wynterwhispers

[wynterwhispers]

I miss winter.

Not the winter of today, where snow seems to be as sporadic as the clumsiness of snowfall.

I miss the winter of yesteryear,

Where staying up late to watch the television, counting down the names of schools that were closed from Winter's beauty.

Where we counted the snowflakes one by one, by one,

In hopes that they'd multiply faster and faster, so we'd wake to see the grass surrendering in a sheet of white.

I miss the winter of yesteryear,

Where staying in, bundled in pyjamas of vibrant hues and soft fabrics,

Meant we got to indulge a little bit more in warmth.

Warm teas, warm cocoa, warm soups meant to warm the soul from head to toe.

I miss the winter of yesteryear.

Winters that meant we could race as high onto the hills of the playgrounds,

Pretending that we, too, could soar like the birds,

Only to slide right back down in shrieks and smiles of glory and bliss.

I miss the winters of yesteryear,

Where every day didn't feel like winter never really came at all.

#wynter whispers #Winter of yesteryear #poetry #something different

[wynterwhispers]

Owl,

I dreamt of men in masks last night.

Faces lively and animated,

Smiles that would win the heart of any soul.

Perfectly porcelain faces

With smoothed out skin and crack-free complexions.

Beautiful faces.

Beautifully masked faces.

Beautifully masked faces of a group of six,

Each man from all sorts of walks of life.

I dreamt of men in masks last night.

Perfectly porcelain faces with

Tendrils of her love designed to hug every curve of a feature.

To hug them as tightly as the snake hugs the mouse,

As warmly as the ground caresses the dead.

So warm and tight that porcelain

Almost cracks

Under the pressure.

I dreamt of men in masks last night

With perfectly cracked,

Yet smiling,

Faces.

But these six men were all the same

For they were us

And we were them.

#wynter whispers #poetry #James #iv. #The badger amd the owl series

[wynterwhispers]

Owl,

I wonder if the birds dream like we do;

Counting sheep in fields as far as their strange eyes can see.

Do they dream of songs? Of time? Of love?

I wonder if they find comfort in the fleeting images and memories that our minds make up.

Moving pictures and dreams,

Aren't they the same?

I wonder if birds think like we do.

Do you think they lie awake at night,

Between the counting of sheep,

And hum sombre little tunes

After pondering the vastness of their universes,

Their worlds?

Thoughts and dreams.

I wonder if birds feel like we do.

Do they let themselves be instead of letting themselves do?

Do they sing songs so dulcet and low

To ease the worries of their lovers true?

Do they shed a tear when one of their own leaves the nest for the first time?

Or the last?

Tell me, owl,

Owl of the Vale,

My wingless owl forever more,

What do the birds believe?

#wynter whispers #poetry #James #II. #The Owl and Badger series

[wynterwhispers]

I never liked Fruit.

The feeling of the citrus flesh between my teeth

Leaves something less than desired.

I never liked the Sugary sweetness

That churns and rots me from the inside out.

Oranges make me nervous.

So do the lemons and the pears.

The citrus and the berries are in kahoots, you see.

They rot your teeth and settle in,

Like neighbours to a home that once held friends

From a time well cherished.

Strawberries make me sad.

A rather strange sort of sadness,

Which is why I am more than certain

That the berries are in kahoots with the citrus.

For the sadness and nervousness all come together.

Together in what, you ask?

Together in a pie of feelings.

Far too sweet, and sad, and nervous for a man

Who already feels too much.

This is why the orchards are all...

...Too sweet, too much...

And I will never like fruit.

#poetry #wynter whispers #james #III. #The owl and badger series

[wynterwhispers]

Tousled locks tumble into pale features. Pale hues of pinks and reds caress your cheeks As if to say good morning in their own special way to greet the glowing sun. The very sun that casts a subtle shade That lets you rest for a moment longer than the world allows.

Tousled locks tumble from pale features to the ivory pillow beneath your head, And eyes the shade of evergreens in winter's glory open to greet me Much like the sun does to you.

Tousled locks tumble and shine as our lips meet If only for a moment. Only for a moment to exchange silent "I love you"s and whispers meant for our ears only.

Tousled locks remind me of our hearts intertwined On chilly Winter mornings, and the way my own heart sings for you.

#Winter Whispers #Poetry #Freeverse

[wynterwhispers]

I used to know a man

Whose wit matched my own.

As wise as an owl, they used to say

With a tongue as sharp as a knife.

This man, among the pages of stories written long ago,

Became the timid owl

Who was known to chase a

Badger.

A badger, whose every fibre of his being,

Was made of questions unanswered

And a fear

To match his friend.

The Badger made like Icarus

And flew far too close to the sun.

He hoped, just once, that the precious owl,

His owl,

My owl, was there

But he remained behind,

Remained beneath the canopy with

His head held low towards

The ground.

So very deep beneath the ground

That he missed a tick.

A pulse.

A badger.

#james' poetry #Winter Whispers #1. #The Owl and Badger series