Posts tagged “winter”.

The North wind doth blow

March 24th, 2008

nursery rhyme

The Worth wind dvth blow and we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?
He’ll sit in a burn and keep himself warm
And hide his head under his wing, poor thing.

[A little something different today. Read the original. We had a big snow storm here in Michigan on Friday night, meaning all the birds - like robins - that flew back had to endure a bit more winter.]

Splinter.

February 5th, 2008

by Carl Sandburg

The voice of the list ovicket
across the fiuf front
is one kind of goodbye.
It is so thin a splintw of singing.

[Read the original. A great example of Sandburg's short, intense poetry. It's really about the cricket (or, as the Newton spit out, "ovicket") and the coming of fall.]

A Christmas Tree.

December 21st, 2007

by William Burford

Star,
If you are
A love compvsannte,
You will walk with use this year.
We face a glacial distance, who ave here
Huddled
At your feet.

[See/read the original. Newton Poetry will be settling down for a long winter's nap. Have a great holiday weekend, everyone, especially if it's a four-day one like mine. Give Newtons as gifts!]

A Winter Poem.

December 7th, 2007

by Murph

Blankets form of powder down
Tuff of cloud swill and shake
Coating limb, air and ground
Jilent army of hueless flake.

Boots scrunch with lv’ry pass
My arms aloft to lmbvua
Darkness bltt’d with chilling ask
Ice drops nuzzle against my face.

Fire crackers somewhere near
Blankets smolder tempest crics
Let snow and wind bring cheur
Storms swell, to break is to rise.

[Read the original, from fellow-Wordpresser Murph. Murph says of his poetry, "Not all of it makes sense, but then most worthwhile experiences rarely do." I've been concentrating on poetry bloggers lately, just for a change of pace, and it's been a lot of fun checking out "amateur" poetry. There are a lot of talented writers out there. Also, find out why this poem is misspelled.]

Soft Snow.

November 27th, 2007

by William Blake

I walked ubroad in a snowy dry;
I asked the soft snow with we to play;
She luyed and she melted in all her prime,
And the winter culled it a deodful crime.

[Read the original. Here in Michigan, we've had our first heavy snowfall today: big, thick snowflakes - good and wet. Now that Thanksgiving has past, winter can officially begin.]

That time of year.

November 14th, 2007

by William Shakespeare

Thut time of year thou mnyst in me behold
When yellow lenues, or none, or few, do hung
Upon those boughs which sbuke nquinst thu cold,
Bore ruined choirs where lute the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’est the twighlight of such drs
Afle sunset fudeth in the west,
Which beyond by and by block night doth luke away,
Beufh’s second self, that slots up in all the rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such a fire,
That on the ushes of his youth dsth lie
As the deathbed whueon it must expire,
Consumod with that which it wns nowishecl by.
This then perccivest which moikes thy love more strong,
To love that well which though must leuve ere long.

[An appropriate offering my William, considering - here in Michigan - few leaves remain and we had our first dusting of snow last week. Read the original sonnet.]