Every mile is two in winter.
George Herbert in Jacula Prudentum
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Related quotes
Seasonable Retour-Knell
SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
Author notes
A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000
In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.
For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.
Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.
One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.
Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllll
For previous version see below
_______________________________________
SPRING SUMMER
Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.
Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.
AUTUMN WINTER
Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.
Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Winter Message
A flake of snow in flurry thro’ the air
Had landed as a kiss upon my cheek:
A secret message, just for me to share;
To take to heart but never dare to speak
About or presuppose to other eyes
Your open feelings – distant though they are.
And so, upon your lips, my OWN surprise:
A flake of snow returned from me afar.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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As Winter raged
Winter was at war.
Her subterfuge:
Crumble grey-white flakes upon the scene.
The air, dead;
Dead too, the sound –
Blunted by the whitewash.
Motion, dead –
Bluing chill saw to that.
Everything ground to a halt –
Like an empty train, crawling, seizing;
Eventually to die sprawled along a ghosted platform –
A lifeless plain of concrete.
I still had far to go –
Or so this brain computed
– Tried to –
Inside my own raging storm of white noise,
Howling in its desperation.
Now wild, blitz-wild,
I bore an irrepressible thought –
A goal, focus, idée fixe:
To clasp a frosted hand around
A radiant mug of sugar-laden
Calorie-heavy
Full-fat milk chocolate –
Steam wraiths writhing over
A freshly-spooned whirlpool,
Sultry in their invitation:
‘Come, sip, sip some more;
Soothe yourself in balmy richness.’
I still had far to go…
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Winter Born and Live
Some people enter the world
to indigo skies,
the sun beams
on their blessed souls
season after season.
Never a day of
storms or showers form,
in their world
there are no winters.
Their grin comes
without expense,
their soul
without pause flourishes.
Groundhog never appears
to see his shadow,
for spring is
constantly assured.
Nothing did they do
to improve or disparage
their springtime birth.
Their blessed eternal Eastertide
is a purely bestowed.
Any other season
but the consecrated
spring they do not know.
Others enter the world
from inception
blizzards never cease
Hardly a day of a sunny beam
before began sqa ually rage spurned
upon their countenance.
One storm flows
in timely order
after the other,
giving them forever winter,
hail and snow and gales.
Zeus did not curse them
for a deed or word,
but in good fortune
they are not superb.
Though if to see their spirits
you would not presume,
that spring does not show its face
oft to the winter born.
They have a frosty smile still,
upon the winter they do not grieve.
They beam with joy peculiarly
like a summer baby born,
[...] Read more
poem by Sandra Dodd
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Gallows Pole
Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,
Think I see my friends coming,
Riding a many mile.
Friends, did you get a little silver?
Did you get a little gold?
What did you bring me, my dear friends,
To keep me from the gallows pole?
What did you bring me to keep me from the gallows pole?
I couldnt get no silver, I couldnt get no gold,
You know that were too damn poor
To keep you from the gallows pole.
Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,
I think I see my brother coming,
Riding a many mile.
Brother, did you get me some silver?
Did you get a little gold?
What did you bring me, my brother,
To keep me from the gallows pole?
Brother, I brought you some silver,
I brought a little gold,
I brought a little of evry thing
To keep you from the gallows pole.
Yes, I brought you to keep you from the gallows pole.
Hangman, hangman, turn your head awhile,
I think I see my sister coming,
Riding a many mile, mile, mile, mile, mile.
Sister, I implore you, take him by the hand,
Take him to some shady bower,
Save me from the wrath of this man,
Please take him,
Save me from the wrath of this man, man.
Hangman, hangman, upon your face a smile,
Pray tell me that Im free to ride,
Ride for many mile, mile, mile.
Oh, yes, you got a fine sister,
She warmed my blood from cold,
Brought my face to boiling hot
To keep you from the gallows pole,
Your brother brought me silver,
Your sister warmed my soul,
But now I laugh and pull so hard
And see you swinging on the gallows pole
song performed by Led Zeppelin
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Rocket Love
Do do do, do do do, do do do, do do do
Do do do, do do do, do do do-oo
I longed for you since I was born
A woman sensitive and warm
And that you were
With pride and strength no one would test
But yet have feminie finesse
And so much more
You took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
A female shakespeare of your time
With looks to blow picassos mind
You were the best
Your body moved with grace and song
Like symphonies by bach or brahms
Nevertheless, oh oh
You took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Ooh you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Da da da, da da da, da da da, da da da
Da da da, da da da-aa
The passion burning in your heart
Would make hells fire seem like a spark
Where did it go
Just why that you would overnight
Turn love to stone as cold as ice
Ill never know
But you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Baby you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Cold, too cold, you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Oh, oh, oh, took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to into this cold, cold world
I would not do that to a dog
Took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
[...] Read more
song performed by Stevie Wonder
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Of The Wooing Of Halbiorn The Strong
A STORY FROM THE LAND-SETTLING BOOK OF ICELAND, CHAPTER XXX.
