By Emily Wilson
stripped batting of cloud glimpsed ligaments dusk coming up under lithographic, nib-hatchings instruments...
Explore Poems: Winter
Showing 1-20 of 351 poems
- By Emily BrontëO transient voyager of heaven! O silent sign of winter skies! What adverse wind thy sail has driven...
- By T. S. EliotI The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o’clock. The burnt-out ends...
- By Angela Voras-HillsOn the bike path, a bunny's body and blood where the head should be. Something has torn off its foot...
- By Nancy WillardThe snow arrives after long silence from its high home where nothing leaves tracks or strains or keeps...
- 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...
- By Janice N. HarringtonUnder the magnolia, a winter-starved hare stills and pretends it is not there, and wanting less of fearfulness...
- By Liz BerryIt was the hard winter she came, frozen larks plummeting through the gloam like falling stars, each ...
- By Arthur SzeA rabbit has stopped on the gravel driveway: imbibing the silence, you stare at spruce needles: there...
- By C.L. O’DellIt was delivered to me in the snow. The kids were all sleeping in separate corners of the house like...
- By José Olivarezso when i walk down the street, i hold hands with the wind. there’s a chimney coughing up ahead & a ...
- By Chase BerggrunNear noon in the city in the park in the salted air in the cold cringe cringing two hands glued red ...
- By Robert WrigleyMore oblique the eagle’s angle than the osprey’s precipitous fall, but rose up both and under them dangled...
- By Julia SalemIn a bleary part of town, I traverse the blackboard silence of snow. Through the slats of the cypresses...
- By Christie TowersA bowl of rose water dreams itself empty on the radiator: It's December and we can hardly afford the...
- By Ruth AwadIn the rowboat I tied her shoes. And the river cussed and spat. Our feet swelled and our bellies begged...
- By Sy HoahwahThe wagon and mule, Time and Eternity, stop to change places. Their lean and slope-back shadow, my ...
- By Matvei YankelevichAs winter went on, every morning’s spoon of buckwheat honey resembled more the taste of that isosceles...
- By Jimmy Santiago Baca2. Today, running along the river, dead leaves cling to cathedral cottonwood branches, snap in the gusty...