Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jonathan Moya Dec 2024
Its leaves fold,curl in
Their grip yields to the cold wind
The elm knows their loss
I miss the days in summer,
When cold rains didn't drown out the sun.
And cold winds,
Wouldn't make my dry skin burn.
I remember last winter being cold, not bitter.
Ira Desmond Dec 2024
Power flexes
downward:

a hulking, indifferent
appendage

obscene in its
obviousness,

but the obviousness is the
point,

you remind
me.

This latest one was only twenty-
six

and seemingly healthy, but no
matter—

in Hokkaido by now the
larches

have all dropped their
needles,

and the fumaroles of Mount
Asahidake

still hiss, even while
covered

in heaps of snow. I wish
that

you could take me there. I
wish

that we could set
off

into that pale oblivion and never
return,

immersed for the rest of our
days

in the frigid, accurate
waters

of Nature’s
reality.

But she has no dominion
here,

you remind
me,

and we are all just tourists in this place
anyhow,

sidling beneath cornices and sidestepping
crevasses

aslope an angry volcano in
winter,

that warm, glowing lodge at its
foot

seemingly never
drawing

any
closer.
JA Perkins Dec 2024
A sheet of ice from the winter freeze,
Candle-lit windows, haunting trees,
Branches dancing in the subtle breeze
as a quiet earth rolls beneath my feet.

A distant light from the radio tower
Blinks on time in the late-night hour.
A star-scattered sky so still and sweet
as a quiet earth rolls beneath my feet.

Redlights ahead, road ending abrupt
Kicking rocks to keep from looking up.
Avoiding cracks in the cold concrete
as a quiet earth rolls beneath my feet

A man staggers in the streetlight glow.
He smiles because he knows that I know.
I nod and gaze down the familiar street
as a quiet earth rolls beneath my feet.

Down by the oak trees and old ball park,
The hillside hidden by the dense dark,
I hear the rushing sound of Town Hill Creek
as a quiet earth rolls beneath my feet.
Winter time
DJQuill Dec 2024
Snow falling from the sky.
Feel the cold breeze again.
Why?
Why are you back?
I feel cold.
I'm freezing.
Longing for a blanket
A blanket to hold me,
Warms me,
Comfort me.
Can you be my blanket?
Or can you just sit by my cold fireplace and listen to me?
And can you please put my name on yours?
I promise you that even though my fireplace feels cold,
I can make it burn if you help me.
A blanket that I can’t buy but a blanket I can find
Jack Groundhog Dec 2024
In an Edinburgh square, pale frosty dawn,
my collar upturned to ward off the sleet
a-pattering on the grey stony lawn
of slate flagstones and cobblestone streets.

I see a creature of myth that flies a flag:
The unicorn wields a white cross
and spites iron clouds of sullen ****:
Her golden horn gleams in the dross

of short winter days of sickly suns.
As daybreak crawls out slowly from grey
and fog’s misty veil turns light to dun,
I long for a glimpse of sun’s gilded rays.

This Scottish sunrise sends its weak beams
of wan threads of silver to kiss the gold
which sheathes the unicorn’s horn and gleams:
Her white coat shimmers in summers foretold.

Her sunbright horn pierces the pall
of grim grey winter’s grip on my heart —
In this moment her lightness enthralls,
her horn a flame that freedom imparts.
Inspired by a photo I took of Mercat Cross in Edinburgh. It is a column topped by Scotland’s heraldic symbol, a white and gold unicorn, which is holding a standard with the Cross of St. Andrew. The day was very gloomy and dreary, but the unicorn seemed to shine out.
A B Dec 2024
The icy river glides away,
In it, scattered, glints the sun,
Trickling out of a mountain,
Enveloping it all in a piercing yellow.

Yet it is serene;
No birds or music,
Just a glazing chill
Tickled by golden heat.

A time ago it was stronger,
Warmth filled the rushing river as if it were a spring,
Overwhelming yet not boiled nor burned,
A perfect, sleepy, tender mist.

But then, it decayed,
First mild, then to an acrid, consuming, cold,
Through which no ray could cut, until
The glimmering sun distracted the frosty river into serenity.

Now, perhaps, as the sun is eaten by the riviera,
As it stretches in passionate, auburn glory over the winding body,
The glistening surface might trick the unmelted ice.
But that's all, nothing changed. For this sun, it's time for goodbye.

This night, as glimmering fades to twinkling,
The river does not sleep. There's hope that
The chill will fade, feeling will return.
And as a new glow sprays the sky,
The icy surface shines as he weeps.
Jack Groundhog Dec 2024
A-walking in a cobbled street,
I breathe the brittle winter air,
the crunch of frost beneath my feet.
The early hour’s sunbeams flare.
Arising in the ice-blue sky
three stone church towers stand and wait.
Their spires point to the most high
as morning sunlight splashes paint
across their well-worn windswept face.
These turrets of a sacred keep
stand silent witness, each stone traced
by time’s sharp fingers etching deep:
I hear each crack and crevice sing
a murmured prayer for us to stand
and listen to the brass bells ring
over sunlit frosted land.
Inspired by the red stone towers of Mainz’ Romanesque medieval cathedral against a blue sky.
Creepypastafairy Dec 2024
So I was shoveling snow
For no more then money
Oh no the snow!  But I was
Able to see and hear
The kid screaming with glee
As the re was a fresh snow fall
That shovelling session payed
More then just money
But joy and glee too
Lizzie Bevis Dec 2024
In silent woods where whispers freeze,  
The breath of night kisses the breeze.  
Trees stand like sentries cloaked in white,  
Their branches bowing, in graceful plight.  

The breath of winter, crisp and clear,  
Wraps all in silence, drawing near.
A silver quilt covers sleeping ground,  
As snowflakes drift and twirl around.  

Beneath the moon's observant gaze,  
Winter shrouds time in a sparkling haze.  
The world sleeps under frosted dreams,  
Where moonlight weaves its silver beams.  

As frost paints scenes upon the night.
Where stars like diamonds shimmer bright.
Nature's art hangs in crystal chains,
A masterpiece in all that remains.

©️Lizzie Bevis
Next page