Archives des articles tagués winter

woke up to the whitest
of ideas,
lying still
powdering as flakes
of love were falling down and I
should go get them quick —

groceries. food
for thoughts.
for tough
minds and hearts and
like mine. food for mines
that I should avoid as well as heaps
of snow covering all peace
-fully —
i’m a weightlifter
of boots and hearts.

lost in white is
my way, as is yours,
and the moon
for this overwhelming screen is
weighing on my eyelids like
the heaviest tears of women before
and now
I have things to heave,
to ease —

ebbs. flows.

regular is only a word
some other people have invented
to make sure they control
their snowflake intake;
I am here lying
on a white surface,
waiting for the beautifullest
– irregular –
snowflake to drop
on my tongue,
again and again.


A New Year’s come,
and all I’m left with
is uncertainty and holes
to fill my days with.

Every hour is
too simple,
every minute is
too deep

I lose myself in time.

The night’s back,
and all I have with me
is blank ink and virgin sheets
to write my fate on.

Every silence is
too slow,
every step is
too resounding

I multiply myself in them.

The same yearly thoughts are
there, though I don’t wear any-
thing but white – snow
white, to be cold in.

Every snowflake is
too unique,
every footprint is
too detailed


I melt
my self
in snow

this year
vanish anew

There was once a convoy heading for the West
bound together they were, of the same bones
lying down their path in front of their hooves
lying about their path as the snow would heave

they had packed up heaps of what they had but
as they had not much there was not much weight
piling on them as their feet were grinding what
was left of their fears and defeated minds

they had stories to count on to help them stay
awake and at stake – they had horror stories,
histories to recall and call on when all that was
was a vast no-one – they had fear possibilities

what was it that they found in them was it
a cord that laid consistency in front of them
was it blood that had them dream of a liquid to
grasp was it a gasp or was it an enchantment

there was snow cutting them down in their skin
there were horses refusing to live long and cold
there were hopes thrown like a handful of flakes
on a snow bank there was – a mere dying hand

they had an issue that was no exit they had
their own bodies and minds, restless chilled, blained
bones that they had ground finely until they were
part of the soil again part of the sole plain

they had
no other

just like we had no other
when we met them drenched
covering their needs
on a pure floor

Bursting as birches do
I am left on my own
Out of town
Most of my life has just passed away in a bonfire

Blurrying as blushes do
I am staying here in the mess of woods
I’ll build myself a house out of
A sky so blown
As a rooftop under which I’ll carry on
Picture after picture

I guess I’ll just pour myself some tea
Under leaves and heaps
Over lush
Let me disappear in between
Let me connect until I liquefy into mud

Spread on a bark with a brush

Blent in with moist

(Reena’s whole article here)

This poem has been prompted by Reena Walkling’s picture – thanks to dVerse Poets Pub and their prompt of today.

Winter has started at last, and so has my life, or so it seems.

November had stretched and stretched for too long – hibernation had to end. And the child heart had to come back – the one that’s pushing colleagues in the snow, jumping over snow benches, not caring about borrowing phrases from one language to another, not caring about anything at all, in a way.

The weight of the snow is slowing me down when I’m walking, leaving me more time for a few reflections. A few dances, too, hidden under pretended slips on the coat of ice.

Winter has reminded me that I was happy. Winter has reminded me that I could choose my happiness. That I had to choose it, somehow.

What does that mean? I need to say yes to what makes my heart pump. I know I need both extremes to live; I’d already come to that conclusion earlier. Today, it meant dream through two extra hours of sleep – sip through a latte made by loving hands – stumble upon great poetry I don’t understand and love the fact that I don’t understand it – and later, go dancing in the snow, under starry and city lights.

But I’m not only saying yes to the weekends. I say yes to the purpose I’ve had for a year full-time now: My job as a French teacher, and the numerous connections revolving around it. My life is not about looking perfectly white and brilliant in front of a blackboard; It’s about giving whatever I have – knowledge, patience, empathy, encouragement – to students and see them move forward. (Even see them cut through a snow bench sometimes.)

Thanks to Sui Solitaire and her book the thing about thin for that smooth reminder. (A book review coming up on this blog!)

It may all be about jumping out from oneself and see things differently. For my part, I’ll step into the snow, where the cold bites… and brings back to life.

Maybe I was just meant to make angels. I’ll make mine, and then help a couple angels make themselves.

Let’s help each other, OK?