The seasons, if you live in a region where they really assert themselves, each give us a different experience of the world. Each season bestows its shining moments, its unique stars.
Share your favorite Winter poem in the comment box. Or pen your own. Show us the stars that burn brightest for you, in Winter’s unique way with the world.
Photo by LadyDragonFlyCC, Creative Commons, via Flickr.
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Glynn says
This may have been strictly coincidental, or it may be that great minds think alike. Or something. But this is the poem I posted at my blog today: http://faithfictionfriends.blogspot.com/2014/12/the-monk-by-sea.html
Richard Maxson says
Rudolph — The Early Years
Rudolph’s Dad was Felix;
his Mama’s name was Flo.
They got lost in ’55
in a blinding blizzard snow.
They wandered through the Rockies,
just where they didn’t know.
Rudolph was born on a berry farm,
in Chihuahua Mexico.
He helped part the briers,
where the red raspberries grow.
The pickers petted Rudolph’s nose;
it was clear they loved him so.
Through the years of petting,
his nose grew very stained,
so red it wouldn’t wash off,
not even when it rained.
(Refrain)
Everybody’s different,
everyone is strange.
Some folks think they’re heaven sent,
others feel deranged.
Don’t worry where you come from,
at least for now you’re here.
Let your nose go where it goes
like Rudolph the reindeer.
Berry farm went bankrupt,
Rudolph lost his job.
Some folks they just gave up,
hung their heads and sobbed.
Rudy went to San Diego,
or so the story goes,
the border guards said, “No, no,
let dogs come and sniff his nose;
he leapt an Air-stream trailer
and a U.S. Welcome sign,
hitched a semi with a sailor
across the Arizona line.
(Refrain)
Everybody’s different,
everyone is strange.
Some folks think they’re heaven sent,
others feel deranged.
Don’t worry where you come from,
at least for now you’re here.
Let your nose go where it goes
like Rudolph the reindeer.
They dropped him off in Boise;
Rudolph met some more reindeer;
some laughed and jeered so noisy,
others ran away in fear.
Rudolph shrugged his shoulders,
his nose was northward bound.
Santa hired him on the spot,
at last his soul was found.
(Refrain)
Everybody’s different,
everyone is strange.
Some folks think they’re heaven sent,
others feel deranged.
Don’t worry where you come from,
at least for now you’re here.
Let your nose go where it goes
like Rudolph the reindeer.
Maureen Doallas says
What fun, Richard! Thank you.
Richard Maxson says
Thanks, Maureen! It was fun to write.
L. L. Barkat says
I love this! So I see Heather’s laughter posts have gotten under your… poet’s sled 🙂
L. L. Barkat says
That was in reply to Richard. In case anyone wonders whose sled we’re discussing 🙂
Richard Maxson says
Yes, Heather is very encouraging! My sled is in Ultra-glide 🙂
Lexanne says
Oh, this made me smile. Thank you for sharing.
Richard Maxson says
Thanks!
Bethany Rohde says
Moonlit in Winter
At last,
a quiet yard full of grass
Still
and shellacked in ice,
Rooted
in the frost-faced earth.
The freeze
forcing out compulsory
Demands
of weeding, and watering again.
No purple
rose or crocus yet–
To belabor
my eyes with views to the right and now
left.
Nothing
left to harvest today–
Save
a steady glow of milk-light
On grass
outside my window.
Lexanne Leonard says
Bethany, how beautiful: steady glow of milk-light. Lovely.
Bethany Rohde says
Thank you for reading my poem and the kind words.
Richard Maxson says
I like this positive view of Winter as a respite from the chores (even if you enjoy them) in greener times.The single word lines a nice accent to the poem.
Bethany Rohde says
Thank you, Richard. I really enjoyed your poem. It mixes original humor with comfort (which is what we really need this time of year!).
Amy Glamos says
there’s snow on the sidewalk
on the limbs of the trees
on the eaves of my heart
it rests, cold and heavy
a glacial coverlet
i can’t forget the summer
though its sunlight stings
my skin
the winter will be
hard and fast
you said to me
the words have passed
as autumn leaves
your voice, a breeze
i can just barely recall
i squeeze my eyes tight
shutting out the bitter chill
i love you still
Bethany Rohde says
Amy, thanks for sharing your poem. I was especially drawn to the lines:
on the eaves of my heart
it rests, cold and heavy
a glacial coverlet
What a beautiful image.
