Winter is good — his Hoar Delights
Italic flavor yield
To Intellects inebriate
With Summer, or the World –
Generic as a Quarry
And hearty — as a Rose –
Invited with Asperity
But welcome when he goes.
This poem was submitted by Emily Dickinson.
Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
This poem was submitted by Robert Hayden.
Snow is falling, all around me.
Children playing, having fun.
Couples kissing, laughing loud.
But what about the people,
Frowning in despair,
Sitting on the park bench,
With nothing but the air,
And the snowtears.
As the couple sit beside me,
Reminding me of what we used to be.
Should not snow be depressing?
Cold. Wet. White. Melting
On my face. Snowtears.
For most people,
Snow brings happiness.
But for me, it brings, fearfulness,
As the couple sit beside me,
Reminding me of what we used to be.
People wish it to snow.
To build snowmen,
To have snowball fights,
Or just to watch the snow fall.
I like snow to fall
On my face. Then melt. Snowtears.
As the couple sit beside me,
Reminding me of what we used to be.
The delicate flakes land on their faces.
I stand up and take a few paces,
Until I’m standing on his laces,
My laces. Cold. Wet. White.
Melt the tears on my face,
As she stands up and walks away,
Leaving the poor boy crying snow
Tears and memories of the couple that sat beside me,
Will never escape me,
Because the couple sat beside me,
Were what I used to be.
Snow is falling, all around me.
Children playing, having fun.
Couples kissing, laughing loud.
But what about me.
All I have is snowtears
This poem was submitted by Jamie Carpenter.
These days, they don’t come bright
Chill stays and keeps away the dawn light
Sun hides, absence of early rays peeping in
Thin clouds waft and stream in
Wind whips the whirlpool of mist
Winter has set in, it rolls its fist
Darkness stays put, away from the lights glow
A dull dawn hangs with the fog low
The beds warmth a cocoon of not just the lazy
Even the morning sun refuses to rise early
The dew damp earth waits for the sun to blush
Before its eve, the sun hurries away in a rush
The hair rustles in the static flash
Eyes steal a look, to see the light splash
In the forlorn recess of my mind
Stowed far away I find are my crimes
The broken heart, cruelly crushed
To lust tryst in cold foggy days that I rushed
E’ery leaf slowly, swiftly falling away
Thoughts leave as they are stripped away
The trees stand exposed, nothing to sway
In my minds scan, a putrefying display
My feelings drawn up exposed bear
The dense miasma that my memories tear
From the love that I did not caress
I walked away without any duress
In the chill of the dull winter days
My most agonies come to face
They slowly rise to stare
Even my shut eyes are called to despair
The heart refuses to agree
The mind does not disagree
The deep love that was around
My heart’s seek, it’s not found
The mind’s smile, not benignly
The sardonic that it replays repeatedly
The freeze set to the core
My body‘s warmth in bed, entices me to linger more
The lost lust that I dreamily meet
The jerked release, my beings relief and treat
These days they don’t come bright
Lonely, chill stays and keeps away the dawn light