By A Xin
静听世界的雪，它来自我们
无法测度的苍穹。天色转暗，一行诗
写到一半；牧羊人和他的羊群
正从山坡走下，穿过棘丛、湿地，暴露在
一片乱石滩上。雪是宇宙的修辞，我们
在其间寻找路径回家，山野蒙受恩宠。
在开阔的河滩上…
无法测度的苍穹。天色转暗，一行诗
写到一半；牧羊人和他的羊群
正从山坡走下，穿过棘丛、湿地，暴露在
一片乱石滩上。雪是宇宙的修辞，我们
在其间寻找路径回家，山野蒙受恩宠。
在开阔的河滩上…
Explore Poems: Winter
Showing 1-20 of 356 poems
- By A XinTranslated By Wang PingListen to the snow on earth, falling upon us
From the unknown space. Sky darkens—a line of poetry
Is half… - By Emily Wilsonstripped batting of cloud
glimpsed ligaments
dusk coming up under
lithographic, nib-hatchings
instruments click
the fine-sprung locust
replicate dinge along hill-lines
tailings of umber, the rust smudge
There is still that hemmed ocean of oaks
the various reds, the somehow
silver cast over the... - By Emily BrontëO transient voyager of heaven!
O silent sign of winter skies!
What adverse wind thy sail has driven
To dungeons where a prisoner lies?
Methinks the hands that shut the sun
So sternly from this morning's brow
Might still their rebel task have done
And checked a thing... - By Tianna BratcherIt is winter in Anchorage, and I am only as tall as the shoveled snowbanks in the parking lot of the pink apartments. I am old enough to have chores but young enough not to fully understand frostbite. It is...
- By T. S. EliotI
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o’clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the... - By Khadijah QueenIn winter traffic, fog of midday
shoves toward our machines—snow eclipses
the mountainscapes
I drive toward, keeping time against
the urge to quit moving. I refuse to not
know how not to, wrestling
out loud to music, as hovering me—automatic
engine, watching miles of sky on the... - By Angela Voras-HillsOn the bike path, a bunny's body and blood
where the head should be. Something
has torn off its foot, something has eaten
its heart, its entrails frozen in snow.
The plow growls past me. This morning
I left eggs behind the couch to incubate.... - By Nancy WillardThe snow arrives after long silence
from its high home where nothing leaves
tracks or strains or keeps time.
The sky it fell from, pale as oatmeal,
bears up like sheep before shearing.
The cat at my window watches
amazed. So many feathers and no bird!
All... - By James CrewsWhen I can no longer say thank you
for this new day and the waking into it,
for the cold scrape of the kitchen chair
and the ticking of the space heater glowing
orange as it warms the floor near my feet,
I know it’s... - By Janice N. HarringtonUnder the magnolia, a winter-starved hare stills
and pretends it is not there,
and wanting less of fearfulness
I pretend that I do not see my camouflage, the wild promises
in my gaze, and step carefully by.
Morning, bitter morning—
lack and awful patience wait at... - By Liz BerryIt was the hard winter she came,
frozen larks plummeting through the gloam like falling stars,
each pail in the yard a slattern’s looking glass.
Each dusk, the house cobwebbed by creeping frost,
my husband slipped like a knife from an oyster,
my sons nestled... - By Arthur SzeA rabbit has stopped on the gravel driveway:
imbibing the silence,
you stare at spruce needles:
... - By C.L. O’DellIt was delivered to me in the snow.
The kids were all sleeping
in separate corners of the house
like unfound crystals.
I wiped the flakes off,
holding what I thought could save me.
My neighbors were afraid
I was disappearing. The branches above
trembled with hidden birds.
I... - By José Olivarezso when i walk down the street, i hold hands
with the wind. there’s a chimney coughing
up ahead & a sky so honey, i could almost taste it.
a cat struts away from me & two yellow eyes
become four: just like that,
i’m... - By Julia SalemIn a bleary part of town,
I traverse the blackboard silence of snow.
Through the slats of the cypresses
Flounce paper-white feathers of snow.
On the red leaves of my palms
Distend melted messages of snow.
The road is iron anvil
Stinging with sparks of snow.
My nocturnal... - By Robert WrigleyMore oblique the eagle’s angle
than the osprey’s precipitous fall,
but rose up both and under them dangled
a trout, the point of it all.
Festooned, a limb on each one’s
favored tree either side of the river,
with chains of bone and lace of skin
the... - By Chase BerggrunNear noon in the city in the park
in the salted air in the cold cringe
cringing two hands glued red
to my cheeks. I give away comfort to get it back.
Oh, look at the sun, I must say to myself
over and over,... - By Christie TowersA bowl of rose water dreams itself empty
on the radiator: It's December and we can
hardly afford the heat, our milk money
crinkling hungry over the cold counter
of our convenience store, the very last
of our cash for creamer, for pleasantries,
for cheap tea...