Winter Poems

An awesome scene the artist paints, expert and deft his hand.
Brush strokes swift, he draws with ease, a winter wonderland.
Landscape sketched from memory, heavens and land entwine
Rapidly the scene is set, exquisitely divine.

Pine trees reaching tall and proud, like statues standing still.
There is no wind to speak of, more an icy winter chill.
Strong branches dusted with the snow stretch their fingers high
As if welcoming the blanket bequeathed by the darkened sky.

Crisp snowflakes twirl like dancers, pirouetting to and fro,
Waltzing to their silent tune toward the ground below.
Pale moonlight generously showers diamonds all around.
Its treasure glints and sparkles upon the hardened ground.

Snowfall in shades of silver envelops the land below,
Lighting up the darkness with its soothing, gentle glow.
Mellow in its nature, no preference where it lays,
Takes refuge where and when it can, throughout the winter days.

Though bereft of colour is the scene, prevailing grey and white,
Its awe inspiring beauty is apparent day and night.
Who nonchalantly paints this scene, for all on earth to share?
His strokes proficient every time, precise and so aware.
Jack Frost paints wondrous pictures with his palette of frozen dew,
Then stands back when his work is done and proudly admires the view.

Shimmering lakes of silvery ice
welcomes skaters' scarring slice.
Hills adorned in lacy white
watch children sleigh into the night.
In the brilliant pristine light,
snow birds in tall trees take flight.
Evergreens draped in capes of snow,
their heavy branches hanging low,
blanket earth as north winds blow.
Winter's dance is quite a show,
an ice-kissed, dazzling, magical place,
transformed by winter's cold embrace!

On those cold and frosty winter's mornings when the grass crunches beneath your feet,
and you're wrapped up in layers, hats and scarves, as is everyone else you meet

When each time you exhale a breath of steam quickly disappears into the chilled air,
and any part of you that is open or exposed is numbed and quickly covered, or beware

Often every outside surface is dusted with winter's cold makeup white,
and Jack Frost at your nose your ears and fingertips tries to take a bite.

Icicles form to look just like the teeth of some long since past prehistoric beast.
Winter's grip in some places on this our Earth holds on; we hope never ever to cease.

The winter sun is low in the sky and its weak rays have little warmth, if any.
God's creatures brave the cold in search of food, but really not that many.

Snug in their winter's long sleep, others see neither day nor night.
The world outside of which they knew now blanketed cold and white.

Eventually when the night draws in and there are no clouds and the sky is clear,
and the only light is from the moon, its silvery glow throughout the heavens appear.

The temperature drops until the very air you breathe chills your lungs with every gasp,
and even the tiniest sound seems to be magnified and its echo all around is cast.

And when the morning light again returns as the sun is again risen from its slumber,
the beauty of our treasured land we once more behold, with eyes of awe and wonder.

I stood beside a hill
Smooth with new-laid snow,
A single star looked out
From the cold evening glow.

There was no other creature
That saw what I could see—
I stood and watched the evening star
As long as it watched me.

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Snow is falling, as quiet as a mouse;
On people and on dogs, and on our house.
A fluffy blanket now covers the street -
The cars are white, and that is neat.

Quickly I dress and run a comb through my hair.
No time to lose, there's magic in the air.
School's off, so I've got all day -
To go on adventures, to roam and to play.

Mama is in the kitchen, baking pancakes -
But I'm not hungry, I want to catch snowflakes.
And just when I have so much to do;
She's got scrambled eggs and bacon too.

With a sigh I sit down and empty my plate;
To venture outside I can hardly wait.
The garden looks pristine, and oh so inviting;
My very own Wonderland, how exciting!

Mama has a pair of furry snow boots for me;
To make my footsteps extra crunchy.
The moment has come, I step through the door -
I'm going where no man has gone before.

I'm an astronaut, my space rocket has just landed;
It ran out of fuel, and now I'm stranded.
How will I survive in this alien, white place?
There's so many dangers I bravely must face.

This planet has ferocious, flesh-eating chickens;
And a poisonous fog that slowly thickens.
The tiniest hole in my outer space gear
Means certain death; it's my biggest fear.

The temperatures here are far below zero -
If I make it out alive, I'll be a superhero!
I gather all my courage, and I set out to explore;
Until I'm so cold I can't go on anymore.

It's slowly getting dark, and the wind is howling.
My nose has frostbite, my stomach is growling.
Then mama calls, on earth it's time for dinner -
And I hurry back to base camp, feeling like a winner.

Sensational tresses like locks of snow
Passionate eyes like embers aglow
A pale face with indication of desire
Surrounded by subtle white fire

Delicate limbs carved by ice
Shrouded in thy gown of sleet
Alluring smile; we it shall entice
Still she lies, so quiet and sweet

Enclosed by the winter white
A single loved and precious sight
On the wind her whispers ride
and on the wind the hymn does glide

Upon the horizon the sun ascends
When the wind dies down and the hymn does end
The silence falls and she makes amends
With stillness and peace her heart does mend

Piles of snow beneath my boots
chilly winds blowing everywhere
snow keeps mounting on the posts
on the windows and on the roads
shovels outside,
soups inside
hot and rich,
chicken and corn
coming back from all the work
this is what I look for
the warm chestnuts,
the cracking fire
this is my winter warmth

Timeless thoughts of a winter's stare;
eyes gazing over a landscape bare.

Memories drift on a blustery breeze;
dying light ushers in the freeze.

Reaching out for a grasp on the present;
stillness sets in, alone, and desolate.

Future unknown, outcome uncertain;
brilliance shadowed by a drawn curtain.

Path now set, laid before me known;
closing light now emanating from home.

Enter my homestead, heart filled with glee;
two eyes of the future peering upward at me.

Trusting in him to forge forward until fulfilled;
Basis of strength, values I have instilled.

A weary mind at last permitted to rest;
reflecting on the realization of how I am blessed.