Best Poems About / On JANUARY
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157.
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'Tis Cold In Aubane
From the news by Mushera from here far away
'Tis cold in Aubane very cold there today
Low cloud over the high fields in fog cold and gray
And cattle in farm-sheds are bellowing for silage or hay
On the high and snow covered narrow road from Rylane to Millstreet Town
Few trucks, cars or buses do pass up and down
When the cold winds of January from Mushera do blow
And the high fields by the mountain are covered in snow
On the farmers of Aubane January weather is hard
When the migrant redwing thrushes are in the farmyard
And by backdoor sparrows, robins and blackbirds pecking crumbs of bread
With many weeks of severe weather ahead
And each breath you exhale it is gray in the wintery chill
In January in Aubane by Mushera Hill.
Francis Duggan
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158.
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Seas closed above
We left Thule's icy moorings, three days ago,
13 hundred miles SW of Greenland, regards
from cumuli down on side-scuttles the snow,
memory of your figure still, amid dockyards..
Daffodil blossoms, bloom today, in my yard,
my goals will meet my end in voids dimension,
a ghostly sonar blinks, our entreats en guard,
of no warm recounting, January of ascension.
January, day twenty one, a latent still embrace,
A flash of Centauri, bad weather, fromward aft
our beckoning to you, fog's horizontal trace,
Maenads of us inherited, envious of this path.
Recall our summer of eighteen, a twinge within,
my soul's obtusion golden cross, I tightly clench,
our dreams on nimbus are, you, my Naiad kin,
dum dum, diesels oddly hum, and decks drench.
The stars of south shined eery-like, so, I knew,
from arctic we away edged, upon deathly links,
at 63 N,30 W, our twilight souls withdrew,
our cargo sided the wind oblong, and final brinks.
January 't was, 'n' we immersed to Triton forts,
it was your smile a sea gull's flight in our cove,
it was a sweetest rain of afternoon, a dim deport,
felt of your glance as foreign seas, closed above..
Giorgio Veneto
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159.
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On The Second Week Of January
On the second week of January I hear the shrike thrush sing
His flute like notes so pleasant to them have a familiar ring
And Spring is but a memory and Summer near her prime
And that birds sing out of Season happens all of the time.
The piping of the white backed magpie his is a familiar song
By their songs Nature's feathered minstrels one cannot get them wrong
A pleasant Summer's morning 'twill make a pleasant day
And the paddocks of Wonthaggi scent sweetly of baled hay.
In a clearing I am standing surrounded by scrub trees
In such places the Aboriginal dancers had their Corroborees
They danced on Summer evenings before the sun went down
Long before there was a Gippsland or a Wonthaggi Town.
A morning on the second week of January with a warm summery breeze
And a forecast high for the afternoon of 25 degrees
One might say perfect weather for the time of year
North in New South Wales and Queensland 'tis warmer by far than here.
On the second week of January the weather warm and dry
And a goldfinch he is singing on a wattle tree nearby
And brown butterflies are dancing in the sunny morning sky
And Mother Nature's natural beauty is for all to enjoy.
Francis Duggan
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160.
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November chillness
November chillness
As the cold wind flows in
her memories enters mind.
Thinking of her, enjoying this crazy love
freezes the november chillness.
Body is somewhere and mind is somewhere
mind not responding to november chillness
is frozen by her memories.
the slow speech of her, the elegant looks
ha frozen my mind
hey akasha mallige, i stare at you and wait for january
to see you in full bloom.
I don't know when is my january
but enjoy her memories freezing my mind.
As the cold wind of november flows,
memories of her fragrance and
the sweetness in her voice makes
mind foolish in this love.
hey akasha mallige when is my january?
(pem written on november)
(akasha mallige is a jasmine)
venkatesh nagaraj
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Read more: january poems, crazy poems, wind poems, love poems, memory poems
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