At Deildar-Tongue in the autumn-tide,
So many times over comes summer again,
Stood Odd of Tongue his door beside.
What healing in summer if winter be vain?
Dim and dusk the day was grown,
As he heard his folded wethers moan.
Then through the garth a man drew near,
With painted shield and gold-wrought spear.
Good was his horse and grand his gear,
And his girths were wet with Whitewater.
“Hail, Master Odd, live blithe and long!
How fare the folk at Deildar-Tongue?”
“All hail, thou Hallbiorn the Strong!
How fare the folk by the Brothers’-Tongue?”
“Meat have we there, and drink and fire,
Nor lack all things that we desire.
But by the other Whitewater
Of Hallgerd many a tale we hear.”
“Tales enow may my daughter make
If too many words be said for her sake.”
“What saith thine heart to a word of mine,
That I deem thy daughter fair and fine?
Fair and fine for a bride is she,
And I fain would have her home with me.”
“Full many a word that at noon goes forth
Comes home at even little worth.
Now winter treadeth on autumn-tide,
So here till the spring shalt thou abide.
Then if thy mind be changed no whit,
And ye still will wed, see ye to it!
And on the first of summer days,
A wedded man, ye may go your ways.
Yet look, howso the thing will fall,
My hand shall meddle nought at all.
Lo, now the night and rain draweth up,
And within doors glimmer stoop and cup.
And hark, a little sound I know,
The laugh of Snaebiorn’s fiddle-bow,
My sister’s son, and a craftsman good,
When the red rain drives through the iron wood.”
Hallbiorn laughed, and followed in,
And a merry feast there did begin.
Hallgerd’s hands undid his weed,
Hallgerd’s hands poured out the mead.
Her fingers at his breast he felt,
As her hair fell down about his belt.
Her fingers with the cup he took,
[...] Read more
poem by William Morris
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On The Prowl
Well night after lonely night
My head dont touch the bed
Im on a two-lane black-top
Cruisin in my rocket sled
Im on the prowl
Yeah Im on the prowl
Well Im looking for a gal, gal, gal
Hey, hey, hey, Im on the prowl
Theres only one thing that Im certain
Every mile, mile, mile
Keep a-searchin, serachin, serachin
For a wild, wild, child
Im on the prowl
Im on the prowl
Im looking for a gal, gal, gal
Hey, hey, hey, Im on the prowl
They got a name for dracula
And frankensteins son
They aint got no name now (mister)
For this monster (thing that) Ive become
Im on the prowl
Im on the prowl
Im looking for a gal, gal, gal
Hey, hey, hey, Im on the prowl
I keep lookin
I keep searchin
I keep searchin
I keep searchin
Only one thing that Im certain
Every mile, mile, mile
I keep searchin, searchin, searchin, searchin, searchin
In the morning I check my mirror
And I hang my head and cry
But at night I get a burning, burning, burning deep inside
Im on the prowl
Im on the prowl
Im looking for a gal, gal, gal
Hey, hey, hey, Im on the prowl
In the morning I check my mirror
And I hang my head and cry
But at night I get a burning, burning, burning, burning, burning. burning
Theres only one thing that Im certain
Every while, while, while
While my heart is hurtin, hurtin
Every mile, mile, mile
I gotta keep searchin, searchin, searchin, searchin, searchin
song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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California Dreamin'
All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
I've been for a walk on a winter's day
I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A.
California dreamin' on such a winter's day
Stopped in to a church I passed along the way
Well I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray
You know the preacher liked the cold
He knows I'm gonna stay
California dreamin' on such a winter's day
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...
All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
I've been for a walk on a winter's day
If I didn't tell her I could leave today
California dreamin' on such a winter's day
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...
