Mantle’s too obvious
and blanket reeks of cheap vodka and sweat stains.
Sheet refers to black ice, the treachery of slipping.
So what word should I use
for wintry timing of our springs?
Each fresh puff of indignation
frays the quilt that dampens ardour.
This cloak and dagger business
has quenched my refrain far too long.
Are there shoots beneath the freezing?
Stones left unsplit from jaw-biting cold?
One thing I do know:
it’s not a comforter.
Join us for some wintry poetry – as literal or as metaphorical as you like – at dVerse Poets Pub tonight!
Now for something completely different at the weekend. Here are a few of my Favourite Things (in the John Coltrane version):
The mountains in winter…
New ways to store books, while having them close to hand…
Chiffonier Labarere, westwing.fr
The eternal promise of summer (with a glimpse of my favourite little car behind it)…
Spooky ice caves…
And a certain very agile cat, whose beauty I haven’t quite learnt how to capture yet…
winter nights are still too short
to share you with friends.
If you must pass too:
let the murmur of the snow
be your only guide.
hugs its icy green mantle
closer to its heart.
Shrill squawks of delight
our boys, your boys: who can tell?
If laughter ceases,
what is left? Bring more mulled wine!
Games room rings with us.
Inside the prison,
outside of the storm,
I am laughing.
Not fictional enough, but a story that haunts me still…
‘Not more snow!’ moaned the littlest bear.
We moved to this snow-filled country for Daddy’s work: Mummy loves the winter sports, your brother the food. But you, the smallest and most curious of bears, the one who makes friends as easily as others make mistakes, you the smiley human bouncing-ball, you hate the cold and the white stuff.
Drunk and dizzied by the gleam of the sun on the slopes, I strap on your boots and nudge you into ski school. You nurse your frozen paws, slide miserably through puerile hoops, and ask yourself: ‘Why?’
Soft swish then silence
No traffic out my window-
Snow has come at last.
Steady trickled drip.
Drainpipe thick with icy coat.
Downward flash of mouse.
Frozen carrot nose,
Twigs in perfect puffy spheres.
Ours is best of all.
Lego bricks scatter.
Damp circle in flattened grass,
Where proud snowman stood.
Spit out weak coffee,
Collar up, I venture out
in the toothache cold.
With enormous thanks to Quirina, who reawakened me to the possibilities of the haiku.