Becketwood Cooperative
An Active, Independent 55+ Community of Owners in Minneapolis

Winter Poems

Sometimes During the Holiday Season

          Jill Breckenridge, Becketwood Member, from The Sometimes Poems

especially today, with 26 inches of snow

on the ground and more coming, snowflakes


fall so slowly, I can greet each one

by name. John refers to his car, buried

in the parking lot, as “The second igloo


on the right.” Everything wears a white

snow coat except for the busy squirrels

and rabbits, already outfitted with fur,


plowing through white, and I’m wearing my

warm down North Face jacket as I praise

the joy of red, white, and green lights


sparkling in evergreens on lawns and houses,

and in others, 8 Hanukkah candles ready


to be lit, one at a time, the Festival of

Lights, celebrating the miracle of oil

that burned steadily for 8 nights and 8 days.


Out my window, I see over a dozen robins

land in a tree, puffing up their orange

breasts. What are they doing here in winter!


Like our ancestors, way back when, I want to

build a huge fire and, holding hands with

loved ones and strangers, dance around it


to celebrate that sometime soon, this snow

will melt to feed the land, rivers, and lakes,


and we will celebrate the gift of longer days

and more light, and everything green will store


the strength to break through the earth’s hard

crust and rise, arms full of food and flowers.


Footprint in the Snow

          Susan Foster, Becketwood Member

Perplexed I ponder

Filled with wonder

There are no others

How can that be?

I love a mystery.


Snow Before Dawn: Saturday Night

          Stephanie Gordon, Becketwood Member

We wait and we watch

snuggled in our ivory throws

one bright candle gleaming at each window

across the quiet courtyard.


Aimless snow flakes in slow motion

fill the air with droplets of liquid snow.

We wait and we watch

the hour of midnight strikes.


The Morning is Quiet

          Linda Back McKay, Becketwood Member, from The Next Best Thing

As white is soft, as touch

is stone worn smooth


As love is wordless

as wind-blown pines


As generosity leans

convex and concave


As the world rewards us

for playing along


Such quiet, this scent

of creaking hardwood


This language we almost



This white blow of snow

this ghost of clarity

Leave a Comment

  • Jack Heule January 11, 2013, 10:33 pm

    Poetry is typically not “my thing”, but I have thoroughly enjoyed these. Thanks to you all!

  • Sonja Walker January 29, 2013, 1:50 am

    Thank you fellow members. Your winter poems are wonder-full.


About the author Poet, writer and teaching artist. Author of several poetry collections and nonfiction books. Member of Becketwood Cooperative and active in its marketing efforts.