"snowstorms" poems
I sleep on white bed sheets
with the windows open
so the breeze can brush my face
and the rain can fall on my lips.
I sleep in the gray half-light that
washes the color from my walls.
My skin is bare, fingers tangled in
the blankets, hair drying in the
same air that dries the dew
off of the leaves.
Get drunk on dreams
crumple the sheets
ice packs and underwear
poetry, bracelets, books.
I sleep with tearstained cheeks
swollen eyes and a runny nose
and bite marks in my mouth.
I sleep with a heavy heart
and fingertips on fire.
Dizzy, fuzzy eyesight
and fantastic scenarios
played out like film in my head.
I sleep in the warmest
and coldest room of my house.
I sleep under quilts and blankets
curled up against the cold,
and I sleep naked
with the air warm against my skin.
I always sleep with a book
at my bedside
and the drapes opened
so I can see the stars.
I sleep through sunsets and sunrises
and lightning that cracks open the sky.
I sleep through delicate snowstorms
and hazy summer smoke.
I sleep by myself
and I seize the quiet
as a moment of my own,
not shared
not secret.
I sleep for life and rebirth
and tranquility,
for peace and second chances.
I sleep for mornings.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
Silver skies, tranquil nights
Gently gazing down from afar
Silver rooftops, twinkling lights
Buried deep among the stars
Silver memories paint silver portraits
Hung from my interior walls
Silver melodies, not unfortunate
I hear, my name, it calls
Silver teardrops stain my cheeks
Making melancholy of innocence
Silver snowstorms, heartache's peak
An evocative and celibate synthesis
Silver dreams, silver eyes
Meet silver nights, tranquil skies
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
Drove through snowstorms over icy roads
Warmed by the fire of my love for you
Following a lifeline of energy
Thought it led to your heart, warm and true
But there was only burning pain as you pushed me back
Erasing all the joy I ever knew
Signs were there that it was a trap
But the mine exploding in my face was my first clue
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 12:35 AM UTC
Love letters to every person who has ever seen the stars as someone's freckles:
1. You were afraid to love him. It was okay, he did not know much except for demanding what he wanted despite the word "no".
I want you knowing that you deserve better than half *** apologies and snowstorms for white blood cells.
2. She was your first girlfriend. Her hair reminded you of your mother's curtains in the living room. Burgundy.
She loved you but she had to go, I bet you wish you never hung that rope in your basement.
3. Everything was set on fire, even your lungs. You started finding ashes everywhere but in your shoes. Walk away
before she gives you a new meaning for saying grace.
4. By now you've had enough of religious boys. And Oh My God, how your hips felt like heaven.
This is all ******** and he always went to church hungover.
5. This time you've forgotten how to sleep without his breath in your ear. I think his name was Noah or something like that.
It was ironic how he didn't have two dogs, two cats and oh yes, that's right. He had two lovers.
6. You went crazy with him, he was so full of water. You thought you'd drown when he touched you, and you did.
7. You were so pale that I thought you were dying. This is a letter to myself to remind me to never fall in love with a boy who cares
more about putting his cigarettes out in public ashtrays than asking me how I take my coffee.
He was extra surprised to learn that I was vegan and only drank water when we sat in cafes.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
I have loved you in the coldest of snowstorms that winter has to offer,
Felt your warmth through the curve of your lips,
The music of soft fingertips. My body is your piano,
We write a different genre of music when we love.
There are warm rays of sunshine cast over our flesh
And the snow glistens with the light you shine in.
I’ve never felt safer, wrapped in the protection of your arms
During the loudest thunderstorm in the middle of spring;
When the skies are dark and grey, lightning shooting like swords
Against earth’s ceiling.
I’ve held your naked body against my own,
Drawing over the cliffs of your hip bones, the valley of your
Belly button and the mountain range of ribs,
The cage that protects your heart from the heat of the
Summer temperatures that I hold within me, your warm
Anatomy heating my body like the core of earth:
From the inside out.
I’ve ran my fingers through the sweet sweat resting over
Your back, like droplets of dew on a leaf in the early morning
Humidity of summer after a night of making love.
We watch the leaves change color ad stroll softly
To the ground in autumn.
The temperatures begin to drop and the branches are naked
And bare, like my skin in summer while we sleep.
I’ve loved you like the snow that grips the bark.
I am cold, but winter has always been your favorite.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
This town is famous
for pretty faces,
broken legs,
and misplaced names--
A sentence penned,
An Oxford comma
dangling off the edge of pages,
setting off appositive phrases,
lighting fuses--accidental--
phasing out of view and staging
tactical retreats
The winds of February mark off
intersections
Dow & Broadway
Midnight laughs echo off stratos
then fall back--
snowstorms at midday.
