Februaric odes.

There's some good stuff here
though this month is drear
I'd love to feel my feet
I've had enough of sleet
Let March come blasting in
and may February end.

Amen.



Ode to February

O Mists and damps,
O low hung clouds 

That cloak the days in gauzy veils
And leech our bloom to colours pale; 

Gather round me like soulless shrouds
To stifle my heart’s hopeful beat 

With endless hours of icy sleet.

Hyperion, felled Fount of Light, 

Has long since fled fayre Albion, 

Long lost without day’s Campion, 

Nor one to guide her through the night 

That swiftly fall upon my door, 

A silent wave that inks the shore.

O murk and gloom,
O mood of pitch 

Canst thou open my clenched fist, 

That sombre mill wherein we’re grist?
Must our smothered joy make thee rich?
I flee before thy vap’rous breath
That seeks to choke me unto death.

—Steven "Prometheus" Hoey



Oh, February, oh February,
you're sweeter still than dental caries.

You make my heart sing, you do,
were it not for blinding blizzards and the swiniest of flu.

Oh, February, far too short the days
to count the shades of grayest grays

you send me, year after weary year.
If I were you, I'd watch my back, dear;

such nuanced love cannot last
before I exchange you for something less overcast.

Oh, February, love is patient, love is kind;
love doesn't leave you disinclined

to climb from underneath the warmest covers
to join the bitterest, iciest, and brutalist of lovers

on the barren street, no less! to watch how much snow
you can blow and blow and blow---some beau

you are. But how can I call it quits
when you bite my cheeks and grab my wrists

kissing color into my frozen face---
Oh, February, let's March on apace!

—Sara Lewis Holmes