Archives For Snow

Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.”
– Thomas Edison,
Edison announced the invention of the phonograph on this date in 1877.
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Poem of the Day:
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost
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*** From our feature:
Three Snow Poems

 

Kindle Ebook Deal of the Day:
The Poems of Rowan Williams

Only $3.99!!!
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*** NOTE: This stated price is for the United States. Unfortunately, this offer may or may not be available in other countries. Sorry!

 
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The Wake Up Call – November 20, 2014

 

Liberty Hyde Bailey

A poem from

Wind And Weather: Poems

Liberty Hyde Bailey

Doulos Christou Press, 2008.
Buy now:  [ Kindle ]

[ Read ERB Editor Chris Smith’s intro to this collection of poems ]

Snow-Storm

Liberty Hyde Bailey

 

With windy haste and wild halloo the sheeting snow comes down

And drives itself through bush and swale and leagues of stubble brown.

 

Blessings on the waiting fields when the sheeting snow comes down.
 
 

Image Credit: Aaron Klinefelter
(Taken in one of the Englewood Community Gardens)

 




 

The Snow Man
Wallace Stevens


One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.



 

It sifts from Leaden Sieves
by Emily Dickinson
[ Found in The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson ]

It sifts from Leaden Sieves —
It powders all the Wood —
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road.

It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain —
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again.

It reaches to the Fence —
It wraps it rail by rail,
Till it is lost in Fleeces —
It deals Celestial Veil

On Stump and Stack and Stem —
A Summer’s empty Room,
Acres of Seams, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a queen —
Then stills its Artisans like Ghosts,
Denying they have been.


 

“Hoping for Snow”
John Hay, Jr.


I’m waiting on the snow
A hope to fulfill;
I’ll prepare my skis,
Anticipate the thrill.


A Midwestern winter
With its bleak, dark days
Needs a good snow storm
To hearten the soul’s way.


Mere cold stiffens the heart
And drives us inside,
But warmth and four walls
Alone cannot abide.

I’m like a child praying
The snow will be deep
Enough for sledding,
And, tired from it, to sleep.


—–

John Hay, Jr. is a cyclist and poet
based here in Indianapolis.
He blogs at http://www.indybikehiker.com
Reprinted here with the author’s permission.


 

DECEMBER
Liberty Hyde Bailey

(From Wind and Weather:  Poems.
Reprinted Doulos Christou Press, 2008)

It is now the high December.
The last betokened ember
Of the striving vivid year
That survived the brown November
Lies dead and painless here
Lies dead and pinched and sere;
And the fruits of proud September
Are hanging hanging here
They are hanging thin and sere;
And the masks of ward and rober
That bedecked the dyed October
They have found their finish here
They are lying crisped and sere
They are drifting bleached and blear.

It was in a far December
As distinctly I remember
Of a youthful doubtful year
That I sat in whitened fear
Of the death-end of the year;
For in forests gray and sober
I had mourned the red October
I had grieved for forests dry and drear;
And the crows and chickadees
And the wind-gusts in the trees
Made my sorrow sharp and clear,
And the leaves keen-edged and sere
Rasped an anguish in my ear
Of the dead and absent year.
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