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Manpreet Gill Apr 29
Hot winds caused the charming petals to wilt,
Withered leaves slept under the dew quilt,
The sky looked red and fawn,
Rays of sorrow broke the dawn,
Icicles of trust started to melt,
Roses of love resembled a welt,
Cerulean oceans of wisdom turned black,
Light sleepers don’t like the busy track,
Life goes through phases like the moon,
Sky belongs to those who break the cocoon,
Graves have no room for grudges or vengeance,
Have no ill-feelings or hate, but only reverence.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
I will, seriously.


It musta been a west wind that curved thence
The dripping stream as lo, in sheer betrayl
An icicle likeas a dagger'd hail--
Some scimitar hung from the eaves for sense
Replies at blueish gloaming as I hence
Glance up to notice that cold thing's detail
Which arcs in layered fashion as the pale
Light dwindles on a Friday evning, whence?
Swear refried beans are NOT enough, as fer
Good measure we down Little Caesar's to
Effect, the pepperoni pizza cure
For fevered appetites, with play to do
That treat in style as I am dragged off, poor
Though my cries, "I have dishes--!" And what's new?

Take it.  Or leave it?
Francie Lynch Jan 2018
Take solace from sol;
The icicles are long,
And elongating.
The longer the icicles, the closer spring.
Wellspring Aug 2017
Winter comes.
Rain falls.

I was asking what sort of poem I should write and she said this. Comedy gold.
It's the season of aching
For something that I can never quite find a name for
The hint of warmth in midst the frozen air
I still can't find it

*And that's why my heart hibernates
through the winter
Kastoori Barua May 2016
As the last waltz playing in my jacket ceased,
Loneliness and longing spilled out,
Along with a few coins and a recorder
From my roomy coat pockets.

The phone booth stood there,
Frosted by icicles of promises
Never thawed to life,
Yet a haven from my impasse;
A womb for the stranded & unwanted.

I closed the door behind me,
And fed the phone a few coins,
Punched your number with numb fingers
And fogged up the insides of the glass,
As I waited to hear your voice.

“Hello?” You said, but where were my words?
I must have lost them on my way,
I must have fed them to the phone
Along with the paltry coins,
Could you hear what I wanted to say?

“Hello?” You repeated, a little alert,
I listened to your silence, trying to smile,
It sank like warm music on my heart,
Waltzes and sonatas were so cliché.

Where were my words? Just one would suffice,
Couldn’t I sum us up in a single word?
I couldn’t find the kigo to our season.
I had lost it, left it with you,
That and my voice
In the world I was forced to leave,
And all this while I was held,
Tenuously to you by this phone call,
Till I heard the strained dial tone again,
In this silent world I’ve come to inhabit.
Swords and Roses Nov 2015
her breath frosts the grass
she sings high-pitched but softly
earth is calm and still
fingertips brush roof edges
leaving fresh glass icicles
Tom McCubbin May 2015
Since it never snows here
let's put down
these imaginary snowballs
of defense,
my love.

Yes, already the icicles
are melting
from your long hair

and I'm thirsty enough
for you
to drink the woman-flavored
that puddles at your feet,

as soon as my own iced blood
begins to pour long
and again,
like a hundred pound sack
of salt
pouring through one pinhole
of flesh
into your savory broth.
Poetic T Dec 2014
Frozen time spirals,
Yearning touches now glazed,
Transparency hangs.
Icicles beautiful but also dangerous
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