Caught in the rain on Sunday evening
this place don't stay awake so late.
Except, perhaps, for pretty faces,
misplaced names, or broken legs--
But forget the Oxford comma
retreating, drenched, off of the page.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
Surely I am dreaming
about heart left in the theater of your ardent idolizing.
Surely I am dreaming
about your strands enveloping my cheek.
Surely I am dreaming
about day in impetuous snowstorms spent in your arms.
Surely I am dreaming
about rush of events that take place only in movies.
Surely I am dreaming
about body panting into oblivion of worldly pleasures.
Surely I am dreaming
about face flushed from compliments of lover.
Surely I am dreaming
about hectic rush to your awaiting hands.
Surely I am dreaming
about red roses protruding from corners of your sensitive hands.
Surely I am dreaming
about heat of caresses in boiling blood.
Surely I am dreaming
about book of poems about our first love.
Surely I am dreaming
about you dancing in the withered leaves.
Surely I am dreaming
about sighs at beauty of carnality.
Surely I am dreaming
about sensitive whispers of desires of melancholy hearts into ear .
Surely I am dreaming
because I did not send a telegram entitled "Looking for love".
Surely I am dreaming
because loneliness can not disappear like stone in water.
Surely I am dreaming
because the best dreams come in the morning.
Surely I am dreaming
because it is so difficult to find warmth of someone else's hand.
Surely I am dreaming
because thoughts gallops as steeds in the forest of wilderness.
Surely I am dreaming
because dawns wake me up in supplication for more and more of you.
Surely I am dreaming
because kingdom of your eyes staring at me can not last forever.
Surely I am dreaming
because I am senseless from blizzard of evening events.
Surely I am dreaming
because you can not find love in a café or bar.
Surely I am dreaming
because I departed a long time ago from the distant land of fulfilled wishes.
Surely I am dreaming
because flowers are handed to uncommon women.
Surely I am dreaming
because hidden secrets are revealed only to beloved.
Surley I am dreaming
because I did not have eyes half-closed in pleasure before.
Surely I am dreaming.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:44 AM UTC
We crossed paths after a few snowstorms
And my nerves screeched at the edge of a cliff.
I tugged at my turtle-head hood in an attempt to look good
And a whir of frosted air caked my burning ears.
We exchanged overlapping synonymous greetings,
Your spontaneous recognition and caught-up voice like needlepoint
Left a juicy blackberry stain on my tongue, and I keep licking its
Mystery bittersweet flavor. You fine-tuned your silvery signal
To target the seeds of my darkened pulps
And conduct a lightning strike.
***** minds think alike.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:08 AM 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
How to start off this poem?
The words they don’t come easy,
Nothing sounds quite right.
I've done so many terrible things,
How can I possibly expect you to relate?
It is impossible it's a dream, but here we go anyways.
I believe this to be my destiny, my fate,
Even though every action is mine.
So when I tell you this story, please try to understand…
That you can’t.
Beginning under a starless sky,
With the orange glow man creates for night.
I fly on the wings of the innocent,
The blood and tears of those who… have died.
They fuel me, and feed me. With their pain, with their face.
I walked down that road,
On the wings of a satan.
And all those around me,
Smiled and puked.
And oh, the terror in her eyes,
When at last my journey reached its conclusion.
My eyes, although they are not quite eyes,
Bored deeply into hers,
And the pools of water parted for just a second,
And I could see my own reflection.
So… intense. So… lost.
I’ve been in snowstorms at sub-zero,
With more warmth than those not quite eyes.
Every beat of my heart, and every breath I took,
Implored me not to think,
But to **** in my just agony,
But think of the lies that would create.
I had been looking so long, so hard,
Just to **** the one thing I want to save.
This woman, in her intelligent innocence,
Pure as the blackest coal,
Born for me, as I was her.
Who challenged me at last, at first,
Not to slay, not to slaughter.
At first I laughed, in a bitter theatric…
But as it settled and tears created disaster…
She held me there, in her hairless arms,
Cooing and creating a space for banter.
I am almost as confused as you are.
Speaking so honestly…
I didn’t know what to do then or now either.
But I will say one last thing,
Something you may not want to hear.
On that cool winter night, I ate her.
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 4:36 PM UTC
THE LAW says you and I belong to each other, George.
The law says you are mine and I am yours, George.
And there are a million miles of white snowstorms, a million furnaces of hell,
Between the chair where you sit and the chair where I sit.