On such a winter's day...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...
song performed by DJ Sammy from Heaven
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Four Seasons : Winter
See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought,
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms,
Congenial horrors, hail! with frequent foot,
Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nursed by careless Solitude I lived,
And sung of Nature with unceasing joy,
Pleased have I wander'd through your rough domain;
Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure;
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst;
Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd,
In the grim evening sky. Thus pass'd the time,
Till through the lucid chambers of the south
Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smiled.
To thee, the patron of her first essay,
The Muse, O Wilmington! renews her song.
Since has she rounded the revolving year:
Skimm'd the gay Spring; on eagle-pinions borne,
Attempted through the Summer-blaze to rise;
Then swept o'er Autumn with the shadowy gale;
And now among the wintry clouds again,
Roll'd in the doubling storm, she tries to soar;
To swell her note with all the rushing winds;
To suit her sounding cadence to the floods;
As is her theme, her numbers wildly great:
Thrice happy could she fill thy judging ear
With bold description, and with manly thought.
Nor art thou skill'd in awful schemes alone,
And how to make a mighty people thrive;
But equal goodness, sound integrity,
A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted soul,
Amid a sliding age, and burning strong,
Not vainly blazing for thy country's weal,
A steady spirit regularly free;
These, each exalting each, the statesman light
Into the patriot; these, the public hope
And eye to thee converting, bid the Muse
Record what envy dares not flattery call.
Now when the cheerless empire of the sky
To Capricorn the Centaur Archer yields,
And fierce Aquarius stains the inverted year;
Hung o'er the farthest verge of Heaven, the sun
Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day.
Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot
His struggling rays, in horizontal lines,
Through the thick air; as clothed in cloudy storm,
Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky;
And, soon-descending, to the long dark night,
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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Cotswolds
The road stretches far in front of me
Lined by Cotswold stone walls and old oak trees
Light flickering through branches like peppered stars
Reflecting slowly across the bonnet of my car
I see a pigeon flying alongside trying to keep pace
And feel the early morning sun kiss my face
What better way to make you smile
Driving through the Cotswolds mile after mile
If everything in life could be as good as this
The world would be happy and full of bliss
A sign I see says it's not far to go
20 minutes at the most if I go with the flow
The road damp after heavens opened up in a stream
Leaving a rainbow coloured sky as if made in a dream
It would be nice to stop and ponder for a while
Driving through the Cotswolds mile after mile
The end of my road is as far as I want it to be
Wherever this is, the choice is mine you see
I'm not there yet and have some distance to go
So slowly turn up the volume a notch on the radio
With fields and trees rushing past and sunroof open
Listening to the music with words sung not spoken
I like the sound, I like the rhythm and style
Driving through the Cotswolds mile after mile
My road is coming to an end - beautiful as it may be
Cotswold stone replaced by daffodils and blossom trees
Wide pavements give a feeling of peace and space
I see a lady jogging with her hair out of place
The postman putting mail through a door
Wonder if it's important, wonder who it's for?
And as the sun comes up I close my eyes and smile
Dreaming of driving through the Cotswolds mile after mile
poem by JeanJacques Evendon
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With Love Winter I Encounter
Winter is a cool season
Teaching in coolness a lesson
To each and every person
Get profits those who listen
In the night when it snows
The reason God alone knows
Coldness affects the nose
Entry to Air nose will close
Especially during Winter
Chill breeze will happily enter
For everything Sun is the center
To Sun, God alone is the mentor
Will come in Winter light-festival
All await eagerly its arrival
It will bring in mood superb revival
That festival helps in peace-survival
Winter night will be so chill
Feeling it will give a strange thrill
Too much of it will make body ill
Doing in moderation needs skill
Darkness will come quickly
Morning feelings will be sickly
Sun will be late, but will come luckily
Fog and snow will spread thickly
Stars and Moon will brightly shine
To prove the presence of Divine
Chill weather is sometimes fine
Rest of the time, it is a fine
Winter will congest the chest
Severe cold will be the guest
Doctors may take a test
But that cold, only God can arrest
Taking a cup of hot milk
Will bring energy in bulk
Night Sky will shine like silk
So there is no need to sulk
In case body is exposed
Punishment will be imposed
Nature can never be opposed
'God is Nature' is by all supposed
[...] Read more
poem by Mailrangam Visvanathan Venkataraman
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Lights Along the Mile
THE NIGHT descends in glory, and adown the purple west
The young moon, like a crescent skiff, upon some fairy quest,
Has dropped below the opal lights that linger low and far
To havens that are beaconed by the Pilot’s evening star;
And slowly, softly, from above the darkness is unfurled
A wondrous curtain loosened on the windows of the world.
