Snowstorm Poems

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.
...

The railway rattled and roared and swung
With jolting and bumping trucks.
The sun, like a billiard red ball, hung
In the Western sky: and the tireless tongue
...

The Eurydice—it concerned thee, O Lord:
Three hundred souls, O alas! on board,
Some asleep unawakened, all un-
...

Because there was no other place
to flee to,
I came back to the scene of the disordered senses,
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Welcome, wild Northeaster!
Shame it is to see
Odes to every zephyr;
Ne'er a verse to thee.
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The snowman was confused and didn't know why

passion and reason were in balance.
Last week, he had to face a lot of snow.
...

All night, all day, in dizzy, downward flight,
Fell the wild-whirling, vague, chaotic snow,
Till every landmark of the earth below,
Trees, moorlands, roads, and each familiar sight
...

Outside the snowstorm spins, and hides
The world beneath a pall.
Snowed under are the paper-girl,
The papers and the stall.
...

Mommy's getting wrinkles.
Daddy has grey hair.
It wasn't very long ago
when those things weren't there.
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Snow is the frozen drop of water falling to ground,
It falls from the sky as small white flakes bound.
It is gift of nature that does well or harm,
It is used to remove pain in waist and arm.
...

a snowstorm leaves
a passing
wintertime belief
the white and dark
...

IN summer dusk the valley lies
With far-flung shadow veil;
A cloud-sea laps the precipice
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Down in the pine needles
in the snowstorm-stogged ravine
an Evenki idol stands
fixing his eyes on the taiga.
...

shining
swirling
slowly
holding
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When our yacht sails seaward on steady keel
And the wind is moist with breath of brine
And our laughter tells of our perfect weal,
We may carol the praises of ruby wine;
...

To his home, his once white, once lov'd cottage,
Late at night, a poor inebriate came;
To his wife, the waiting wife and daughter
Who for him had fann'd the midnight flame.
...

Does the weather make me suffer more than anyone

Was a dark cloud assigned to hound me
...

This is a lung disease. Silicate dust makes it.
The dust causing the growth of

This is the X-ray picture taken last April.
...

The night is young yet; an enchanted night
In early summer: calm and darkly bright.

I love the Night, and every little breeze
...

Thus all were satisfied, and day by day,
For two sweet years a happy course was theirs;
Happy, but yet the fortunate, the young
Loved, and much cared-for, entered on his strife,-
...

I have no thoughts of loving you until tomorrow.
As in life or death, do we part from our marriage?
So it is. I will adore you more tomorrow.
When we are both married and I am on my deathbed,
...

The morning wind blowing
From Inwangsan feels like a snowstorm,
The mid-autumn the street trees've already
Turned a deeply red form.
...

Yes, I know it's the cruelest month
But I can't help smiling for the robins,
And chickadees are singing in the rain
The winter has been up and down
...

fossil fuels power our homes
keeping lights on our rooms warm
who wants to sit in darkness
cold freezing in winter snowstorm
...

Thinking a man for ten thousand days,
Embracing a poem before, once he'd penned
For her, she'd recited a verse in her heart, in lifetime days.
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April 7th, the delayed day
Of the Cubs opener at last.
The Milwaukee Brewers they play.
I predict the weather forecast
...

And everything has a scent… When he lies, he exhales words covered by the faint scent of long dead forget-me-nots forgotten. My promises are prismatically pretty yet reek in undertone like a collacine of maggots mindlessly chewing through rotting matter and when they whisper, 'I love you…' in that way, their words cover you like mustard gas; blistering. Scent tethers tightly and to dismiss 'Skin Musk' and baby powder is to dismiss her. To feel true fear is to smell Marlboro smoke and stale beer as he gruffly states, 'No one will believe you..' The deep winter snowstorm, quietly violent, is the fragrance of all-encapsulating heartbreak. Disappointment has an odor so heavy that it hangs within all bonds, inevitable, immobile… perpetual. Happiness smells bitterly sour like the taste of clovers, jealousy green, and holding hands with love is the rusty effluvium of blood. Existence, as a whole, is covered in the unremarkable smell that accompanies a thick stratum of dust; musty and insignificant. And death- the end and the beginning… From death emanates the sweet aroma of tulips as they smile with razor sharp teeth.
...

Ok,
Loving beauty...
never ends.
Heaven help me
...

A Lonely Heart

Alone in an unforgiving sea,
my hand reaches deep
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Snowball battle with a snowman

Northern entertaining under the sunlight
...