"snowstorm" poems
Each life is nothing but a small snowflake.
Each is unique,
beautiful,
fragile,
and soft.
Each lasts for merely a moment in time,
but its impact lasts.
Each can create dangerous blizzards,
only when many decide to hate.
But.
Each can create a soft snowfall,
as beautiful as a White Christmas,
when many decide to love.
So.
Life can be a snowstorm
or
a tranquil snowfall.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
i've come to realise
that with every fallen snowflake
the life of one unknown to me
is reflected in its icy self.
a snowflakes very existence relies on the individuality of its structure, similar to that of a human life.
everyone has a different story to tell
complicated to those who don't know
complicated to those who do know
complicated to all in a sense because
we sit by and wonder why
why are we here?
what is the meaning of true purpose when
uncertainty plagues the minds of all who breathe
living in a time when the youth of our generation are born into an age so filled with hurt
hate
pain
no common sense in a place where so many have tried to fight for the right of humanity.
all we receive is inhumane behaviour and injustice
uncaring and shallow acts when all we wish for is fairness and equality
you see, although every snowflake is different
their independent beauty co-depends on one another's existence
how can you have a blizzard with a single snowflake?
their imperfections bring out their perfections
each one has a tale to tell
each one brings out the beauty in one another.
similar to human life
have you ever realised the silent beauty in a cold winters snow?
how when engulfed in a snowstorm, you are able to accept peace into your mind, you're able to let go?
you're actually able to think for a moment, and realise
the clarity that silence holds
all that finally unfolds
when
you're able to take a moment for yourself and
let out the breath you've unknowingly held
you're finally able to delve
into a sense of true finality
a final sense of...
raw serenity.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
The grass is wearing my lipstick
and there's frost on my face.
I see no trace
of the bird that took my shoe.
The trees are looming over,
taking fun of my fallen state.
Is there nothing better for them to do?
My cheeks are redder than a
snowstorm,
the bugs are in my hair.
The bird has taken my other shoe,
They're tied up on the fairy lights.
Do they truly not care?
Because I fall they do not fight
their own fights.
A rabbit grew wings and gave me back
my shoes.
The grass returned my lipstick and the frost
cooled down my face.
Tomorrow I may fall again,
But of the trees,
there will be no trace.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
Ziegfield girls with Gatling guns
in complete synchronization,
decked out in Erté.
Watch your step, soldier,
for what's often considered foreplay.
Much like Peter and the Wolf,
one thing leads to another
on this daisy chain,
and as you know,
Burke's only jealous of Lorainne.
I'll tell you what,
dress warm for the ******* snowstorm,
and there'll be a place alongside
such an ingenue.
But what a terrible let down
it would be to find out
she was always smarter than you.
Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 2:29 PM UTC
Whether you're a victim
Of a firestorm, sandstorm, snowstorm,
Remember: hell hath no fury
Like mother nature scorned
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 8:47 PM UTC
THE CONSTELLATION OF THE GIRL FROM WALLA-WALLA
I lick her lifeline
"Oh I can see you are
going to have a wet wet life!"
she watches the tip of
my tongue crawl along her heart line
"You will have many many kisses!"
she sips her fine wine
laughs...munches
sweet onions
all I say
comes true right away
guess I got it right
cute girl from
Walla-Walla sleeping
just up against the Pacific Ocean
"Shhhh..!" says the Pacific Ocean
as it watches over
her sleep
I place DayGlo stars
on all her extremities
she becomes her own constellation
the constellation of
the Girl From Walla-Walla
being looked after by a specific Ocean
"Walla-Walla!"
the waves call to her
but she's lost inside a dream
"Are you really a real Walla-Wallan?"
I ask of her
"Yep!" she grins "I'm the real thing!"
"The only Walla-Wallan
I knew before I knew you
was a girl in a book!"
I turn the snow-dome
up-side d-own
watch it snow forever
I remember her
letter telling me
of a snowstorm she once knew
"I took a little of the snowstorm
put it in the fridge so
it could melt in July."
"The snow storm had never met
a July before
so this was its big chance!"
"When the left-over snowstorm
finally got to meet its July
it cried itself into oblivion!"
