"cosying" poems - Hello Poetry

As I struggle against the tide Of two eggs in the same pan Cosying up, embracing Destined to be as one I realise that it's just no use To maintain a division Between two born of the one same mother Be that Mother Hen or Mother Nature

0

Dec 17, 2013

Dec 17, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC

kevin-campbell-davidson

(Don't wanna be a) Fried Egg Nationalist

As I struggle against the tide Of two eggs in the same pan Cosying up, embracing Destined to be as one I realise that it's just no use To maintain a division Between two born of the one same mother Be that Mother Hen or Mother Nature

8

I am the warm air of spring Heralding the time of rebirth I caress the first shoots of growth As they poke their way through the earth I ponder nature’s resilience As her landscape comes alive I marvel at her citizens And their will to survive I dance over fields and rivers Whispering to sky and sun To all the hiding creatures A new season has begun I am the zephyr of summer Come now and heed my call Blowing sweetly from the west The kindest wind of them all Walk with me over hill and dale Carpeted in joyous colour Feeling my soft caresses More tender than any lover I will kiss your upturned face Brushing it with rays of sun Breathing warmth into your bones Till the sunset says day is done I am the wild gale of autumn Stripping the leaves from the trees Nothing withstands my fury All bow to my desperate need I whip the rain into torrents Pouring water over all beneath No quarter asked or given I gift you the dying year’s grief I move restlessly onwards My dark tempests taking form But the harvest is gathered The bounty safe from my storms I am the north wind of winter Bringing the first flakes of snow Scattering them with abandon On the gardens and streets below My blast is icy and chill Freezing your toes and fingers Sweeping away the last of the year Not a single vestige lingers Time for you to stay indoors Cosying in front of the fire Enjoying the comforts of home Away from my insolent ire

0

Mar 11, 2019

Mar 11, 2019 at 7:56 PM UTC

clare-brown

Four Winds

I am the warm air of spring Heralding the time of rebirth I caress the first shoots of growth As they poke their way through the earth I ponder nature’s resilience As her landscape comes alive I marvel at her citizens And their will to survive I dance over fields and rivers Whispering to sky and sun To all the hiding creatures A new season has begun I am the zephyr of summer Come now and heed my call Blowing sweetly from the west The kindest wind of them all Walk with me over hill and dale Carpeted in joyous colour Feeling my soft caresses More tender than any lover I will kiss your upturned face Brushing it with rays of sun Breathing warmth into your bones Till the sunset says day is done I am the wild gale of autumn Stripping the leaves from the trees Nothing withstands my fury All bow to my desperate need I whip the rain into torrents Pouring water over all beneath No quarter asked or given I gift you the dying year’s grief I move restlessly onwards My dark tempests taking form But the harvest is gathered The bounty safe from my storms I am the north wind of winter Bringing the first flakes of snow Scattering them with abandon On the gardens and streets below My blast is icy and chill Freezing your toes and fingers Sweeping away the last of the year Not a single vestige lingers Time for you to stay indoors Cosying in front of the fire Enjoying the comforts of home Away from my insolent ire

48

I know she says *what you aspire, if I go earlier not long will you wait To find a new mate.* Surely not dear I reply *I too will die and if not, in that unbearable pain will go insane.* I know better. This morn only saw my male budgie cosying easily to his new companion. Can’t bear to be long Forlorn!

0

Jul 8, 2014

Jul 8, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC

pradip-chattopadhyay

I Know Better

I know she says *what you aspire, if I go earlier not long will you wait To find a new mate.* Surely not dear I reply *I too will die and if not, in that unbearable pain will go insane.* I know better. This morn only saw my male budgie cosying easily to his new companion. Can’t bear to be long Forlorn!

16

Dust specks-settle, cosying up to the ribbon bound notebooks bearing your initials. Burying this artefact, flawed, fractured there will be no map to guide you back to this mirth, no breadcrumbs to drop on the earth. It will be no more than a prologue, a seam unwoven to grab momentary attention until I sweep all away with steel grip on an exuding artery. Is Hubris not a deadly sin? As it lays in tatters at my feet., Foolish, foolhardy to have believed that all was a world of Thornfield or Pemberley more apt is naeive. The disparate views,that were sent by you undermined by certainty,unhinged the very bolts and nuts that held my infastructure. Transfixed. Transfigured. Transformed into this 'new'. Alas the day, arrives anyway the lark sings a merry tune and it thunderstorms, drops leaves life leaves the dew. To be candid, I pocess within me one last spark it splutters and at times can ignite, for teaching me an invaluble truth. Unrequited love, This partisan bear with caution- leaves a scar- a victim.

