Ma Yongbo: A Dream at the Beginning of Winter (English & Chinese)
The broad leaves of the sycamore tree fall onto the small car,
once all the leaves have fallen, the car’s colour turns white,
receiving signals from the stars of the departed
Jane Kenyon: The Beaver Pool in December
The beavers thrive somewhere
else, eating the bark of hoarded
saplings. How they struggled
to pull the long branches
over the stiffening bank…
Ma Yongbo: Your Voice
Your voice, echoing in the narrow and dark corridor,
continuously echoing, warm and bright,
as if beyond this ordinary dusk
there is no hunger, toil and separation in the world.
Byron Hoot: To Life
The restlessness
of age has entered me. That longing for more
knowing there’s only less to take in.
James Crews: Beech Trees in Spring
Perhaps they need the reassurance,
or maybe they’re here to lend music
to the silence of winter
James Crews: Hello, Little Sun
On the rusty tin roof of a red barn
in rural Quebec, someone has carved
the words, Bonjour, petit-soleil—
Hello, little sun
Sara Hegy: Even the Longest Winters End
Winter in a Refugee Camp, Gaza
Paul Christensen: A Diary of Winter
The cold came in silent as an owl. The fences stared out at the clenched landscape with gaping eyes, unlocked gates, a path already flattened out in anticipation of the coming snow.
Alice Friman: The Road Not Taken
I stood at the window
leaning my head, there
where the glass was cool
and looked out at the trees
bare now in January
Joseph Bathanti: High Mass
Winter Sundays,
when my father was on strike from steel,
he and my mother woke late,
then rose and prepared for high mass at Saints Peter and Paul.
Elizabeth Romero: Coffeehouse
Small latte to go he says
As a shaker claps against itself
Voices murmur around like gentle waves at the beach
Video: Winter
Jamie Scott: “Winter is my third seasonal time-lapse film and the second collaboration with composer Jim Perkins. It is the culmination of 5 years of shooting across New York State … Continue reading
Michael Simms: Snow
her father sitting alone in his underwear
having stripped off his blackened clothes
and leaving them on the back porch,
white skin of his legs, black dust on his face
Claude McKay: The Snow Fairy
My heart was like the weather when you came,
The wanton winds were blowing loud and long;
But you, with joy and passion all aflame,
You danced and sang a lilting summer song.
