Poems about snow


№ 1210129

So silent, peacefully snow falls again

So silent, peacefully snow falls again
Through afternoon and all throughout the night;
Snow turns to sleet and pelting freezing rain
As morning breaks to pastel sunrise bright.
White glazing on each branch of leafless trees
And Jack Frost etched each window with his skill;
Nipt our world with a sudden icy freeze,
Delighting young and old with Winter still.
But though this scenery engulfs a while,
Provoking childish antics blissfully;
Soon snowmen melt, which vanishes a smile
And frostbit flowers bloom with greatest glee.
When once again sweet warblers start to sing,
Announcing to the world rebirth of Spring.

falls,  peacefully,  silent,  snow.

Author: Timothy
Date: 07/04/2020

№ 1209643


The winter falls as fast as hailstones. White wonderlands crossing every horizon, except from my bedroom window. Then she comes, in a fearful mood, mitigated by what, I am uncertain. Maybe I did something, maybe I did nothing. As a child I am almost certain it is my fault.

A hand crashes forcefully against my face. Then again and again as I am restrained by the collar of my shirt. I can hear it stretching to its limits and tearing. I can hear this because I have stopped listening to her. Which makes her even angrier.

I disappear. Why bother existing at all? There is a dull sensation of pain, but it is nothing. When she is done I come back. This is how I remember it. Although, I am certain this is wrong. I am just covering up the horrible stuff with some form of acrobatic escapism.

When the fury ends and she is physically and emotionally spent, I am sent to my room. It is a safe prison, a place where I cannot confess my shame and hers to anyone. She is safe from the prying eyes of DCFs and I am safe from her.

Ten to thirty feet away from window I watch the world go on without me. There is a painful longing. My neighbors enjoy the day unsullied by my darkness. I wonder how bad I must be. I cry and wish to die. This is a fact unclouded by time or wishful thinking.

I read the bible. I sneak a real book and read it. The book is wedged between my bed and the wall. I conceal half of it in the covers as I read the other half, adjusting it carefully and as quietly as possible. When I can't read I sleep. I sleep so much that I get tired, then I sleep some more. I work as far ahead in my assignments as I can. Thank goodness the teacher is predictable.

I think, I breathe, I live, but it feels like death. When my sentence is over I am free for a week or so. Then she is angry again. Whatever, back into my cell as I watch the world change. Winter is in its full bloom. Sometimes, I piss in a cup because I am only allowed a certain amount of bathroom visits.

I sit. I think. I sleep. I dream.

I am not even safe in my own dreams. In every dream I am pursued. A monster in space, Freddy Krueger, or just her. I run but spikes start sprouting from the ground, and every step sends spasms of sharp pain through my feet. I can fly but only so far and so high. Electric wires act like rubber bands and sling me painfully back to the spike filled earth. There is no freedom.

I am out for a day. Then back in again. Sad songs repeat themselves on my cassette player. This only perpetuates and deepens my agony. The children laugh and play slinging snowballs dangerously fast at each other's face. Why am I the freak? Why can't I be free?

The violence subsides. Now there are only harsh, well extremely harsh words, hundreds of sentences to writes, and longer confinements. I come and go so fast that it feels like I spend more time in my room then I have ever spent anywhere else.

Summer comes, and thank goodness she has to work. I have some free time. However, summer passes and the spring brings with it the same dullness. Now, I am back to winter. My life has become a sad echo. The kids can see that I am weak. Of course I am weak. I must be weak, because I can't handle what must be normal.

The snow comes, so deep, white, pure, and humbling. I watch it for days. No one goes outside. My room becomes a strange universe with me at the center spinning but never moving. I never leave this room, except for meals and the occasional poop. There is something building up inside. I open the window. Then I slam it just as quickly. I open it again feeling the full frosty force of Mother Nature. What a glorious breeze. I shiver with pleasure and with the coldness of it all.

In the past I have tried to kill myself, but I can't seem to die. God won't let me go, and neither will she. So, the window comes open again. I am overcome with another impulse. With no shirt or shoes I jump out the window. It is only a two foot drop. My feet bury themselves in the cold snow. I run around as long as I can stand it, till my feet ache with the pain of cold, then pull myself back in.

