January Jumps About Poem by George Barker
January jumps about
in the frying pan
trying to heat
his frozen feet
like a Canadian.
February scuttles under
any dish’s lid
and she thinks she’s dry because she’s
thoroughly well hid
but it still rains all month long
and it always did.
March sits in the bath tub
with the taps turned on.
Hot and cold, cold or not,
Has the Winter gone?
In like a lion, out like a lamb
March on, march on, march on.
April slips about
and sometimes out
sometimes sheltering from a little
shower of bright rain
in an empty milk bottle
then dashing out again.
May, she hides nowhere,
nowhere at all,
Proud as a peacock
walking by a wall.
The Maytime O the Maytime,
full of leaf and flower.
The Maytime O the Maytime
is the loveliest of all.
June discards his shirt and
trousers by the stream
and takes the first dip of the year
into a jug of cream.
June is the gay time
of every girl and boy
who run about and sing and shout
in pardonable joy.
July by the sea
sits dabbling with sand
letting it run out of
her rather lazy hand,
and sometimes she sadly
thinks: “As I sit here
ah, more than half the year is gone,
the evanescent year.”
August by an emperor
was given his great name.
It is gold and purple
like a Hall of Fame.
(I have known it rather cold
and wettish, all the same.)
September lies in shadows
of the fading summer
hearing, in the distance,
the silver horns of winter
and not very far off
the coming autumn drummer.
apples on the tree,
the Partridge in the Wood and
the big winds at sea,
the mud beginning in the lane
the berries bright and red
and the big tree wildly
tossing its old head.
November, when the fires
love to burn, and leaves
flit about and fill the air
where the old tree grieves.
its name is like a star
glittering on many things that were
but few things that are.
Twelfth and last December.
a few weeks away
we hear the silver bells
of the stag and the sleigh
flying from the tundras
far far away
bringing to us all the gift
of our Christmas Day.
Indulgence Poem by Dr Dillip K Swain
I behold a beautiful cascade
that sings an eternal song,
ecstatic, tranquil and sublime!
Do you hear
what a sweet tale of boundless ecstasy
of sheer joy of freedom?
Does it whisper in my ear?
Is it the cascade
that fetches a kind of murmur
only for me to hear?
Have you heard it?
have you ever relished
its beguiling music?
Come and enjoy
if you can,
if not, please have your own choice
and just walk away
But please don’t ask me
why have I been a silent spectator,
like a motionless statue here?
Don’t disturb me,
let me hear its unique rhythm,
water splashes, nature dances
producing a wonderful symphony in synchronization with chirping birds
and the lovely melody is so enchanting to hear.
A Walk In The Park. Poem by Susan Williams
Today the trees in the park are greening
and the geese are returning
and the sparrows are nesting
and the park below my fifth floor window is calling to me.
Today I’m watching the lovers walking in the park
walking and talking through the park
and sitting on a bench to watch
the summer softball teams playing
Today the leaves to life are clinging
and the winds of change are crying
and the grass and twig nests are empty
and all over the park the leaves are letting go.
Today the branches are capped with silent spectral snow
and the sky is a bitter biting blue
and I watched a little sparrow let go
and fall from the branch frozen stiff
Today the rain is etching painful paths down the window pane
I do not think I will sit by the window today
I think I will stay instead in bed today
and remember what it was like to take a walk in the park.
Fishing For A Friend Poem by omar ibrahim
when you go to fish
go fishing for the finest kind
which good anglers always do.
if you’re looking for a fine fish
you must choose the purest lake
in which good anglers fish.
if you catch a fine fish
try not to let it get away
good anglers real them in.
you must bring your fish home
a fine fish will quench your hunger
after a long day fishing.
Hunger Poem by Dr Dillip K Swain
An orphan child
sitting on a platform
ignoring the sound of fast crossing trains
and trains halting late at the station
The maddened crowds
in search of their berths and seats,
rushing into compartments
and he is eating the thrown biscuits
and hearing the terrible noise of his belly
The inward sound of hunger
echoing louder and louder
like that of thunder
January Mist Poem by Sandra Fowler
Sometimes at night I hear small birds lament.
Dark notes that seem to second moon’s descent.
Cold is the color of a deep regret,
An etude perfected by winterset.
The world was music and it turned us round.
Stirred by the subtle atmospheric sound,
You gently sketched a snowflake on my face
Which shall be mine till light has left this place.
Such solace has the power to outlast time,
To lock a small bird’s elegy in rhyme.
Somewhere beyond the January mist,
The magic of our landscape still exists.
One Third Of The Calendar Poem by Ogden Nash
In January everything freezes.
We have two children. Both are she’ses.
This is our January rule:
One girl in bed, and one in school.
In February the blizzard whirls.
We own a pair of little girls.
Blessings upon of each the head —-
The one in school and the one in bed.
March is the month of cringe and bluster.
Each of our children has a sister.
They cling together like Hansel and Gretel,
With their noses glued to the benzoin kettle.
April is made of impetuous waters
And doctors looking down throats of daughters.
If we had a son too, and a thoroughbred,
We’d have a horse,
And a boy,
And two girls
Our Christmas Gift Poem by Susan Williams
Our Christmas gift
From God’s only Son
And Love abounding.
Born to give us Words of comfort
While walking Beside us
Showing us the Way
Healing our hearts
And giving us Love abounding.
Now He sends us the Holy Spirit
And invisible angels carrying messages
Guarding our ways, watching over our days
Surrounding our homes
And reminding us of His Love abounding.
Our Christmas gift
From God to us
A beautiful world under star-filled nights
Forgiveness and love abounding under the sun
And His Son giving us Life Everlasting.
I Have A White Rose To Tend (Verse Xxxix) Poem by Jose Marti
I have a white rose to tend
In July as in January;
I give it to the true friend
Who offers his frank hand to me.
And for the cruel one whose blows
Break the heart by which I live,
Thistle nor thorn do I give:
For him, too, I have a white rose.
CULTIVO UNA ROSA BLANCA… (Verso XXXIX)
Cultivo una rosa blanca,
En julio como en enero,
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca.
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazón con que vivo,
Cardo ni oruga cultivo:
Cultivo la rosa blanca.
Braggart Poem by Dorothy Parker
The days will rally, wreathing
Their crazy tarantelle;
And you must go on breathing,
But I’ll be safe in hell.
Like January weather,
The years will bite and smart,
And pull your bones together
To wrap your chattering heart.
The pretty stuff you’re made of
Will crack and crease and dry.
The thing you are afraid of
Will look from every eye.
You will go faltering after
The bright, imperious line,
And split your throat on laughter,
And burn your eyes with brine.
You will be frail and musty
With peering, furtive head,
Whilst I am young and lusty
Among the roaring dead.