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The ocean is not blue
The sky is
Who knew?
It was all our point of view
Clouds are not fluffy
Your eyes must be puffy
How would we know?
What exactly is snow?
Ice crystals that fall from a cloud
On to an unbothered crowd
Svetoslav Apr 17
The streetlights are flashing
rhythmically in the winter evening
when fluffy snow pours
through the streets of our city.

The green grass disappears
as the landscape dynamically turns white.
For adults, this is another cold evening
and for the children is a time for rejoicing.

The fireplace warms our bodies
like the sun in the summer,
while the love of family and friends
brings delight to us all.
Translated from Bulgarian
Kirsty Taylor Apr 17
The paper white as snow,
Glistens in the light.
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
8.10, 8.12, 8.14, 8.16,
Still the paper sits there as white as snow
The paper is now dazzling in the light.
8.22, my biro pen slowly approaches,
A stroke and its done,
Tick, tock, tick, tock
Now a whole sentence sits on the page
‘Sara got on the 24 bus every Monday at 8am, as if it was second nature.’
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
Now a whole paragraph about Sara has come, screech, abruptly to a stop.

Thoughts swirl around my brain what does Sara do now?
What is next?
What was a story within a matter of minutes becomes notes
It essentially becomes academia on a story not written,
As the years pass, and the essays in the folder grow,
Sara becomes she.
As the terms fly by, the relationships happen or don’t happen,
Friendships begin and end, there are celebrations and commiserations,
Weddings and funerals.
She becomes me,
The words begin flowing out,
The stories plummet onto the page.
What was missing all along was the Sara is not she, she is a little bit me.
She could not be me, until I knew who me is or was.
Brendann Apr 7
The creaking boards, leading to the endless fog

The smell of salt

The crack of the waves, seem like a distant memory

The only noise comes from the boards and the birds

The smoke, white as snow, consumes me as I near the end of the peer

I could only stand and stare
I wrote this in 2019. It was really smokey from the forest fires and I took my motorcycle on a ride to the beach. I walked down the pier, sat down in the smoke, and wrote this. It was so peaceful.
An achromatic  photo
a tumbling rock

                              A snow packed peak
Every inch of stone covered in weighted white
Rolling and growing...
growing and rolling...
the only sound heard, ice kissing ice
And my screams
Do you hear it?
The avalanche of my life
It has a sound unlike any other
A crescendo  of every experience compounding on my soul, demanding to be seen, heard, felt, feared

Warning level 5 avalanche
Please evacuate the area for personal safety, hazard may cause more calamity
gracie Apr 2
Dreams of you descend—flurries
dancing through frosty air softly
as kisses on foreheads, gently
as fingertips trace the hollows
of collarbones; sleepy golden hair
peppered with stars as you exhale
warm wisps of breath into
the atmosphere. Tell me, what did you say?
Words caught in the curl of your lip
when I left you smiling to the silver
sky; communion between heaven
and poet. Even now, your laugh
rings like bells, angelic vision I reach
out to touch but you remain
ever evasive.
old poem reworked
Kayla Mar 28
A snow day what a lovely day the sight of the beautiful glistening white blankets of snow layering the once bright green grass and the trees usually covered by bright green leaves are now laden with snow and icicles protrude down from the branches the rhythmic sound of the snow crunching beneath ones feet oh yes a snow day what a lovely day
Powdered sugar
It's raining white
You look absolutely beautiful tonight
You set my nerves alight
A burning fire in your heart
Enough to tear me apart
The delicate flakes coming down
Softly resting on your crown
On your delicate hair, a curly brown
It's snowing all around
They land softly on the ground
Without the slightest sound
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