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The snow  has covered the ground, for the past,
Four or five days, the air temperature outside,
Staying around twenty degrees, the beautiful,
White covering, will be around, another day.
Looking out my window, across Maxwell’s creek,
I can see, through the leafless trees, a deer,
Roaming around, in Schooley’s woods, with the white,
Background, a wonderful sight to see. The squirrels,
Leave their nest, racing down the bark, of the tall trees,
Amazing, with the snow covered ground, they have a,
Way of knowing, where they buried, nuts, for their winter feed.
In my view, no buildings, utility poles, or people do my eyes see,
Just beautiful, mother nature, staring at me.


                                     The original: Tom maxwell  © 1/14/2023 A.D.
I come from Kashmir
where land is green & white snow bed
and I come from Kashmir
where roads aren’t black but are red.

I come from Kashmir
where Daughter Tajamul brought Gold
and I come from Kashmir
where daughter Nafiya craves for her father’s body and lost his soul.

I come from Kashmir
where journalists get Peter Mackler & Pulitzer awards
and yet I come from Kashmir
where journalists get charged under UAPA as a reward.

I come from Kashmir
where Thekedar gets benefits under the Roshni Act
and I come from Kashmir
where an internet shutdown of 551 days was for every sect.

I come from Kashmir
where Gupta g ranked 1st in the country
and yet I come from Kashmir
where youth have to carry ID’s to prove their identity.

I come from Kashmir
which was known for its cultural dress Pheran
and I come from Kashmir
which now has more business in selling Kaffan.

I come from Kashmir
which Allama called the valley of braves
and I come from Kashmir
which now is the valley of Graves.

I come from Kashmir
which was called Earth’s Heaven
and yet I come from Kashmir
which now is the World’s Biggest Prison.

I come from Kashmir
where Chinars paint the autumn gold
and I come from Kashmir
where every spring, new tombstones unfold.

I come from Kashmir
where Dal Lake mirrors the moon’s glow
and I come from Kashmir
where blood taints the rivers’ flow.

I come from Kashmir
where children dream of books and play
and I come from Kashmir
where childhoods vanish in smoke and clay.

I come from Kashmir
where lovers once whispered in gardens wide
and yet I come from Kashmir
where silence now walks side by side.

I come from Kashmir
where poets wrote of love and fate
and yet I come from Kashmir
where verses now carry only weight.

I come from Kashmir
which history books fail to define
and I come from Kashmir
which lives between the headlines’ lines.
A voice from Kashmir—serene on the surface, deep with unspoken stories.
The night is born prematurely,
Becoming one in blistering winds,
The dark crawls,

And the snow falls.

The gallant wings of beauty,
Besieged by winter's bellows,
Left to death as the crow calls,

And the snow falls.

The lonesome oaks tremble,
Bare in the white of creeping cold,
Creaking as they are raked by squalls,

And the snow falls.
Not a lot today.
Well I'm sure,
These rainy days won't stay forever.
There's not a chance,
Clouds are big enough to hold that much.
So that is how I know,
The sun will come out and melt this snow!
It may be gray but gray fades so easy.
neth jones Feb 26
The world makes flights   white flakes of code
snow  like knowledge   alights on the ground
to become a muddy fusion
01/01/25
Where I am,
Snow and sun battle,
A gray war in the sky and lands.

There are three false springs,
Before winter is truly slain.
Hope rises from the rocky Earth,
Only to be drowned in the icy rain.
Once again claiming the soul of young spring,
So the elder winter may rise again.
Spring one has just begun.
Spring is coming,
I can smell it in the air.
The warm kiss of sunny days,
The sent of the Earth waking again.
Winter snows fall from their glinting glory,
Shrinking as they drown in the muds.
The puddles claim the sidewalk stones,
Now in their reflection, I know my face again.
My soul aches as the breezes pass by me,
Carrying the sweet scents of flower blooms.
If only I could grow wings,
I would follow them to their shining prize.
Spring, is coming.
I can feel the call of sunny days and grass on the Earth again.
neth jones Feb 22
over snow fields
chimney smoke versus clouds
                         racing shadows
haiku inspired
[original notes from 02/25

shadows of clouds move over snow
versus the shadows of smoke from
an institute chimney]
Millee Feb 17
joy, giggles and laughs as they trudge through the snow. snowballs gliding through the air, sleds speeding down. it's magical, the way the snowflakes fall gracefully from the sky...

but, when the sun comes out, the fun begins to die. the once white covered grass starts to fade, the happiness of winter melts away.
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