The law says two strangers shall eat breakfast together after nights on the horn of an Arctic moon.
1.8k
Use your fingerprints
decorate walls,
stain old world maps.
Whorls spiral into
comic book wallpaper,
vertical designs and heart lines.
Glass pillars fogged with secrets,
bits of chipped concrete,
2:34am security footage.
42 minutes of prepackaged snowstorms.
Lying corners of the mouth
whisper plans B through Z.
Rusty sleep theories,
half-truths
in runaway boats.
A static pulse
casually remembers menthol cigarettes,
apple cores and
eighties music.
Espresso roast washing
blue and white porcelain from 1683,
knotted pale navy dots.
Wisps of kites anchored in the sand,
anthropology in lighthouses
stretching for the aurora borealis.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 11:37 PM UTC
Out in the range,
Beyond all cell phone,
The peace of the valley,
The mountains around,
Where elk graze and deer run,
Where horses call home,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
The wind cross the hilltops,
The water below,
The cattle out grazing,
Hawk and eagle stand watch,
Fences and dirt roads,
Pastures and fields,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
Rainstorms and snowstorms,
Thunder and hail,
Content beneath covers,
Warm arms to hold,
Comfort me, cuddle me,
I'll be by your side,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
There's peace in the stillness,
There's warmth all alone,
Just two souls and hillsides,
We're never alone,
Isolation is a comfort,
Out out of reach,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
The barking of ranch dogs,
The mooing of cows,
The horses they knicker,
I sigh like the wind,
The bird songs and crickets,
The sounds of out here,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
Out in the range,
Beyond all cell phone,
The peace of the valley,
The mountains around,
Where elk graze and deer run,
Where horses call home,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
~A Ranch Wife I'd Be by Bethany Davis, June 7, 2014
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
the gunman is holding his fire
and the eagle is soaring higher
and this love is want and desire
but I can't find it any longer.
the train is boarding the station
and the waiting is like the waste
of every single story
that were lies about this place
take this away from me
fill this sink with
endless china and my
wordless dreams
the pictures are but a liar
their stories written through snowstorms
and my drink is candy and whiskey
every night and day
the gunman is holding his fire
and the eagle is soaring higher
and this love is want and desire
but I can't find it any longer.
and i miss you i guess
and i miss you i guess
and i miss you i guess
and i miss you i guess
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
Life is a great mountain...
With cliffs and ledges where you may falter...
There will be points where you think you've reached your limit,
Points where you'd rather dig a hole and stay on the safe side...
There will be avalanches to knock you back,
Snowstorms that'll hold you up...
And most of all there will most definitely be times where you feel like you want to give up...
Only the strong minded and strong willed can continue,
Millions of people are found at the bottom, having a good time,
As you climb higher,
the less people there are,
The more competition there is...
In the end, only the strongest survive to reach the top...
At the peak, you experience the true thrill of life,
The kind that could either destroy you and your hard work or reward it for a lifetime...
But it doesn't end there, no...
Just you're at the top doesn't mean you'll stay there, you can't.
You can only be at the top for so long before you have to make your way down slowly,
And carefully without falling...
Because life is a great mountain,
And you have to climb without falling to the valleys below...
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
I walked through avenues
Finding a quiet place
As the weather disappointed
Rain gets me down sometimes.
And somewhere, you sat all alone
Coffee and ash trays and months old issues
Of the New York Times.
New York City, the mess you were hopelessly in love with.
I dropped loose change
You helped me pick up every coin
And I was taken by surprise.
I was wise,
Wise enough to know not to speak to strangers
But I couldn’t help and dive
Into the thrill of your danger.
All it took was a single glance
You reeled me in, and then there I was
Seated in front of you, my coffee becoming cold
As I listened to your strange, revolutionary thoughts
And I was young, devil-may-care
You were charming, disillusioned.
But the pieces of the puzzle of you and me
Slowly turned out to fit together
Once the hours passed and we watched the sun set for the first time.
Then this went on for days, an unspoken agreement
Like a connivance between secret lovers.
Each day we sat in that same, dim corner
You showed me your little journal, photos
Of the foreign lands you once wandered,
Even taught me I could dream big things for myself.
And again and again, we watched the clouds move and the stars swirl
Through foggy glass windows.
We never left that dying coffee shop
Because you and I lit it up
With the way we were so curious, so eager
To listen to each other.
Leaves turned golden, snowstorms came, and flowers bloomed
Yet there we spoke, on and on
Until we unmasked each other,
Painfully honest. Truthfully beautiful.
Darling, does anyone ever tell you how lovely you are?