"...here. . ." her letter
pauses for ever
outside snow falls now
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 4:53 PM UTC
*I unload your god in that laissez-faire way
where the bandages mend and have no need to be placed,
formidably, regret to admit the moonshine in my hair
looking Gothic, but beautiful:
sober the men’s breath as it falls, falls, falls
not more mild than a snowstorm in its final lapse.
Sat there to be dreamt. He put his hand to his beard,
and I would have kissed if had I believed
that he was not merely trying to haunt my body,
the hair I kneaded into air.
It flowers, and flowing these marzipan sands
where God lays man next to his wife,
she bears the peaches: juicy, ripened, but not to eat
expecting us to swallow ourselves in turn, spin the bottle.
I could not care less for the braces in his lips –
or their fur, but gums beneath like peaches.
**** it out until the pulps mirror,
you have the skin of a four fruit, or an eighty,
flames high as kites. But suffering for each flicker-knob
and dating a girl who smokes cigarettes in bed,
I know he could not support that, your god.
Morning comes with a glare, now eating her hair
the involvement of some odd raconteurs. I beat them
and they beat my ******* for their heat –
God is a cabin boy with genitals in his palms,
said he would love the women as long as they are gone;
if he does not see me, the flames, I cannot exist
not more than falling falling falling hair.*
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
We were well enough the first time
she admitted casually that
she would watch me die if someone
else would take the shot.
We got to
second base (or shortstop)
way before we started counting
and recorded our accomplishments
on napkins, but forgot
to wash our hands before we ate,
before we fought,
before we cried.
Her name was
"who cares," mine was "I might,"
her approach to mathematics
was a parrot in a snowstorm:
plain to see, but out of place and
hard as hell to understand for those
who cared enough to try.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
The winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please—no bees to hum—
The coming spring’s already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
’Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm’s best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O’er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove’s brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring—the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature’s white spurts of the spring.
2.8k
Monster snowstorm Meteorologist have warned
But when you have faith you don’t be alarmed
Yet this snowstorm is going to be for the record books
All a person has to do is just look
Like a typewriter keyboard going up the ladder
But in this case it is the Northeast with the matter
If the snowstorm piles up as much as Meteorologist predict, the snow will be around long and will certainly be icy and thick
Transportation will definitely shutdown
There will be no way too get around
Everyone will be stationery in homeward bound
It will television and cell phones with snowstorm updates
Then a mission to work or wait
There is no guarantee
It is a matter of wait and see
The snowstorm provided by thee
Man can’t defeat and tell the snow too stop
It’s all controlled from the almighty being at the top
The Sanitation Department will be doing their job in clearing the snow away
However it won’t be gone all in one day
This could be a snowstorm bringing snow that could last for days
Don’t even think on taking a plane being a getaway
It will be the wintry frozen ice that will stay
The best advice that I could give is to think of the season spring
Mild with warm hearts in getting through the snow in helping you preserver
Don’t think on fear
As God is always near
A snowstorm is God’s way in purifying the earth
I remember being taught that at birth
But think on doing things at home being fun
Always remember, weather conditions you have no control and God will always be the centered number of one.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
I awoke alone,
after a horrid dream.
I turned to your face
to feel something comforting.
In the spot that graced your silhouette
were sheets weighted with regret.
My misdirected inflection
coupled with the misconception,
that 1+1=1 not 2 you see,
when the correct formula
is 1+1≥3
Fact is I lied.
When I pronounced "love"
with greater strength than "as long"
Fact is I lied.
When i said unconditional.
It is the beauty in song.
My regret lies in lack of earlier cognition.
This is not the first time this has happened.
Which means I never learned a lesson
inferring to my lack of a mission
or understanding,
in a man's mind muddled.
I took the position
of sitting down in the struggle.
My body fatigued, eyes bloodshot and wary
I refused to see your definition
of affection realized in the lines of the abstract.
Fact is I lied.
When I said forever;
Knowing I am temporary.
Fact is I lied.
I never finished my sentence.
A more complete thought is "one of many"
The complete truth is my love was uniform.
Designed to let any woman fill the mold.
I lacked passion.
Which gives direction in a sandstorm.
I gave up my attempts to understand why water is wet.
Returned to my dreadful fantasy
wherein my heart would contort and deform.
