In the darkness of winter
find the light
inside your soul

offer it to those you meet

In the coldness of winter
find the warmth
in your heart

offer it to those you meet

for when you give
your light
and
warmth

you receive them
back
like a flame's
reflection on the window

In the bleakness of winter
find time
for yourself
for introspection
for rest
for renewal

a time
for inactivity

to see
the quietude
of nature

draw that calm
into yourself

Find joy
in simple things
a cup of tea
a crisp tart apple
warm wool socks

Curl up
by a cozy fire
to read
to plan
to dream

Take with you
a seed catalog
to hearten

a craft book
to inspire

a book of poetry
to find tranquility

When you've rested

Let your mind
create a space
of fertile ground
to later sow

Let your mind's hands
dip into the loam

smell its mellow
richness

Close your eyes

Let your mind
grow
whatever it is
you wish to cultivate

see its bright green
shoots

let them fill
your mind
with
freshness

Rejoice
in the anticipation
of spring!
Out of season for some, but  the Southern Hemisphere is coming to this phase of the year and the Northern Hemisphere's winter held on a long time this year...so maybe not so much! :-)
Trembling on ice
never to trip, despite
the blinding blue lights.

Never seem cold
never wear fluffy clothes
clean cuts in the ocean.

Winter is in the open,
despite the sudden horizon,
for she, is worth frostbite.
The song of spring is in the wind,
The smell of rain heavy in the air.
What once was frozen solid,
Now breaths life into the soul.

Born from hope and desperate dreams,
The bright rays of life infiltrate the skies.
Rising from death and growing strong,
Enchanting green joins the living.

Returning peace to the once restless,
Warmth to the cold.
Winter is finally leaving,
The snow finally melting.
Oh, gentle spring rain...
Softens what bitter winter pain.
Then summer again...
Tears tittered as anxiety falls 'way
But strikes freely as you recall the day
These cries weren’t like a gentle rain—but when you used to play
Alone
That lonely autumn roam on the playground with no home
In which to return.
On yourself you were so stern...
"Never let them in,"
Ascertained, “Love never will begin.”
But here it has begun, and your heart’s song once unsung,
So unsung,
Plays on the brittle harp among this young
Love to whom you’ve now arrived...
They’ve intruded through what fortress fortifies the lies
‘Round the eyes like skies
Once full of birds but now emptier than the glass you leave in the quiet nights.
Safe no more are you in the barbed wire wrapped right wrong over your ribs.
Place down that nimble nib so eloquent with the fib
Of that which you feed yourself in this wintry crib...
The gentle spring rain is the shedding of your skin.
You let love in,
Afraid your bones will break at the first touch,
Wondering which is the last such...

You let love in and your weeps weaken to whimpers
Because you are so tired...your soul is so tired.
And finally you let love in...and you surrender.
To the touch that is so, so tender.
And everything
Is okay.
Listen to Bach’s “Air on the G String” performed by The Voices of Music. It was the perfect feel I needed to write this. Hopefully my point got across but I realize I can be a bit cryptic.

This was very enjoyable to write. I borrowed the "Gentle spring rain" from another, immediately inspired to compare it to the shedding of tears when you are so relieved, yet afraid, as you fall in love.
The dead tree never stands lonely.
At the top the silhouettes
of birds come and go,
nesting in the crevices.

Branches sticking out like
Indecisive fingers, pointing enigmatic directions.
It’s trunk is covered with thick, green ivy
asserting a kind of dignity, saving the
leaf barren tree’s modesty of sorts.

Keeping it warm in the harsh winters
and concealing the weathered, bare bark in the summer
while everything else expands outwards;
in colour, full bloom.

The dead tree stands in the middle of it all.
For the moment, standing steady,
I would never describe this dead tree as lifeless.
Written on 3rd of April 2016 when I tried to write a poem a day.
This was about a dead tree I could see from my window where I was staying on holiday in France.
This unrelenting vernal snow,
implies upon my frigid soul,
an origin infernal, So
I struggle now to keep it whole.
Just had to vent my frustration at the weather haha
Zen Dog 7d
Like a path out of the forest hidden beneath the snow, there seems to be some grand idea just below the surface. Dreamlike inspiration quickly fading like footprints in the drift. Our survival depends on our ability to scratch pen to paper and hand to head to make something tangible from thought before it vanishes.
That impassible white, equally mesmerizing and infuriating in its indifference. The page cares not for our words, yet we demand it be filled. We stumble through words and stutter our thoughts, grabbing loose metaphors from the air like snowflakes, only to watch them melt away from our pen.
Yet as many times as we retire in exasperation is as many times that we'll start again. For the drive to create and the need to relate outweighs our torturous view of the craft. Soon enough winter will break and words will sprout forth from the fertile ground of our minds. Bountiful metaphors and analogies will ripen for the picking and the path that has been there all along will be realized. Only then will we know for certain that spring has sprung again.
Seasons come and gone,
grey ice fights the waves.
Sun stretches its arms,
its reach not far away.

Warm air pockets come,
cold air fights to maintain.
A steel grip on my soul,
but it slips away.

Sitting on stony earth,
the most comfortable I’ve been it weeks.

Hard ice gives away,
to soft embracing mud.
Wind whispers warm secrets,
of sweet summer love.

Holding out for hope,
the brighter future fades,
taken by the sound,
of an invasive plane.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Aa Harvey Apr 16
The snow leopard


A snow leopard is walking down snow covered streets.
In these empty streets, she walks alone, a vision to be seen.
With skyscraper buildings on either side,
All the cars are silent,
The apartments only have a few lights on,
As she walks outside in the night-time.


With every stride the snow leopard creeps along,
These empty streets with her eyes fixed upon,
Her destination; the local fountain has become an ice rink.
She needs a place where she can sit and think
And the frozen water is calling.


The scratches on the surface from skaters earlier in the eve,
Are sliced crisscross by fur-covered shoes;
Her claws dig in deep.
With perfect balance she moves along;
Tail flat, she is relaxed, no pressure is on.
No need to flee, no-one to be seen.
The snow leopard lies down to relax; her cub inside is heavy.


Before dawn has arisen, the snow leopard has awoken.
Her ears pointed skyward to listen to distant sirens.
From early risers, phone calls have been made;
The zoo keeper is on his way…
But with a flash of her silhouette, the snow leopard is gone;
She was only seen close up for a second,
Before she disappeared into the thick winter’s fog.


Never to be seen again, but the lights in the skyscrapers remember.
The snow leopard stood here, on this cold night mid-December.
From where she came, nobody ever truly knew;
Some people say she was here simply looking for food.


She had been hiding a long time in a snow cave;
Her footprints were filled by the snow and her tracks began to fade.
She never was found and never again did she return.
The snow leopard was just passing through, her image just a blur.
Like a wind through a narrow street,
A piece of ice falling through a cloud;
A memory of a snowflake that disappears as soon as it is found.


There was no sign that the snow leopard had ever been around
And there was no way to know why,
The snow leopard ever came walking through this town.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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