Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

there are days dazed
snow unshelved from the clouds
cold shroud
crowding the winter's sticks and stones out
alone the moon will be shone tonight
a delightful or a frightful glow
and the wind will moan
Poe-like, as the Raven's wing
flicks off all the little chilled things
that ran once in a river and an ocean
everything still now that was in motion
I have a notion to sit on a windowsill
and shiver

"crowding the winters sticks and stones out"

that's my favorite thing about snow-- the "fullness" it brings to bleak, skeletal winter scenes when it first floats down. reminds me of something I wrote a few years ago, the "seven stages of snow" ...

feathery, sifting grace, muffled peace
pure calm beckons, and now boot prints
tire treads, a blanket torn, moment passed
shoveled into heaps by the avenue, now
brittle and crisp in sunlight, icy crackle
'til gray and grime infuse the remnants
a godawful slush and slog until gone

And it is still falling here in my neck of the woods.

Aside from wind blown clumps of snow hitting my storm door, all is as silent as death.

All is as silent as death

Imaginative poem, Irish.

Thanks everybody----and mnaz thanks for your poem too.

watching the USNE again getting battered
the endless snows from the cold north
bringing blankets of whiteness mixed
with the severe drops in temperatures
while the drought in the west continues
from a nature so seemingly out of balance
so helplessly we talk without answers