As I told the truth to you
in a Scarlett and Rhett fashion;
We caressed in a snowstorm.
The message cut deeper than I could ever myself.
Fact is I lied.
When I said I would be fine,smiled
and drank in the last light you would reflect.
Fact is I lied.
When I said it was me
It was the both of us I wished to confect.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
The first time I saw him, it was through the glass window of the space that he moved into right around the corner. I thought it was a weird spot to move into but shrugged it off because it was none of my business.
The first time I met him, he was wearing the exact pattern of red and black plaid that I’ve been looking for whenever I shop. I stared at it and felt a little defeated that someone found it before I did! But I made no comment.
The first time I spoke to him, I thought nothing much of him at first. the words I used to describe him were “ordinary, typical, run-of-the-mill”. He was…simple. he spoke like he would steal those cheesy catchphrases like “she was like a shot of espresso” — which is what Andrew Garfield said about Emma Stone. And so I walked out of there as if it was just another Monday.
Several Mondays and cheesy catchphrases later, that little place around the corner that was made of brick started to feel more comfortable, and I saw him more often. Slowly, I realized that there is some charm in simplicity. Eventually, I stopped using the words “ordinary, typical, run-of-the-mill”, and I started using the word: familiar. There is so much comfort in the familiar.
At this point in time I seem to always find myself back at that familiar little brick place around the corner. at the end of each day, I go there hoping to find solace. And I always do. If I was into those cliché phrases I would describe it as a warm cup of hot chocolate after a long, rainy drive. It’s a fireplace during a snowstorm. But saying those cheesy catchphrases would be really lame of me, so…
If I were to put into words how I now feel about this person… This must be how it feels when people are looking for a new place to move into. They have this image of their dream house or fantasy apartment. maybe they picture a place with a marble countertop, a dining table made of mahogany, and a ceiling high enough to hang a glass chandelier from. But then, just as they had given up on searching for that dream place, they come across this little cottage made of brick and hardwood floors. There is a leather couch in the middle. They take a seat. Suddenly, they can picture their life there so clearly: nothing but the pitter-patter of the rain drumming on the window pane, the sound of the coffee machine running in the background, and a slice of chocolate cake waiting for them in the refrigerator. It was the familiar feeling of comfort after a tiring day. It was so far from what they had first pictured, but they are absolutely certain that they want to make a home here.
That is how he feels to me now. So far from what I had pictured, but certainly where I want to be at the end of each day. But the funniest part of all of this is: He was the one that arrived there in the first place. He was the one who moved into that quaint little building around the corner. He was the one who found me. And I am the one waiting here; hoping he finds a home within me.
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
There is a girl
on a bench in the park
at the edge of the town.
She is young.
Little ringlets of copper brown
frame her delicate face.
Wide eyes of the purest sky blue
scan the trees.
She is looking for something.
She stands up
and straightens her skirt.
Her legs shiver,
and her socks grow heavy with water.
Nobody is around to question her,
about why she's out in the snowstorm.
She wouldn't answer anyway;
she's too focused.
She is looking for something.
Cautious steps now.
The ground is slippery with ice.
Her boots do not hold
because they are too worn from walking.
Finally she reaches it,
the edge of the sidewalk.
She peers intently into the grove.
Her blue eyes narrow.
She is looking for something.
All is silent,
except for the flurries of snow.
Before long there is a blanket on the ground.
It is thick powdery snow.
It collects in her boots and on her scarf,
and she shudders as the ice
presses against her porcelain skin.
But she is silent, focused.
She is looking for something.
After a moment,
she steps back and sighs.
There is a slight smile on her lips.
Her nose is red and drippy with cold.
Still, she is silent,
though not by choice.
She has no one to talk with.
It's barren.
She has found what she was looking for.
What it was I can't say.
Either I don't know,
or it's not my place,
or you could ask her yourself.