Then one day, I came in a summer dress
The cafe seemed darker than ever
And I was left with the ghost of you
Hunched over your cup of coffee,
Waiting for me so you could tell your stories.
A teller of tales gone astray. A lonely spectator.
And now, you are but a story too.
The most beautiful kind.
Would you send me a post card sometime?
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
fools, ,you see ted bunny and ronnie biggs are saying the fools have been trapped in my snowstorm
and in the category 3 cyclone marcia in queensland, nobody listens to the ploy of cronus and barry allan
even if they are trying to keep them safe, and ted bundy who flew around aistralia trying too make
marcia and lam, really ruin australia, and keep these americans trapped in snowy weather, keep kids from
learning, by closing the schools, and cronus with barry allan’s help, was trying to get people to rally together
to make everyone happy, and safe, we can’t save everyone, but we could ****** well try
and then ted bundy said heh heh the fools, thinking these waters are safe to swim in, but ted isn’t shy
he is evil enough to make people lose their lives, we must listen to authorities as opposed for doing the
right thing, you see they call this nature, i call it cosmic attack, a really fierce cosmic attack, nobody can
see the clear sky ahead, in order for people not dying from this sort of thing, and that is, don’t do stupid things
ronnie biggs also is making the category 3 cyclones marcia and lam and a terrible snowstorm in the states
you see these vicious killers are doing more harm here, than they did on earth, they are ruining families
from all over the place, and elvis presley cancelled his neptune concert, to make the jewish messiah daniel
who is his earth body, to think that he needs to start thinking of trying to save people from these terrible
snowstorms and category 3 cyclones, you see, he thinks he is forcing the cyclone probably, but we all know
that ronnie biggs and ted bundy are forcing them, i think this country concentrates too much in celebrating
the jewish messiah’s previous life, and making him sleep like a pack of rich arrogant ***** but even if he
wants to work anywhere, he wanted to get into library studies but instead of that, he is playing all over
the planets, singing elvis is a schizophrenic and everyone seems fine with that, but, instead of looking
at relief web. int, you should help us finish off ted bundy and ronnie biggs evil and cunning plan, to
force the dreadful end of the world, you know what i think, if people listen to lifeguards and not going
out to these fierce seas, the end of the world wouldn’t come, we must pray to buddha, that these people
are safe, so when marcia hits, they are not out there battling the cyclone caused by ronnie biggs and
ted bundy, please, buddha help, cronus ands barry allan battle these dreadful spirits, ,and make the
storm ease, there are a lot of snow trapping innocent americans and all ted bundy and ronnie biggs
can say is heh heh heh, these fools are falling right into my trap
PLEASE BUDDHA SAVE THESE PLACES, MAKE PEOPLE SAFE BUDDHA
MAKE THE SURF LIFESAVERS, WORK HARDER TO PREVENT PEOPLE GOING OUT
MAKE PEOPLE IN THE USA, JUST SIT IT OUT
UMMMMMMMMMM UMMMMMMMMMMM UMMMMMMMMMM UMMMMMMMMMMM
ronnie biggs and ted bundy are sitting in saturn club rings saying foolish earthlings
they are falling right into my little trap
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
Thunder storms bring rain,
That makes the sky black.
Snowstorms bring hail,
That hurts my back.
*My knees creak and snap
they didn't used to be that way
The weather, wet and cold
Snap, crackle pop, those days*
Sub zero temperatures,
Blazing, fierce heat.
How I manage to still live,
Is a pretty sick feat.
*Life is measured in time
in strength and determination
while standing in the fallout line
the doorway, to damnation*
The weaker die off,
The stronger stay alive.
Tis the survival of the fittest,
Where only the best may thrive.
*Forgotten are the heroes
who don't reach their hands down
to pull up the weakest
so, none of us will drown*
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 7:39 AM UTC
I'm not sure how to explain this.
When I was younger,
I thought that when you died,
You were reincarnated
Into things that were part of nature.
But not organisms.
Wind, bodies of water, and rocks.
And the special souls were saved for storms.
The powerful and the passionate.
Hurricanes and snowstorms.
Sometimes colliding.
And I could always tell if they were fighting
Because of hatred and anger,
Or reconnecting with love and longing.
Or if it was a little of both.
I know that I am magnificent, powerful,and special
But I would love to just be waves
Constantly returning to the coast of Maine.
You and I crashing over each other
Constantly become one.
Stretching out to touch civilization,
And pulling back to our own world.
