Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The snow melts,
Trickles onto the roads,
Freezes into ice,
Right at my shoes.

And the water rolling off the roofs,
Forms spiked icicles,
Falling from the ledges,
Stabs my arm.
"Inches of snow is better than a light layer of ice."
-The man who slipped on the sidewalk.
J'adore le mois de février,
Le mois le plus court et le plus froid de la saison,
Pour toute une série d’étranges raisons.
Et pourtant, on a l'impression que février est le mois le plus long,
Pour les événements qui se produisent au hasard,
Au milieu des tempêtes  perfides et hivernales
Presque tout est gelé et solide près de la nichée
Des aigles américains à tête blanche,
Sauf les masques de Mardi Gras sous les planches.

Février est la saison de l'amour,
Le mois de la Saint Valentin,
Une crique paradisiaque par excellence,
Où les amoureux se réfugient. Pur, immaculé,
Neigeux, court, sombre et charmant ; Février est
Maintenant le mois de célébration de l'histoire des Noirs,
On se demande comment et pourquoi
Nous obtenons le plus court. C'est une autre histoire
Que nous devrions laisser aux mouettes nomades
Pour déchiffrer. Pas de baigneurs sur les plages de sable,
Sauf quelques oiseaux perchés sur les pauvres branches,
**** des berceaux des pygargues à tête blanche.

Février est un mois de contraste kaléidoscopique,
Là où les chutes de neige se produisent d’une façon typique,
Et ou les amoureux fous rêvent de chaleur sous un paradis
Plein d’espoir, d’amour, de beauté,  de glace et de pluie.

Copyright © Janvier 2022, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés.
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poèmes.
Amo el mes de febrero
El mes más corto y más frío de la temporada
Por una serie de razones personales
Y, sin embargo, parece que es el más largo
Por los eventos que suceden al azar
En medio de traicioneras ráfagas de tormenta invernal
Casi todo está congelado y sólido cerca del nido
De las águilas calvas americanas
Excepto las máscaras de Mardi Gras bajo los estruendos.

Febrero es la temporada del amor
El mes de San Valentín
Una cala paradisíaca por excelencia
Donde los amantes se refugian. Puro, prístino,
Nevado, corto, oscuro y hermoso; ahora es
El mes de celebración de la historia negra
Uno se pregunta por qué y cómo
Obtenemos el más corto. Es otra historia
Que deberíamos dejar que las gaviotas nómadas
Descifren. No hay bañistas en las playas de arena
Solo algunos pájaros posados en las ramas
Lejos de las cunas de las águilas calvas.

Febrero es un mes de contrastes caleidoscópicos
Donde las nevadas son frecuentes
Y los amantes incondicionales sueñan con el calor de un cielo
Lleno de esperanza, amor, belleza y hielo.

Copyright © enero de 2022, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados.
Hébert Logerie es autor de varios poemarios.
I love the month of February,
The shortest and coldest month of the season,
For an array of personal reasons.
And yet, it feels like Feb is the longest,
For the events that happen haphazardly,
Amidst treacherous winter storm blasts.
Quasi everything is frozen and solid near the nest
Of the American bald eagles,
Except the Mardi Gras masks under the rumbles.

February is the season of love,
The month of Saint Valentine,
A quintessential paradise cove,
Where lovers take refuge. Pure, Pristine,
Snowy, short, Pure, dark, and lovely; Feb is now
The celebratory month of Black history,
One wonders why and how
We get the shortest one. It's another story
That we should let the nomad seagulls
Decipher. No bathers on the sandy beaches,
Solely, a few birds are perched on the branches,
Far away from the cribs of the bald eagles.

February is a month of a kaleidoscopic contrast,
Where snowfalls happen quite often,
And ******* lovers dream warmth under a heaven
Full of hope, love, beauty, and ice.

Copyright © January 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Snow is falling...

On the treetops
On the rooftops
On the doorbell

Snow is calling...
MetaVerse Jan 26

Flying in falling
     Softly snow, five blue pigeons
And a white pigeon.  


Sara Barrett Jan 22
Our first snowfall
two teenagers driving through Maryland’s quiet streets,
snowflakes soft as whispers,
pausing the world, binding us in its stillness.

Years later, Montana welcomed us,
its snow blanketing base housing,
our son’s laughter rising like smoke in the cold.
Soon, we welcomed our daughter,
her presence as gentle as freshly fallen snow,
our family growing beneath the frosted skies.

In New Hampshire, snow wrapped us as four,
a family held close through a winter of unknowns,
its quiet presence a reminder of resilience,
of love weathering every storm.

And now, in Florida—
where the sun reigns and snow should be a stranger,
it falls again.
Five hours of wonder cascading from the heavens,
a gift from the elements,
blessing this home, this moment, this us.

Snow has followed our beginnings—
each new chapter marked in white.
It shields, it cleanses,
a quiet protector cloaked in frost,
a sacred pause to reflect, to remember,
to hold close the warmth of our bond.

May it always find us,
this quiet magic,
this pure renewal,
reminding us that wherever we are,
we are blessed,
we are whole,
and we are home.
This poem is a reflection on the role snow has played in my life and the connection it holds with my husband and our journey together. From the winter of 2007, when two teenagers fell in love on snowy Maryland streets, to our first snowfall as a family in Montana, snow has always found us at the start of something new. Now, 17 years later, in the rare magic of Winter Storm Enzo in 2025, we sit together in the Panhandle of Florida, watching 8 inches of snow blanket our world. It feels like a quiet reminder—of love, resilience, and the way snow has always invited us to pause, reflect, and cherish each other as we write the next chapter of our lives.
The streets are frosty,
Blazing white with snow.
The academy has canceled testing,
Because a student has been afflicted with frostbite,
Icy sickness in his fingers.
Welcome to America,
You can go west and burn up,
Or stay to the east and freeze.
This is one crazy winter.
Nyx Jan 21
I met you on that bridge
Walking through the snow.
Face to face with you,
I used my palms to cover your ears
Mouthed "I no longer need you".

I saw your gaze harden
And felt you push me away,
Then I went on my way
Opposite from where I came from.

I doubt that you're still there
Standing underneath the streetlight
Silhouette all aglow
But I am still so sure
That I'll keep looking behind me
Hoping to see your ghost.
Ellery Jan 20
The day is cold and calm,
kissing at my cheeks and ears,
staining me pink
and offering quiet advice–
I listen to it,
pay attention
to the tiny cardinal steps
in the tall snow
as the sun sets
and the faraway trees become orange mountains,
as the straight-up branches of a naked pear tree
point to God,
and I know that I am changing again.
Next page