Lexanne Leonard says
Thank you, Amy, for sharing your words. I so understand and am touched – squeezing my eyes tight….oh.
Amy Glamos says
Thank you, Bethany and Lexanne, for your kind comments.
Zac Garripoli says
December
Through the last light they re-enter the garden,
surveying the destruction of successive rains and frosts
stem by blackened stem,
shaking their heads
as if to make themselves believe;
to try to catch a whiff of something lost, dead.
Last April when they saw the world
through other eyes,
they’d sit for hours in the rain together close,
watching vapors from their lungs
disperse and mingle.
Shaking off the cold, they’d dream of buds on branches
swelling, fruit they’d later pick and eat,
before the Winter drove them off.
December: the drab, wet earth.
Their footsteps hushed by fallen leaves
where feet once touched the ground.
Remembering the Tree,
the way it was,
she holds one to the light,
diffused by swollen veins
that rupture in her hand.
To her it still suggests a splendor,
delicate and sad,
like everything that dies,
then fades.
Lexanne Leonard says
Oh, Zac, dreaming of my spring garden this cold winter night. Thank you for the memory. Lovely.
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
Loved the imagery in your poem, Zac. Beautiful writing.
Lexanne Leonard says
Some Storms
The 2nd Day of Christmas
Some storms blow in
make their presence known
cover ground and fill sky so
completely with their fury
white and cold suffocate
all under siege
Today a snowy mist
put down minimal icing
quiet enough to hear your
breathing on earth
a whispered “I am”
I hear your presence in the
gentle fall of flakes sitting
on black asphalt, a deep
call within to listen
then see, and feel
I should stand just once
sans coat and shoes
palms open to the sky
bare feet against the ground
allow your wintery rime to
cover me the same as I
assent to summer sun
I only see stars when
dark night shades the sky
I understand your warmth
only after I have known cold
……
I, too, wrote a poem about snow today, and other things. I have given myself a challenge to write a poem a day during the 12 Days of Christmas to remember this time. They are posted on my blog: leximagines.com
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
This is really nice, and I especially liked the last two lines!
Marcy Terwilliger says
Winter Time Outside
Forces of Nature
Mild winter it seems
Brave little bulbs
Stick green tongues at me.
Bucket with dirt
Pour over their heads
Yet they rise even further
Taller than the day before.
“I’m telling you guys Winter
Has not come.”
Earth full, soggy
Flip, flop to the back.
There’s my little friends
Over 200 with their thumbs
Sticking above the earth.
Mercy, bulb’s this Gardener
Throws her hands up!
Parsley in green
Are you listening
To me?
Winter will bite,
Freeze comes at night.
Big round orange pumpkins,
Still in the bends.
Is anybody listening?
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
I love the imagery of
“Brave little bulbs
Stick green tongues at me.”
Thanks for sharing I enjoyed reading this.
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
This I wrote some time ago. Seeing the lovely photo of the crystal snowflakes brought it to mind….
Patience Like Winter’s Snow
It’s come a month so far, or maybe its been two
lending rest to weary blooms and grassy flumes
far beyond the frosty feet of old man winter
whose steps cannot be measured ’til
long after he has gone about his way
but for now comes with stay of keeping flurry
as he takes his place about the ‘scapes
finding rest in every crest and crevice deep
of twiggy wintered oaks and others sturdy reach
weighing in on lighter limbs so meek
a gracious, earthy bow then to release
his debuting dress of fine crystal confections
as only winter’s breath could make, or
laying along tops of fences, winding ways
through yards and walks set just beneath
spreading along rooftops, sills and porches
frosting edges soft like festive gingerbreads,
one upon the next, a snowy village on display
’til finding stretching fields of empty solitude
unfolds a seamless blanket all across the meadows
of winter’s white settling in for lengthy stay
to wait and linger about the day–what else?
or decide to gather more about itself
(it wouldn’t want to draw false accusations)
but enjoy its timely passing days with witty,
spirited disregard for urgency or apprehension,
it couldn’t be more unenchanted,
but to enlist its quiet stay to draw our gaze
out from ourselves, with chance then to enfold
patience like that of winter’s snow
TL Lawrence says
Written ages ago (2003) when the verse still rang in my head (since moved on to fiction novels):
The feathered patterns
Of ice upon windowpane–
Nature’s fine linens.