Then suddenly, like magic, where smoke-stacks fumed the while,
Ten thousand lights flash out aflame along the Golden Mile.
And thro’ the dusky gauze that falls upon the looming mines
Dim spires and spars of poppet-heads in faintly broken lines
Grow clearer to the vision, till the shadow picture seems
The argosies from half the world i’ the misty Port o’ Dreams;
And lo! where golden Day had reigned in radiant robes of blue,
A god of joy and hope, who thrilled the sons of toil and rue,
Now comes the Queen of Starland forth to scatter with a smile
Her diamonds that flash and blaze along the Golden Mile.
And all the night a thousand stamps in ceaseless rhythmic roar
Are beating out the tragic gold from endless streams of ore,
These harnessed giants of the will that so are trained and taught
To answer to the sentient touch and catch the thrill of thought,
From nerve to nerve that quivers thro’ the animated steel,
And makes it live and makes it move and strength emotions feel,
Till in their voices music comes insistent all the while
Reverberating massive chants along the Golden Mile.
And down below, a thousand feet, a thousand miners tear
The golden ore, the glistening ore that holds such joy and care;
Ah! down below, another world, with hopes, desires, and dreams,—
Such playthings as the tyrant Fate in fickle will beseems.
Ah! down below, where panting drills are eating thro’ the rock,
Where life and death are lurking in the fire’s convulsive shock,—
Where many a sturdy hero delves within the lode’s long aisle
To win him love, the gold of love, along the Golden Mile.
Now speeding westward flies the train into the wondrous night,
The engine pulsing as a man who strives with strenuous might;
Its great heart seems to throb and throb, its breath comes fierce and warm
To vitalize the force that sleeps along its sinuous form;
So dreaming back from Somerville, a sad thought fills the air,
And starts a poignant fancy o’er the wondrous city where
From Lamington to Ivanhoe there’s many a tear and smile
Beneath the myriad lights that gleam along the Golden Mile.
How bright they glitter down the streets o’er camp, and mill, and mine,
The reflex of that mystic stream that flows from dark to shine—
The brother of that vital spark that wakes from mystery,
And grows to life and will and power and human entity;
The confluent currents of the mind that holds us all in fief,
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Thomas Chandler
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Saltbush Bill
Now is the law of the Overland that all in the West obey --
A man must cover with travelling sheep a six-mile stage a day;
But this is the law which the drovers make, right easily understood,
They travel their stage where the grass is bad, but they camp where the grass is good;
They camp, and they ravage the squatter's grass till never a blade remains.
Then they drift away as the white clouds drift on the edge of the saltbush plains:
From camp to camp and from run to run they battle it hand to hand
For a blade of grass and the right to pass on the track of the Overland.
For this is the law of the Great Stock Routes, 'tis written in white and black --
The man that goes with a travelling mob must keep to a half-mile track;
And the drovers keep to a half-mile track on the runs where the grass is dead,
But they spread their sheep on a well-grassed run till they go with a two-mile spread.
So the squatters hurry the drovers on from dawn till the fall of night,
And the squatters' dogs and the drovers' dogs get mixed in a deadly fight.
Yet the squatters' men, thought they haunt the mob, are willing the peace to keep,
For the drovers learn how to use their hands when they go with the travelling sheep;
But this is the tale of a Jackaroo that came from a foreign strand,
And the fight that he fought with Saltbush Bill, the King of the Overland.
Now Saltbush Bill was a drover tough as ever the country knew,
He had fought his way on the Great Stock Routes from the sea to the big Barcoo;
He could tell when he came to a friendly run that gave him a chance to spread,
And he knew where the hungry owners were that hurried his sheep ahead;
He was drifting down in the Eighty drought with a mob that could scarcely creep
(When the kangaroos by the thousand starve, it is rough on the travelling sheep),
And he camped one night at the crossing-place on the edge of the Wilga run;
"We must manage a feed for them here," he said, "or half of the mob are done!"
So he spread them out when they left the camp wherever they liked to go,
Till he grew aware of a Jackaroo with a station-hand in tow.
They set to work on the straggling sheep, and with many a stockwhip crack
The forced them in where the grass was dead in the space of the half-mile track;
And William prayed that the hand of Fate might suddenly strike him blue
But he'd get some grass for his starving sheep in the teeth of that Jackaroo.