But there is a girl
on a bench in the park
at the edge of town,
and she is happy.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
Falling snowmen from the sky
The vision of snow and ice being my surprise
November being winter early
Heaven’s way being surely
Yet blinding storm put me on alarm
Cars stuck on roads and Homes destroyed being harm
Winter’s arrival at Autumn’s season expense
This was something the skies actually sent
The mystery behind the sudden snowstorm that weather forecaster’s can only guess
Yet to drivers and sanitation it was a guest
It seemed to get worse more or less
More snow is scheduled to come
To school kids they want some
But a snowstorm that came at the wrong time to arrive
However it’s ironic and must take in our stride.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
When you see a painting hanging on a wall,
You don't really question it,
You see the painting as it is and its placement on the wall, not much else.
Some people are more interested than others and so they want to buy the painting.
They see its origin, the frame, its design, how much effort was put into it, the story behind its art.
After a while, some people get bored of it,
They give it away because they don't want it anymore.
And while some people took the time to look at my art,
You spent all of your money on paintings that weren't me.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
Marie's in-laws start bashing the bell,
a Quasimodo supper for the reckless, the insane.
It's two hits of Lily's blue, four pocket shots of ***
it's the backdoor, it's the snowstorm, it's the 100th of December, it's the cell phone;
it's nostalgic.
I call Katherine, my sweet Indian princess. She talks in Mexican smoke rings,
and laughs only in a bed of Peruvian blues.
Marie describes her as, "Uh-huh, her", and Katherine's James describes me as, ******
So, when Katherine picked me up behind States Street,
I licked her espresso skin, I kissed secondhand, and benediction, benediction.
Choirs of angels moved me, while we ****** under moonlight in her drug supplier's driveway.
I pulled her hair, beads of sweat danced and gleamed around me,
I got a call, I got a call,
I finished and took the call,
"Hello. Yeah, I'm sorry. Just stepped out for a second I'll be right back. Love you too."
Back to the mundane with a enough fix of fantasy to get me through the month.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 11:07 PM UTC
THE CONSTELLATION OF THE GIRL FROM WALLA-WALLA
I lick her lifeline
"Oh I can see you are
going to have a wet wet life!"
she watches the tip of
my tongue crawl along her heart line
"You will have many many kisses!"
she sips her fine wine
laughs...munches
sweet onions
all I say
comes true right away
guess I got it right
cute girl from
Walla-Wall sleeping
just up against the Pacific Ocean
"Shhhh..!" says the Pacific Ocean
as it watches over
her sleep
I place DayGlo stars
on all her extremities
she becomes her own constellation
the constellation of
the Girl From Walla-Walla
being looked after by a specific Ocean
"Walla-Walla!"
the waves call to her
but she's lost inside a dream
"Are you really a real Walla-Wallan?"
I ask of her
"Yep!" she grins "I'm the real thing!"
"The only Walla-Wallan
I knew before I knew you
was a girl in a book!"
I turn the snow-dome
up-side d-own
watch it snow forever
I remember her
letter telling me
of a snowstorm she once knew
"I took a little of the snowstorm
put it in the fridge so
it could melt in July."
"The snow storm had never met
a July before
so this was its big chance!"
"When the left-over snowstorm
finally got to meet its July
it cried itself into oblivion!"
"...here. . ." her letter
pauses for ever
outside snow falls now
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
I will write poems about you
memorize your Starbucks order
(even if it's different each season)
ill hold your hand
play with your hair as you rest in my lap
I just want our love to be soft
something safe and warm
we can both crawl into
like hot cocoa after a snowstorm
Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 9:06 PM UTC
too quiet
just a pair of old friends
caught up in a snowstorm
feet kicked upon the table
you tasted bitter the second time
we paused
but maybe it was just you
those dragonfly kisses
that bruise on your wrist
found its way to my mouth
we were delicate leaves
itching to make our first,
and last,
flight.
all of those November bruises
you were quite the adventure
hands reached out for laughter
you tasted bitter the second time
I paused
maybe it was just me
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 2:19 PM UTC
*Staring at a pale white canvas, his fingers twitch
Doesn’t see the point or understand it
Fifty shades of the very same color. Artistic?
He squints at the thought, thinks the joke is twisted
A woman walks his direction; this man is wearing a question mark
Seeing her coming, he’s sweating, not knowing where to start
Not being awkward, standing right beside him
He’s had it with the confusion staring at the item
“Do you see the white rabbit?”, she asks him.
