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Wrapped in the warm
prison of the bedsheets
a cold foot sneaks past
and dangles in the air at the
end of the bed

I shiver like sailors of old
in this cold wind that blows
across my toes

I wrestle the blanket
for the sleep it maintains
all elbows and thumbs
****** this way and that
restless wanderers of designer sheets

I shiver like sailors of old
in this cold wind that blows
across my toes

As I grumble
look to the clock
Four AM glares back at me
a cold foot wiggles
a cold foot waggles
Ode to be a cold foot
sorrowful tale to be sure

I shiver like sailors of old
in this cold wind that blows
across my toes
The X-Rhymes Sep 6

Jack gave the air a biting chill
the ground a thin white shroud
while icy mist curled in tendrils
and swathed his form in clouds

then puddles turned to milky glass
his breath, it's said, could freeze
the paths he makes a risk to pass
and skeletons from trees

on TV news this work he’d do
was clearly advertised
as weather maps from green to blue
were reacclimatised

all signs of warmth Jack Frost suppressed
with every step he’d take
each living soul he met he pressed
to shiver and to shake

all thumbs would then succumb to numb
and feet were primed to slip
like taps he made their noses run
and tremble would each lip

but soon enough the rising sun
would make it’s presence felt
then Jack would yawn, his work all done
and back to bed he’d melt

but that was then and this is now
his tenure will not cease
the price of gas will now allow
his hours to increase

not one to shirk the extra work
thanks to this corporate crime
these costs berserk present a perk
for Jack in overtime

he'll rap the door of old and poor
once their heat is denied
and freeze for sure to chair or floor
whoever lives inside.
Probably the best poem about Jack Frost you'll read today.
Unless you've read another.
I've accepted cold reality
You truly are forever gone
Without your presence I feel empty
Hard to find the strength to go on
I miss you so ******* much mom...
Elena Aug 5
she grabbed me with her cold bony arms
told me she will be my friend
instead she turned me into a dead man
she pulled every emotion out of me
she pulled all of my vices and happiness
i pop pills
i pray to the sky
to take me back
but her hug is so cold
so bony
so strong
i need warmth
i need my happiness back
Kassan Jahmal Jun 29
You stay where I live—
no I live where I stay, as livelihood is doing in my head.
Girls with pictures—pictures with girls, so few
left in my phone. These are just running thoughts,
as I’m chasing dreams; as a working mind in them.
Skeleton hours; dead in the night, as it’s just another shift.
But it slips in these grinding gears, like winter rains slipping on
the road.

Under the cold whispering of previous night’s wind,
reminded of a cold world out there.
Be it truth to live by—amongst liars to speak such is dare,
and quite frankly rare. But I’m none impressed by trends,
tread your grounds carefully of where you walk.
Don’t slip up on your feet, bruising your knees on the
winter rains slipping on the road.

A side note of my love to rhyme...
by second nature to plan the ending word to second line.
Bringing it back this time to the starting rhyme,
and referring to the second rhyme by the fourth line.
Words slip easily off the tongue, dented like
winter rains slipping on the road.

This poem inspired was inspired by my walk
through shortcuts to work. Black wet tarmac,
holes in every direction. Back and forth, cars roam and go.
My breath visible in this morning cold. A sight in dilated
eyes; towards the sight of the winter rains slipping on the

This winter is cold.
Nomkhumbulwa May 21

Where do I start?
Writing this by candle light;
Yet today we are lucky,
Load shedding came early

The system is done,
Its broken, corrupt,
Time after time,
Excuses one after the next

Us we are lucky,
In some ways anyhow;
For we have a few means
To keep warm for now

Others are not,
In fact most are not,
They suffer, they die,
But ESKOM - care they do not

Yes it was once ok,
to be totally without,
But once electricity is introduced,
Its difficult to go without

Those who have the means
Have done what they can,
Generators, gas, solar,
Options are endless, but only if you can

To most the expense is impossible,
Of course we want solar,
We want clean energy,
Just like we collect rain water

Its nothing new,
Its now been decades,
Leaving people to suffer,
ESKOM one problem after another

Winter after winter
Just when its needed most,
ESKOM takes it away,
Light, warmth, taken away

People light fires with paraffin,
Then bring them indoors,
Just to keep warm,
In the morning they dont wake up at all

Where is investment in alternatives?
For ESKOM cannot go on,
As one of my cousins said -
The grid is often more off than on

I cannot complain,
Not for myself anyway;
I choose to live here
I'll do things my own way

But I do see suffering
Knowing a long winter is ahead,
With an overburdened health system,
Knowing every winter leaves people dead

How much longer will it take?
For ESKOM to finally close,
To open doors for others,
Its time to get rid of the coal

In a Country basking in sunshine
nearly every day of the year,
The lack of solar power is saddening,
And shameful, but ESKOM doesnt care

Yes we have fire,
But we also have rain,
Those two dont mix,
Cannot cook on fire in the rain

The saddest things is this,
That ESKOM just dont care;
Lives dont matter to ESKOM,
Anyway - they have their share

The few that can make do,
They can afford to.
So everyone else is forgotten,
Nearly 80 percent of the population

Its cold, its wet,
We cannot light fire,
If we do its outside,
Buildings no longer designed for fire

How much longer ESKOM?
Will you allow people to suffer?
Will you eat all the money?
Will you do this to South Africa??

We all hope for a brighter future; quite literally...."brighter" ..  :)

Nomkhumbulwa **
apologies im new
The old deceptive sky trick
looks warm to the eye trick
warm under glass
while my well shaded *** shivers

deliver the goods, spring

so yeah, them birds are singing
and blooms conspire too
making you think you’re good and clear
and it’s time for shirt sleeves

but these goosepimples beg to differ
There’s a bottle of my mother’s love
Sitting on the kitchen table
It’s gone sour
It’s Sunday morning,
In the piercing comfort of a place
I once would’ve called home,
And the world woke up and walked out on me

The aftermath of July grows right outside my bedroom window
While I sit on a desolate strip of imaginary sand,
With my head in a water cooler
As significant as an ill-fated horsefly
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