The World Is Winter Poem by Sandra Fowler

The World Is Winter

Rating: 4.7


Today the world...
Landscaped in pen and ink by
hidden hands
Is winter and embossed in white
on white,
The sky cries down its tears
upon the earth.

Black angled trees...
An onyx labyrinth twists down
the wind
Until the ground is rippled
white brocade
bemeath a shifting candleflame
of sun.

And we ourselves...
Embracing on the creek, like
figurines
Skate out across a polished
mirror of ice
Its edges rough and ridged
like hobnailed glass.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Gershon Hepner 14 December 2005

Great poem, not just the title but the imagery and emotions expressed in the body of the poem. Undoubtedly a 10 should be awarded tothe poetskater. Gershon!

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John Tiong Chunghoo 05 January 2006

sandra, great work.very nice! ! !

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Valentin Gabriel Cristea 12 March 2006

Great poem.I liked it.Your poem has brought warmth in this world.

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Gregory Gunn 12 March 2006

Dear Sandra, A delicate depiction. The second stanza seemed the most vivid to my eye. Gregory XXO

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Sylvia Spencer 22 September 2006

Sandra you have made winter sound like the fare season in this poem such a beautiful discripton.In your poem you have made the coldest season into a wonder world no wonder they call it A Winter Wonderland, your poem has all of this cheers Sylvie

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Ken E Hall 23 September 2009

I can smell the winter as I read this poem and I can hear the skate blades scrape across the frozen ice and feel the meanings as I progress reading...nice +++++10 regards

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Sonya Florentino 28 July 2009

life is a harsh winter, but we can enjoy the mirror for a while.....

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Ashraful Musaddeq 22 June 2009

Excellent write, whatever you compose- wonderful. You are a master poet.

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Cindy Kreiner Sera 03 May 2009

A poetic intoxication, A winter's love fantasy caressing and flirting across a page of white daydream scripted as only you can –

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premji premji 03 April 2009

dear sandra, m house is very near to the great indian painter raja ravivarma....he paints with colours and brush....but as the reader differs, your word-art also differs, which give birth to a million different paintings.. great...........reading you is absolute pleasure. your soul knows how to sing.......thanks........

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Sandra Fowler

Sandra Fowler

W. Columbia, WV, USA
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