0They shine like silver butterflies
Drifting in the sun,
As though they fly on crystal wings
That winter cold has spun.
They catch and hold each soft sunbeam
And then, without a sound,
Turn into sparkling gossamer
Before they touch the ground.
This poem was written/submitted by Sandra Liatsos.
0On the claws of my thornbush
three woollen twists mark the passage
of careless walkers.
I expect to see them all winter through,
fading slowly, matting in the rain,
returning to their flocked origin.
Next Spring, a bird, more careful,
will pass through the bush,
avoiding thorns, gathering these
fleecy fragments for a new nest.
Black thorns, freed of the winter harvest,
will protect white blossom, shield new leaf.
This poem was written/submitted by John Bailey.
0Frosty is the morning;
But the sun is bright,
Flooding all the landscape
With its golden light.
Hark the sounds of laughter
And the voices shrill!
See the happy children
Coasting down the hill.
There are Tom and Charley,
And their sister Nell;
There are John and Willie,
Kate and Isabel -
Eyes with pleasure beaming,
Cheeks with health aglow;
Bless the merry children,
Trudging through the snow!
Now I hear them shouting,
“Ready! Clear the track!”
Down the slope they’re rushing,
Now they’re trotting back.
Full of fun and frolic,
Thus they come and go.
Coasting down the hillside,
Trudging through the snow.
This poem was written/submitted by Harry.
0The sun rose on fields
snow blown and misted
ghostly swirls and dervishes.
No fog this——
for fog simply lies.
No——this was living
as it arched and twisted,
fingering out to the road
and reaching for me
like the shade of a beloved friend.
There was white inside,
trying to seep out of pores,
I felt it strain
trying to mesh and meld
with this sentient wraith
fingers touching
joining
and suddenly
I am the morning mist
dancing in the crystal air.
This poem was written/submitted by Lisa Shields.
0There were too few roads.
There were too many motorists.
My choice was longer in distance,
but far less travelled.
I took a shortcut through the storm,
crawling over the black-iced asphalt,
too close behind Boyd’s black flower car,
in the dreary pitch of Ocean Parkway.
Storm clouds shifting and changing,
pass over, so low, engulf my presence.
I exit in an angel’s breath,
a winged spirit of the Great South Bay,
greeted by Moses at the foot of the bridge,
moments from home and the neon lights
of strip mall shops, that brighten the bus
stop at the corner of Oak Neck Road.
Minutes pass slowly within these hours.
Sounds of snow plows wake me from sleep.
This poem was written/submitted by Robert Savino.
0Leaden lake, silent and dark;
coaxed to ripple under Winter’s touch.
I watch as a fragile feather
bobs
along
lakeshore.
Crows rummage through
remnants
of snow
on February’s lawn.
A dead leaf, imprisoned in chain link fence imitates
the flutter
of a bird.
This poem was written/submitted by Barbara Reiher-Meyers.
0For blood grown thin
forty Fahrenheit is Siberia —
breezes suddenly blue
and brittle
shiver through citrus leaves —
a birdsong
bleak and offkey
chills our sense —
sunlight, pale and tentative,
shelters us from shade
where wisps of vapor
from our mouths recall
northern winter breath
thicker than cigarette smoke,
that reminds us:
Death owns a time share here
and watches,
dressed in warm-ups,
from his lanai.
This poem was written/submitted by Joseph Pacheco.