The next day I do it again. I run about a block or so and return. It feels amazing. My mind can barely take in the magnificence of it all. I hope that winter will last forever. The pain and pleasure of it all excites me. My feet go from warm to frosted then I focus on the sensation of them warming up again slowly. It is like they go from alive to dead then come back alive again.

There it is. The grand pleasure of a small release. No fairytales or dragons. I come and go as I please. No one is outside but me. Me reveling in the cold; me dancing like a madman. I do not get sick. The beast never catches me. She is defied without pain. My dreams don't change. The world doesn't get that much better.

Then when the snow fades and children, come back out to play I am trapped again. But, but this minor pleasure remains. For a bit I came and went as I pleased, free to freeze or not.


Author: Graff1980
Date: 06/04/2020

№ 1209431


I hope this snow never melts, the snow plows break down, and we spend all our time making memories
I admit that's kind of extreme.

But i don't care who i have to beg or how many people i have to pay off
These days are beautiful and i want to stay here with you


Author: BB Nothing
Date: 06/04/2020

№ 1208903

Snow Days

After sleeping in until 11,
I get to act like I'm 10 again.
Play Lego's with my brother
While blasted music we both love.

Rediscovering imagination and old memories.
While new are being made.

days,  snow.

Author: Alice Kay
Date: 06/04/2020

№ 1208682

Improvisations: Light And Snow: 10

It is night time, and cold, and snow is falling,
And no wind grieves the walls.
In the small world of light around the arc-lamp
A swarm of snowflakes falls and falls.
The street grows silent. The last stranger passes.
The sound of his feet, in the snow, is indistinct.
What forgotten sadness is it, on a night like this,
Takes possession of my heart?
Why do I think of a camellia tree in a southern garden,
With pink blossoms among dark leaves,
Standing, surprised, in the snow?
Why do I think of spring?
The snowflakes, helplessly veering, ,
Fall silently past my window;
They come from darkness and enter darkness.
What is it in my heart is surprised and bewildered
Like that camellia tree,
Beautiful still in its glittering anguish?
And spring so far away!

light,  snow.

Author: Conrad Aiken
Date: 05/04/2020

№ 1208609

Snow-melt (haiku)

Swollen earth bulging
Darkness stretches reaching out
Snow white trilliums

*words in the wind

haiku,  melt,  snow.

Author: words in the wind
Date: 05/04/2020

№ 1208538

Your Snow Would Melt

Tracing your backbone
With sweet little kisses
Reminds me
Of the cordillera,
Challenging &
So beautiful,
A climber's dream
Come true.

And if you only knew,
How I love
To use
My thick rope,
Your snow would melt.

melt,  snow.

Author: Jonny Angel
Date: 05/04/2020

№ 1207491


Oh! mother where are the snow falls of yester years?
Where are the great king Ashoka and the world master Sankaracharya?
Where is the ujjayani that was immersed in the literary effluence of
The great dramatist Kalidasa?

Where is the light that shone from the piercing eyes of the warrior
Queen Rudrama Devi and the Goddess Durga?
Where are the snow falls of yester years?

Where is the buzzing sound of the bees that came from the corridors
Of the great king Shajahan? Where are the echoing sounds of the war monger
The sword Thikkana? Where is the gallooping white horse climbed by the unconquerable warrior queen of Jhansi Lakshmi Bai?
Where are the snow falls of yester years?

Where is the fire that emanated from the broad shoulders of
The inimitable king and connoisseur of art, Sree Krishna devaraya?

What happened to the living breaths of Balachandra, the young warrior
And brahmanaya, The great warrior and social reformer?
Where are the snow falls of yester years?

Where are the kings, the great poets, the warriors, the chaste queens?
Where have they gone?

Where are the foot prints of the golden wings of time that fanned and fled?
Oh! Mother, Where are the snow falls of yester years? Where are the snow falls of yester years?

falls,  snow,  years,  yester.

Date: 04/04/2020