above the old bare fields of high Claramore.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Outside Of A Circle

Saturday afternoon
The sunshine pours like wine
Through your window
But I know that golden June can turn an empty grey
'Gainst your window
And I feel like
I'm on the outside of a circle

And if I walk by the trees
I catch the falling leaves
If the wind blows
But I know that all this means
Is whiling on the hours
Watching side-shows

And I feel like
I'm on the outside of a circle

Will I turn my coat to the rain
I don't know
But I'm going somewhere
I can warm my bones

Fare you well
I'll carry me away
And sing to those I know
Upon their birthdays

I won't feel like like I'm on the outside...
I won't feel like like I'm on the outside...
I won't feel like like I'm on the outside of a circle

song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene from B-Sides: Seasides & Freerides
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Epiphany In The Car

The gathering black clouds-eerie feeling-
spread over blue sky, putting me in a pensive mood.
Not long after, dark clouds commence
raining and slowly seceded from the rest and leaving
open to view, a silver disk setting in distant west.
Being overcome by flaring orange- red
then and there, the sun falls into the warm arms
of the fiery glow.

Looking into his face, hints of grey down the side that,
seemed to further the water flow down window panes and eyes:
Childhood days were recalled from distant memory of
walking out the sun right into the cool rain.

Too, raindrops on window sounded like Momma's ever whipping tune:
'I told you…beat, beat, beat...not to play in the rain…beat, beat, beat…
'OUCH, 'her lyrics and beating continued hours, it seemed.
Still, we sat in car looking out on the rain, I felt the warm
sunsets and the years of Momma's missed presences.

Closing distance between then and now, still in awe, of blazing
sun to the right, clouds raining tears from distant sky on my left,
and with much effort futhering my own sunset.

poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Mystery Obscured

Far away from nothing,
The trees in the sky is what I see.
I hear the wind - it's coming,
Stirring up the pine trees.
I hear the ocean behind -
Smell salt in the air.
The wind it finally reaches me,
Mixing pine with salt air.
The sky is steely grey,
The sun obscured by clouds.
It casts a mysterious light,
On trees and ocean alike.

poem by Aimee Nell
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December

While snow the window-panes bedim,
The fire curls up a sunny charm,
Where, creaming o'er the pitcher's rim,
The flowering ale is set to warm;
Mirth, full of joy as summer bees,
Sits there, its pleasures to impart,
And children, 'tween their parent's knees,
Sing scraps of carols o'er by heart.

And some, to view the winter weathers,
Climb up the window-seat with glee,
Likening the snow to falling feathers,
In fancy infant ecstasy;
Laughing, with superstitious love,
O'er visions wild that youth supplies,
Of people pulling geese above,
And keeping Christmas in the skies.

As tho' the homestead trees were drest,
In lieu of snow, with dancing leaves,
As tho' the sun-dried martin's nest,
Instead of ickles, hung the eaves,
The children hail the happy day -
As if the snow were April's grass,
And pleas'd, as 'neath the warmth of May,
Sport o'er the water froze as glass.

poem by John Clare
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The snow

The snow lay like a blanket upon the ground
The trees & bushes it does surround
In spots its dirty in spots its clean
Why does the dirt have to mess up the scene

To make snow angels upon the ground
Where the glistening snow does abound
To make angels in the snow
For you can do that wherever you go

To be a child again and play in the drift
Should be my lifes greatest wish
To know then What I know now
Would be wonderful that I do avow

poem by Bonnie B Long
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In A Dark Night Of A Cape Winter

In a dark night of a Cape winter
fog rises from the plantation of pine trees
of which the scent is suddenly sharp everywhere
while the slight wind does not even stir the leaves,
or the sieving rain that is falling days without end.

Days later the southeast wind howls like an angry beast,
whipping trees to and thro, pulling even big oaks
right from their roots, throwing squalls of rain
splattering like continuous buckshot against the roofs,
against window panes and the coldness creeps in
and like a child you wonder when the angry beast
will again go to rest; go back to its hidden lair.

poem by Gert Strydom
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