february
Learn more about other poetry terms
February Waltz
A lone Maple leaf
Hung to the tree
all Winter through
snow, rain and wind.
Then one morning
She let go and floated
Slowly as she could
Across the houses
February born makes them one of a kind
They’re bold, fearless and extremely truthful
Often telling unpleasant truth on face than a lie
They’ve great ideas, and think outside the box
I can make history
By activating the youth
As effective and honorably as Sojourner Truth
I Can make history
By guiding my fellow brethren
Leading them to freedom like Harriet Tubman
I Can Make history
Dear spring,
Oh, the melodic goldfinch birds would flutter
Around the needles of the pine, a figure eight they would weave
Crisp air with nestlings of twigs, humans could perceive
When I was a child
And you were a child,
A book was shared
With epics compiled.
I’ve declared my acceptance
Yet, all the while,
My fervid mind from adolescence
My mother is weak
And I cannot stand it
She is feeble, stupid, and plain
Who are you?
And where is the woman that I once knew?
You’re a weakling, darling
A scaredy little ghost
I've gone through adequate measures to beat the monster that resides within me
This thing lay secreted beneath the surface of my skin
Readying to rupture out at any which moment
His face was like looking at time itself
Everything moving froze in his wake
A chilling daze spread throughout his cheek
As if one had now crossed over his own cemetery
His nose was curved up into a vicious beak
We are two different sides of the same soul
This I say to you, my friend
Lover’s Lane shall never end
When we are finally together again
And I’ll let you know one thing is true
Young lust
Simmers deeper than a gigantic tidal wave
The vivacious fusion of the two bodies
Begins to peak into the uppermost realm of infatuation
As they cover each other with outer warmth
They call themselves boyfriends,But are they really?Yes, they’ve asked you out.Some don’t even do that.They message you dailyWorry about you every secondIf you don’t answer,They might even get mad
This I saw on a February day:
Fluttering of wings in the tears of the sky,
Slumped arms of a cheerless Camphor tree,
