How can I tell them about the cold?
Here, such a penchant for rain
we have,
and such an unhealthy love of snow
we have,
We have hopes
made of steel and icicles.
And it’s strange—
Hey, here’s something cold and gray:
night falling, snow falling, eyes falling
asleep,
eyelids like a sagging roof,
and me like a crooked bend
in the highway.
And it’s strange—
But don’t you think it’s strange?
Oh, don’t wake me
from the cold and the snow and the rain.
10/4/08 version
There is a chill
In the air
Tonight
Oh so soft and subtle
But oh so
Cold
It creeps
Up your sleeves
Winds around your chest
And numbs your heart.
It freezes the sky,
Frosts
The already-chilly stars,
And blows your hair
Gently
Around your almost-frozen face.
waking up you see
sitting on a snow-covered tree
a cardinal, red and warm
his beak is yellow
his eyes are bright
he ruffles his feathers and takes flight
father frost blows
on your window pane
with his pattern, leaves a stain
all the trees
look like glass
but there's an emptiness
snuggled up under covers
not wanting to leave you bed
you try to get out, but jumping back in
you huddle up and sigh
you try again; you shiver
you put on your slippers
The sun has withdrawn its last warm rays,
leaving the earth to cool itself in the dark.
The ground relinquishes the warmth of the burning days,
as the air chills in the indigo dark.
A breath of wind ruffles my hair in passing,
pressing into my skin soft fingers of cold.
Greedily it snatches the warmth of my breathing,
giving in return a lungful of cold.
The silence seems to numb my cold ears,
no one else has ventured into the night.
I haven’t felt this alive in years,
Breathing and walking in the dark cold night.
I was sitting on a bench, and I saw a moth next to me. That inspired this poem...
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1.
Once
One night
With nothing to do
And nowhere I really needed to go
I went down and sat
On a bench
In the subway station
At night
And a greasy gray florescent bulb
Was the only light.
2.
I sat on a bench
And on the wall
Above my head
Graffiti, in weary letters, proclaimed
Various half imagined truths
And called each other names.
When upon an evening late
I see the icy weather fey,
Striving still to penetrate
The warmth of my abode.
Like the mighty Iron Horse
Roaring down the track,
The wind screams 'round the corners,
To pierce each niche and crack.
Yet though the rain does not abate
There lies a pleasant feeling.
For wind and rain are in the cold,
While I am by the fire, reading.
The world is so cold,
so empty, so bare,
so bitter and gray
without sunny skies fair
But those skies have long gone,
they left along with you,
all the joy you brought to me
has now vanished too
The world is so cold,
like a stone, gone all numb
too dark to see where I'm going
or where I've come from
Where is my sunshine,
where is my light?
where is my heart?
when will my world be right?
To catch a cold,
to catch a chill:
I needed several things,
and you most certainly also will
You'll need some spider's webs
to make the perfect net
You'll need some bait:
warm cereal, preferably wet
You'll need some gloves,
and a camouflage hat,
so the cold doesn't see you,
or smell you and that
You'll want some cheese and crackers,
and a feather from a bird,
set up your trap, and then
do not say a word
Incased in snow,
No one knows,
How she got there,
Where she will go,
Born into ice,
Nothing will sufice,
To sooth her pain,
There is no such device,
Nothing can set her free,
For you see,
Her love for the world,
For you and me,
Must remain hidden,
Nothing will sufice,
But to be incased in snow,
and hidden in ice.