La Neige, Charles-François Daubigny (1873)
The snow’s cold whiteness creeps up to my door
While the melancholy sun bids farewell
Mystically crows swarm more than five score
There is an urgent message they must tell
Raising my shovel they will not scatter
With great fear I hold my quivering breath
It’s easy to understand their banter
These darkened creatures sing their song of death
Where summer they’d quietly steal my corn
Autumn barren fields provide easy prey
Not here to repay my gun’s bitter scorn
No they’re just here to say this is my day
Would prefer a single singing angel
Rather than this rowdy crowd of babel
Snow Scene through a Winter Window, Henry Alexander (1870)
Under blankets, another frigid night
Could feel aching chill in my weary bones
Feared what horror there would be my first sight
Feeling confident would be many moans
Looking through button holes, saw the bright white
Tired of the piling up of winter’s snow
This freezing matter is no longer trite
Miserable stuff really must go
A death row prisoner is what I am
Give me my last meal and be done with it
Never have been fan of winter’s program
Ever bored of doing nothing but sit
For the joy of spring I hunger and thirst
Can I survive, it’s but November first
Windy Knob, Greg Sieczkiewicz (2018)
Windy Knob, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Night is now being chased into the past
No signs of hurry to get underway
Tis a time I wish would forever last
Calmness allows my mind to slowly stray
Pure is my vision of new fallen snow
Landscape of white uncomplicated sight
At ease staring at its unsullied glow
Providing no reason to be contrite
Reality tells this moment won’t last
The sun shall slip higher into the sky
Pairs of eyes of many will be amassed
With their loving kisses they shall not shy
Life at Windy Knob is sight to behold
With children untrammeled out in the cold
Elisabeth Sonrel, Dance toward Spring (1904)
Dance toward Spring
Wild woolly winter with its nasty chill,
Not as daunting as it may first appear.
Many times when it provides quite a thrill,
Especially when with those who are dear.
New fallen snow such a beautiful sight,
As it lays silent, to feel crisp clear air.
Calling for banking the fire for the night,
And a blanket with a love one to share.
There are days when the cold teases the skin,
And moments when it slashes as a lance.
Be brave shrug it off with a thoughtful grin.
Keep warm holding love one close as you dance.
Continue to dance all the winter long,
Soon it will be time to sing a spring song.
Photograph manipulated by author
Jack Frost, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
The early sun hides behind a white haze,
Of countless numbers of small downy flakes.
Pulling my chair to the window to gaze,
As often do for these winter’s day breaks.
His artwork never ceases to amaze.
Silver ferns of many varieties.
Each worthy to be in a priceless vase,
And he does it with such simplistic ease.
To see this sight, in your bed mustn’t linger,
As the sun becomes a big eraser.
Should not ever touch them with your finger,
Nor try to save in the ‘frigerator.
What would winter yield without our Jack Frost?
I for one, without his art would be lost.
Link to my first poetry book on Amazon
Evening Glow, Peder Mork Monsted (1920)
Evening Glow, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
The evening glow upon the winter snow,
A lamp that beckons me down the tree row.
Beaten snow a sign of a place to go,
Assured by people with faces aglow.
Heat of eagerness causes a quick pace,
Huffing and puffing to get to the place.
Wondering what sight my eyes shall embrace,
Will I too have that glow upon my face?
An ache in my lungs reaching the last tree.
Heart pounds of what I am about to see.
Beauty before me had no boundary,
Couldn’t be bought with any sum of money.
Virgin snow on a field big as a sea,
Reminding all what it is to be free.
Forest in Winter, Peder Mork Monsted (1915)
Forest in Winter, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
The steady horse and I were nearing home,
When she comes to heel with no touch of rein.
Warning maybe in a place so lonesome,
Or is she stricken with some sort of pain.
Questioning, placed my feet upon the ground.
Patting her softly as I walked around.
Then did become aware, nary a sound,
Giving me a feeling that was profound.
Through visible breath I cast eyes about,
While staining my ears for something to hear.
Did wonder if could be heard if I shout.
Only my echo returned to my ear.
Yet He was here, for I could feel His grace.
Nodding, gave thanks for this heavenly place.