Filled with fish and boats,
And maybe someone will give us a message in a bottle to deliver.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
You are the poem that lives on
in all the bright white spaces of me;
the sparkle of snowstorms
in the first flakes drifting
the bleat of a yearling;
the first steps it takes
flowers in moonlight
clouds in the rain
a path to the forest
a mountain bell's clang
calling me home
petal scents on the breeze
white sails on oceans
and softer than these;
faint words on old paper
a gleam in an eye
a jet's silver message
scrawled on the sky;
for you are that radiance
gives me back to me.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 7:14 AM UTC
three days of
sunshine,
teasing,
and grins
stretched from ear to ear
then five days of
glaring,
thunderstorms,
rain,
and tears.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
In my mind you'd see frosted windows
Deep thoughts on chilly nights
overcast skies in midday
Mauve grey black and white
Puddles that fill potholes
and stars a mile above your crown
Forests of enchanting pine trees
Vivid cities and abandoned towns
Winter and blinding snowstorms
Mountains jagged yet soft and pink
Rivers and lakes and oceans
Lyrics that force you to think
It's soberness and possibility
A serene drive in silent streets
Independence and stability
Fallen leaves that parade the streets
Thoughts that wander as you do
Buses filled with empty seats
Open fields and morning dew
The first ray of light at as you awake
Simplicity warmth and elegance
And the rhythm of the breaths you take
The essential components are the spaces
The emptiness and silence
It is not a lack or void to fill
Simply memories with traces
The space and vacancy inside
Leaves room for inspiration
Gives new thoughts their proper places
Lost in thought
Lost in my mind
Lost in the stars dew and fields
but not blind
Lost in the analogy
But I've never lost my way
Accustomed to each reality
One foot in each doorway
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
Happiness comes slowly
weaving its way through the butterflies in your stomach
as you step into the hall, seeing
all the open doors
wondering which to knock on, who to know.
Then it’s diagonal crossing
and shaking fish. It’s a group picture that still hangs in your best friend’s room to remind you of how much you can age in a year.
Suddenly it’s the ballet and lingering looks. It’s drunk astronomy videos, and tea with second intentions. It’s well developed boys with delicate minds, who are more hurt by misthrown words. (I’m sorry, still. Those months of silence did a number on me too.)
It’s red lips and falling leaves. It’s pulling yourself together out of the pieces spread around campus, and creating one rule: don’t **** DSig boys.
Then it’s floorcest, but this time more wholesome. It’s meeting the man who’s sure to be your best-man at your wedding, and wondering how you could be so similar, could love someone so much. It’s being scared that people aren’t puzzle pieces and losing one to gain another is never the same. But then realizing that maybe the original piece didn’t fit that well to begin with.
It’s a long night at the hospital, because family is family even if you never share secrets. Because sometimes cheez-it crumbs can heal souls.
Then it’s snowstorms, and gossip nights. It’s living with your best friends 24/7 and picking each one up as they threaten to unravel. It’s chugging earl gray and crying over gluten free brownies. It’s getting used to a pseudo-something only to have the ground shift under your feet––again. And then it’s growth. It’s loving other people enough to know when you’re wrong, when to let go.
Finally it’s peace, and midterm cramming. It’s shedding layers of skin and coats so the sun can finally scab over your innocence. It’s making the exodus from your room to hole up in a coffee shop and write, because the school listens now. It’s knowing that so long as you know how to cover a hickey, you’ll never really lose your status as mom.
It’s loving. Happiness is loving. Every stolen moment and stupid, idiotic escapade; every too big personality surrounded by too small quarters.
It is holding fast to the spirit of youth, letting years to come do what they may with the tattooed six on your heart.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 2:21 AM UTC
**It's the pen-equipped rebel, real nutty like pistachios.
Never looking back at the past, or the path he chose,
Tries to keep his passion stowed, but it's such a challenge,
When the world's attacking me, I'm never taking damage.
I use words to my advantage, and the ink stains are my varnish,
Shielding me from any weak attempts to try and tarnish me.
I can weather any weather, whether worse snowstorms or better.
I think I got this poem thing to a Tee just like the letter.
I can turn a pebble to a mountain,
One rebel to a thousand,
Cut myself and bleed, turn my death into a fountain, of youth..**
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
at first, our love was spring,
new and tender and green,
we traded cherry blossoms
and took picnics in the sunlight
we became summer then,
of fire and heat and red,
frantically collecting passion
and free time in our raw throats
autumn came next, with
cooling air and dying leaves and orange
we could feel our love slowly fading
as the days grew shorter and chilly
then, with a shock, winter arrived,
as frost and salt and black and white
the snowstorms we created raged,
and lost us in separate planes
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC