Snow poems

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Written by 12 year old boy hoping for “snow day” from school/reprint permission.

Snow Day

Snow is falling to the ground
Piling up in enormous mounds
School is cancelled for the day
Children run outside to play

Snowballs are thrown in the air
No one has any care
About school-only fun
Because the day is a snowy one

Snowmen are stacked very high
Their top hats almost skim the sky
To make them round they must pat
Then finish off with mittens and hat

As the weather gets cold
The children are told
To come inside and eat
Hot chocolate with a couple treats

Once the kids are done
They put on their gear for some more fun
Some of them play around
While other kids just lay on the ground

Another kid makes snow angels
Until the dog named Bojangles
Ran through his masterpiece
But then the owner yelled cease

After Bojangles
Ruined all the snow angels
Kids slid down the hill
'Til they were bitten by a chill

Almost over is the day
The children start to walk away
As snow falls, so does the sun
Time to go in, the day is done
 
Idk if this is my favorite snow poem, but it makes me smile:
Snowball
by Shel Silverstein
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I made myself a snow ball as perfect as could be.
I thought I’d keep it as a pet and let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas and a pillow for it’s head.
Then, last night it ran away.
But first – it wet the bed.
Click to expand...
 
Giggly Giraffe:

This was a great idea for a thread! I love something new and here in good ole’ Iowa we are no stranger to snow.

Blessings,
Mary.
 
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
 
You all have already posted two of my favorites – “Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening” and “Snowball.” 👍

Here’s another one I’ve used with my students many times. I love the language of it.

SNOWFLAKES
by: Marian Kennedy

Whirling, swirling, rushing, twirling,
Sifting through the air
Snowflakes scurrying, scampering, hurrying,
Falling everywhere.

Gently, sliding, floating, gliding,
Making not a sound,
Lightly dancing, skipping, prancing,
Fluttering to the ground.

Whirling, swirling, rushing, twirling,
‘Gainst the window pane;
Snowflakes scurrying, scampering, hurrying,
Winter’s here again!
 
As related to me by a sniffle-y three-year-old.

'now iz wet.
'now iz cold.
'now iz getting weally old!

(Iz nodda poem, iza wyme.)
 
NeedsMercy said:
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Click to expand...
👍
 
“The Snowman” by Wallace Stevens:

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
 
NeedsMercy said:
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Click to expand...
This is not one of my favorite poems about snow. It is one of my favorite poems of all time.
 
Giggly_Giraffe said:
Why?
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I don’t know. That is an hard question to ask about poetry.

Perhaps it is because it is one of the most well known poems that many children are exposed to early on. Perhaps it is because I have a deep and almost spiritual relationship with snow and winter. Perhaps it is because I myself have stopped on a horse in the middle of winter to watch woods fill up with snow and this poem was on the tip of my tongue. Perhaps it is because when skiing a 6 foot drift of powder in the silence of a January day I stop to rest and think of this poem. Perhaps it is because my mother drilled this poem into our heads as children.

Poetry, much like art is subjective and dependent on the interpretation of the public. I was actually surprised this was not the first and only poem mentioned on this list. Though Shel is always classic.😉

I guess this is my favorite poem about snow much the way the tower in Pisa is my favorite tower that leans…
 
Hoosier_Daddy said:
I don’t know. That is an hard question to ask about poetry.

Perhaps it is because it is one of the most well known poems that many children are exposed to early on. Perhaps it is because I have a deep and almost spiritual relationship with snow and winter. Perhaps it is because I myself have stopped on a horse in the middle of winter to watch woods fill up with snow and this poem was on the tip of my tongue. Perhaps it is because when skiing a 6 foot drift of powder in the silence of a January day I stop to rest and think of this poem. Perhaps it is because my mother drilled this poem into our heads as children.

Poetry, much like art is subjective and dependent on the interpretation of the public. I was actually surprised this was not the first and only poem mentioned on this list. Though Shel is always classic.😉

I guess this is my favorite poem about snow much the way the tower in Pisa is my favorite tower that leans…
Click to expand...
Well put. Poetry is very subjective and almost any interpretation can be correct. I think the genius of Frost in this poem is that I can actually hear the harness bells when I read it. I can feel the crunch of the snow beneath my feet and sense the darkness and loneliness and fear. Not many poets or writers can do this. It’s an extraordinary gift.
 
NeedsMercy said:
Well put. Poetry is very subjective and almost any interpretation can be correct. I think the genius of Frost in this poem is that I can actually hear the harness bells when I read it. I can feel the crunch of the snow beneath my feet and sense the darkness and loneliness and fear. Not many poets or writers can do this. It’s an extraordinary gift.
Click to expand...
Isn’t the purpose of the subjectivity of poetry a great way to open ourselves to a greater meaning through sharing “why” ?
 
Nana (MIL) seems to have turned this song into a poem. She calls our girls and reads this like a poem to them every time it snows so I am including it:
Here comes Suzy Snowflake
Dressed in a snow-white gown
Tap, tap, tappin’ at your windowpane
To tell you she’s in town
Here comes Suzy Snowflake
Soon you will hear her say
Come out ev’ryone and play with me
I haven’t long to stay
If you want to make a snowman
I’ll help you make it, one, two, three
If you want to take a sleigh ride
Whee! The ride’s on me
Here comes Suzy Snowflake
Look at her tumblin’ down
Bringing joy to ev’ry girl and boy
Suzy’s come to town
If you want to make a snowman
I’ll help you make it, one, two, three
If you want to take a sleigh ride
Whee! The ride’s on me
Here comes Suzy Snowflake
Look at her tumblin’ down
Bringing joy to ev’ry girl and boy
Suzy’s come to town
Click to expand...
by Rosemary Cloony
 
Giggly_Giraffe said:
Isn’t the purpose of the subjectivity of poetry a great way to open ourselves to a greater meaning through sharing “why” ?
Click to expand...
Not really. I am not sure any more beauty is gained from poetry or art by learning someone else’s interpretation of it. To me, I don’t really care why people find the mona lisa beautiful or What the William Tell overture makes someone think of. Art, poetry and life is a unique experience. Curiosity as to what others think is a natural phenomenon and one that I partake in quite often, but my interpretation of Robert Frost has nothing to do with “why” someone else likes or dislikes it.

That is why art and poetry are subjective. To many, the Notorious B.I.G was a poet…

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

The question caught me off guard because no one else was asked to defend or explain an interpretation… You did not offer yours…
 
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