The man looks again, takes a much more thorough pass at the image
Focus diminished, he’s staring blindly at it. Like a fool he tells her,
“Point him out to me, would you kindly?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Now she makes him ponder.
But somehow, his frustration has since been turned to wonder
“The rabbit’s not in the art, but within you, so close your eyes
and let your heart tell you a story that you can listen to”
He closes his eyes, then inhales slowly,
While she mutters, “While you’re at it, don’t be afraid to show me.”
He exhales.
A cool snowflake kiss is very innocent
Murderous mind makes you question just who the menace is
7th place in a race, you want to win it
But the mission is holding on to your wits and hope you finish it
Hate to admit we live in a place of affliction
With war, famine and depravity - an endless tragedy
People praising rulers like prophets, men of profit
Looking down at each and every soul like drones for their shady goals
Toy soldiers in toy boxes, a boy in a boycott,
Strapped to a baby stroller, momma broke her shoulder
Screaming for peace and prosperity for her people,
Attacked for her beliefs as a human - thought we were equals
So hop, little bunny! Come and get your carrot
No, thanks! He doesn’t need it or your filthy merits
‘Cause he’s stronger than what you take him for, don’t need to chase him
Leaves your bait right at your f*cking door, and strikes you at your core
The harsh winds of winter are now behind him
Eyes open and happy she keeps him warm
A habit keeping his soul torn, she holds him
As he hops back to life just like a rabbit in a snowstorm.*
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC
you make my legs
fill with lust
and some sundance
chemical I cannot
explain. you make
me feel like your
pupils are the sun
and the sun has
little in respect
to you aside from
attribution to the
very existence of
the girl I love.
you make me feel
like free chai tea
lattes, even if this
analogy was used by
an ex of mine to
describe how she
felt about me I
feel it's still
valid in context.
you make me dance
like thunder in a
snowstorm and link
arms with my lack
of a bedside table
and ring as true as
my ears to the ashen
corner-lounge love-drug-all-this-please.
I love you,
I love you,
I love you,
I love you.
holy sweet good *********
you sweet,
sweet soul,
not even
novels
could properly explain
how my universe swells into serotonin heartbeats
whenever
you're
wherever
with
me.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
Snowfall
Whispers
In mountains high,
Promise renewing
In a healing sky.
How often we seek
Solace
In Forest deep;
We feel akin
To a world
That cannot help
But weep
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 6:25 PM UTC
Sounds dreams art form
In age norm- brainstorm
Wake -up alarm rainstorms
Carmel Clouds
Barking noises and hounds
Chasing to be found
Sandstorm
Monstrous- snowstorm
Dreams to heal
In uniform
Please no harm
love embraces
Chasing the wrong faces
Gazing- engaging- singing
Dreams touch a nerve
Reacting jump ringing*
Chasing and saving
Memory of words
Wild child-hummingbirds
Floating in the air taps
No time like a normal nap
The cell phone pictures
and apps
Chasing big stir coffee sips
Valuable time trips
Chasing our dreams
Is real what it seems?
Lips* met* the *sunset
Eyes water love just met
Chasing- raging- event
Lullaby Lighthouse
Does your dreams make any sense?
Jun 14, 2023
Jun 14, 2023 at 8:02 AM UTC
It started again in July
The warm weather could never lift my spirits
As I have always been cold from the inside
Out, let me out
I’ve been trapped in a snowstorm since I was nine
Shivering in the warmth from the ice in my veins
The tsunami started in the school bathroom
After following my sister to the bathroom after dinner time
Night after night peeking through the cracks
To see her methods
The acidic volcano laid dormant inside me for a couple of years
Until I began to grow
Sprouting towards the sky like a sunflower
All I could think about was my waist
I hated it, I tried every method to destroy myself
And the monstrous overgrowth that devoured my forever changing body
Until one day I didn’t feel how hungry I was
The growling was silenced
All I could hear was her harsh voice droning me through
Take another step, don’t fall down
115 pounds of pure solid ice
The way down my throat is slippery
My fingers thin bunched together for the warmth that they could provide each other
Water is the only thing that comes out
The voice still haunts me
And somedays I wonder why my garden of a body had to be denied of sunlight
When I embraced the freeze
And hurled my body through
Body, I am so sorry
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 11:18 AM UTC