So he turned and cursed the Jackaroo; he cursed him, alive or dead,
From the soles of his great unwieldly feet to the crown of his ugly head,
With an extra curse on the moke he rode and the cur at his heels that ran,
Till the Jackaroo from his horse got down and went for the drover-man;
With the station-hand for his picker-up, though the sheep ran loose the while,
They battled it out on the well-grassed plain in the regular prize-ring style.
Now, the new chum fought for his honour's sake and the pride of the English race,
But the drover fought for his daily bread with a smile on his bearded face;
So he shifted ground, and he sparred for wind, and he made it a lengthy mill,
And from time to time as his scouts came in they whispered to Saltbush Bill --
"We have spread the sheep with a two-mile spread, and the grass it is something grand;
You must stick to him, Bill, for another round for the pride of the Overland."
The new chum made it a rushing fight, though never a blow got home,
Till the sun rode high in the cloudless sky and glared on the brick-red loam,
Till the sheep drew in to the shelter-trees and settled them down to rest;
Then the drover said he would fight no more, and gave his opponent best.
[...] Read more
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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To Each a Season
Summer kisses Winter's Hands
thereby warming them
as she takes her hair
and wraps him
in the midst of the blowing gale;
her arms reach out
to his icy branches
giving a spark to each sleeping bud
awaking each from its frozen winter encasement.
But Winter's Heart
is cold indeed
whispering to her in her ministrations
'I am Winter and Winter is my fate;
from my icy cradle
Spring is born
and I must not miss her birth.'
Summer was angry.
'Am I not more fair than she?
Have I not given you solace
in your icy retreat?
Have I not offered you much more than she?
If I withdraw my succorings
where would you be? '
'I would' Winter said
'Winter be.'
With that Summer took her Golden Hair
threw it back upon her beautiful shoulders
asking herself 'Where is the gratitude? '
Winter reached with his thin cold fingers
uttering,
'Summer is too warm for me because without
my wild blizzard face I lose my Winter Grace and Winter's dignity-
becoming only melting ice;
discarded slush
snow-flake crushed
and I would wander
my melting realm
and seep into muddy ground,
gone.'
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Winter Pond
Sting-chill of winter matt –
Her frozen hand caressed us all;
And calming bleach of silence
Pressed upon the rustic scape
To leave an ashen underbelly –
Once raging summer chroma.
Even Winter’s gelid lungs laboured
Under heavy drag of flakes –
Their pilgrimage: to stay a deadened floor
In crunch-white peace.
And round about, the weight of time
– Collapsing under Winter’s drag –
Transmutes to grey: it’s three o’clock –
No lights pricking black out here! –
Even the night globe,
The Great Reflector – stonewalled;
Camouflaged by lead-laden cloud
Lolling in the claustrophobic noon.
At ground, a farm pond –
Seized in a dark hiatus –
Offered up repentance –
Why, it dared to harbour life!
I forgave it in my desperate gaze
Upon the crazy-paving surface,
That sealed in the black-chill temperature,
Where at bottom, something nithered
Still survived.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Cold winter night
It was a cold winter night.
All was deadly still.
My guts so tight
I must kill!
The cry of a wolf enters my head
Like a train whistle that echoes far away.
Can it be…something lives on this winter night?
Follow the sound and pray
It does not go away.
My hunger juices flowing; I go.
I and the wolf both now know
Neither is alone in the land of snow.
Oh, how I wish I had his sight
On this cold winter night
The north wind moved in the night before.
The ground all snow and bitter cold…so bitter cold.
The sky filled with stars.
The snow grows old.
My guts so tight
What a cold, cold winter night!
The wolf stays hidden from my sight
With it’s furry coat of gray and white.
He glides across the snow without sound
Like a ballerina tiptoeing over the ground.
My guts so tight
On this bitter cold winter night
I with my blood running slow
My hands burning cold; my face red glow
Driven by the pain in my gut
On this cold-cold bitter winter night
I must kill
To make the night still
So the hunger pains
Will be gone again
I hear nothing on this cold winter night
My hair stands up on the back of my neck
I fear the wolf knows
I turn
Crutch to spring
His fangs showing white; my knife in my hand
We circle like two roosters in a pen.
For one this will be the end.
The pain in my gut is still tight
[...] Read more
poem by Ronald Brissette
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The four Seasons of the Year.
Spring.
