Winter MagicJack Frost arrives,
his thousand or so pixies,
giggling and cheering.
Each one carrying
the tools of their trade.
Magic paint brushes,
and fine tipped pens.
they begin their work.
Painting the thin layer of frost,
on cars, trees,
and even blades of grass.
A starting canvas.
Others take clouds,
fans and pens in hand,
drawing the flakes
from the fluffy easels.
Gently they send
the finished projects to earth,
creating the gentle blanket of winter.
Covering the earth in
pristine beauty as it sleeps.
Quick as they come,
leaving only their work behind.
WinterHer cold hands trace the lands spreading pallor;
In their wake, antique lace of crystal ice-
Scrimshaw tracery of pale frost flowers;
Tears a fickle flurry from fragile skies-
But bitter is her wintered breath the wind,
And ghostly the sound of its satin sighs;
Blue-veined deep the frozen lake of her skin;
Her voice a swansong of icicle lies-
Skeletal spine studded with evergreen-
The sheen of her shimmering white-wove veil
Crowned with holly bush and poinsettia leaf;
Her eyes drowning blue, her skin ghostly pale.
Winter Poem...Winter comes spreading its soft white blanket,
covering everything and everywhere with sparkling snowflake diamonds,
shining in contrast with the metallic gray skies above...
Winter can never reach SpringSpring
Forever there to bring a stop to the cold
Scent mesmerizing, warmth intoxicating
Always wanted, always wished for
Always wished away
Tries to hold on, tries to steal the warmth
Always whisked away by the warmth of Spring
But always there
Wanting what it can't have
Grasping what can't be reached
A weapon in the night
A shield in the light
Always so near
But always destined to be apart