0

Jan 16, 2014

Jan 16, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC

amber-rose-2

Partisan

Dust specks-settle, cosying up to the ribbon bound notebooks bearing your initials. Burying this artefact, flawed, fractured there will be no map to guide you back to this mirth, no breadcrumbs to drop on the earth. It will be no more than a prologue, a seam unwoven to grab momentary attention until I sweep all away with steel grip on an exuding artery. Is Hubris not a deadly sin? As it lays in tatters at my feet., Foolish, foolhardy to have believed that all was a world of Thornfield or Pemberley more apt is naeive. The disparate views,that were sent by you undermined by certainty,unhinged the very bolts and nuts that held my infastructure. Transfixed. Transfigured. Transformed into this 'new'. Alas the day, arrives anyway the lark sings a merry tune and it thunderstorms, drops leaves life leaves the dew. To be candid, I pocess within me one last spark it splutters and at times can ignite, for teaching me an invaluble truth. Unrequited love, This partisan bear with caution- leaves a scar- a victim.

18

I’ve always been good at navigating. I can find my way in a crowd or a city unknown to me. I no longer get shaky when I think about getting lost. Asking strangers for directions has never been a problem. My legs take me as far as I need to go, and my feet share secrets with the road to bargain with back in the bazaar of my head. We know how to get there. We usually do. I tried going to my happy place today. Turns out it’s hard to pinpoint on the myriad of maps I’ve been making since I was 4 years old. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what counts anymore. Places I once knew to glow yellow from the inside out have dimmed, and most old memories have the scrap of a taint too sharp to touch still attached to them. I have problems with letting go. I find it hard to forget the same way an elephant keeps count of every word anyone’s ever said. You would think this would be an advantage. Sometimes it isn’t. It is hard to try and write new on a slate that was never wiped clean. I have changed. I am envious of everyone able to close the boxes they’ve packed away. Because the lid on mine never seems to fit properly. It is tiring to be responsible for your own hurt every time you have to hold the door shut to stop the past from lingering. Nails ready to dig into the New you’re doing your best to treasure. I think about the temporary nature of all things. How no one is invincible. No one is ever as perfect as we project. I am not without my flaws or faults. In fact, they have grown bouquets on my sleeves and have built their own corsages on my wrists for when my heart is too heavy to smile for the camera. I think of the “who” rather than the where. The bubbles I have collected with my breath and held with full air in the hopes they don’t burst. Their rainbow undersides and defiance to my gravity while never floating too far away outside my hazy atmosphere. The happy they have given me to make my own. The happy they radiate during visiting hours. The happy that soaks into the knowledge that I sometimes do the same. I am grateful. Always grateful. I may not have bought my house yet but I can always keep renting the flat where the couch is always cosying up to a comfy I am lucky to accommodate. It still smells like warmth and conversations yet to come once they leave. Until next time. Let yourself in.

0

May 11, 2019

May 11, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC

loneleyes

happy place

I’ve always been good at navigating. I can find my way in a crowd or a city unknown to me. I no longer get shaky when I think about getting lost. Asking strangers for directions has never been a problem. My legs take me as far as I need to go, and my feet share secrets with the road to bargain with back in the bazaar of my head. We know how to get there. We usually do. I tried going to my happy place today. Turns out it’s hard to pinpoint on the myriad of maps I’ve been making since I was 4 years old. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what counts anymore. Places I once knew to glow yellow from the inside out have dimmed, and most old memories have the scrap of a taint too sharp to touch still attached to them. I have problems with letting go. I find it hard to forget the same way an elephant keeps count of every word anyone’s ever said. You would think this would be an advantage. Sometimes it isn’t. It is hard to try and write new on a slate that was never wiped clean. I have changed. I am envious of everyone able to close the boxes they’ve packed away. Because the lid on mine never seems to fit properly. It is tiring to be responsible for your own hurt every time you have to hold the door shut to stop the past from lingering. Nails ready to dig into the New you’re doing your best to treasure. I think about the temporary nature of all things. How no one is invincible. No one is ever as perfect as we project. I am not without my flaws or faults. In fact, they have grown bouquets on my sleeves and have built their own corsages on my wrists for when my heart is too heavy to smile for the camera. I think of the “who” rather than the where. The bubbles I have collected with my breath and held with full air in the hopes they don’t burst. Their rainbow undersides and defiance to my gravity while never floating too far away outside my hazy atmosphere. The happy they have given me to make my own. The happy they radiate during visiting hours. The happy that soaks into the knowledge that I sometimes do the same. I am grateful. Always grateful. I may not have bought my house yet but I can always keep renting the flat where the couch is always cosying up to a comfy I am lucky to accommodate. It still smells like warmth and conversations yet to come once they leave. Until next time. Let yourself in.

1