Another four I've left yet to bring on,
Of four times four the last Quaternion,
The Winter, Summer, Autumn & the Spring,
In season all these Seasons I shall bring:
Sweet Spring like man in his Minority,
At present claim'd, and had priority.
With smiling face and garments somewhat green,
She trim'd her locks, which late had frosted been,
Nor hot nor cold, she spake, but with a breath,
Fit to revive, the nummed earth from death.
Three months (quoth she) are 'lotted to my share
March, April, May of all the rest most fair.
Tenth of the first, Sol into Aries enters,
And bids defiance to all tedious winters,
Crosseth the Line, and equals night and day,
(Stil adds to th'last til after pleasant May)
And now makes glad the darkned northern wights
Who for some months have seen but starry lights.
Now goes the Plow-man to his merry toyle,
He might unloose his winter locked soyl:
The Seeds-man too, doth lavish out his grain,
In hope the more he casts, the more to gain:
The Gardner now superfluous branches lops,
And poles erects for his young clambring hops.
Now digs then sowes his herbs, his flowers & roots
And carefully manures his trees of fruits.
The Pleiades their influence now give,
And all that seem'd as dead afresh doth live.
The croaking frogs, whom nipping winter kil'd
Like birds now chirp, and hop about the field,
The Nightingale, the black-bird and the Thrush
Now tune their layes, on sprayes of every bush.
The wanton frisking Kid, and soft-fleec'd Lambs
Do jump and play before their feeding Dams,
The tender tops of budding grass they crop,
They joy in what they have, but more in hope:
For though the frost hath lost his binding power,
Yet many a fleece of snow and stormy shower
Doth darken Sol's bright eye, makes us remember
The pinching North-west wind of cold December.
My second moneth is April, green and fair,
Of longer dayes, and a more temperate Air:
The Sun in Taurus keeps his residence,
And with his warmer beams glanceth from thence
This is the month whose fruitful showrs produces
All set and sown for all delights and uses:
The Pear, the Plum, and Apple-tree now flourish
The grass grows long the hungry beast to nourish.
The Primrose pale, and azure violet
[...] Read more
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Winter Wonderland
Winter wonderland
Sleighbells ring, are you listnin?
In the lane snow is glistnin
A beautiful sight
Were happy tonight
Walkin in a winter wonderland!
Gone away is the bluebird
Here to stay is the new bird
He sings a love song
As we go along
Walkin in a winter wonderland!
In the meadow we can build a snowman
Then pretend that he is parson brown
Hell say, are you married?
Well say, no, man!
But you can do the job when youre in town!
Later on well conspire
As we dream by the fire
To face unafraid
The plans that we made
Walkin in a winter wonderland!
In the meadow we can build a snowman
And pretend that hes a circus clown
Well have lots of fun with mr. snowman
Until the other kiddies knock him down!
When it snows, aint it thrillin
Though your nose gets a chillin?
Well frolic and play
The eskimo way
Walkin in a winter wonderland!
Walkin in a winter wonderland!
(walkin in a winter wonderland!)
Sleighbells ring are you listenin
(walkin in a winter wonderland!)
Sleighbells ring are you listenin
In the lane snow is glistenin
(walkin in a winter wonderland!)
Are you listenin, sleighbells ring are you listenin
(walkin in a winter wonderland!)
Sleighbells ring are you listenin, sleighbells ring
(walkin in a winter wonderland!)
song performed by Jewel
Added by Lucian Velea
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Don't die this winter
Don't die this unfriendly winter and interrupt it
Unfriendly people should speak and go
It's a cold winter seasons are cousins
They visit one, at the time
Even the world is trembling
is in white dress
Smoke oozing from its mouth
Its cold dry winter
And all the seasons are on succession
It's a windy winter
Its hard to live
This winter is unusual
It freeze the pockets of the pocketers
Is a cloudy winter and sun is scarcity
We are all out for it
We all hunt it like hunters
And hunted like an animal
When we find it
We lean on the walls like lizards
Its winter of winters
All our cloths are on us and still freezing
It's a Monday of this winter
No one in school and everywhere else
Coldness blare our idea
No birds and animals out
It's freezing to death
Don't die this winter
If you die you might be buried with ice
And snore will be the congregation
Wind will be a choir
It's a winter of questions
If you die today
You will not receive attention you need
Peter will be on fire and other gatekeepers
No one will welcome you in heaven
When you go to hell
Devil will be unfriendly too
he doesn't like visitors on winter
he will ask you to light up your own fire
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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