The howling relentless wind, tears through the darkness, unspoken fear out in the estranged land.
Cold glum figures, intent and sodden, dash with stooped gait against natures forces.
News of battered shores, odd to hear seaside names, winters fury smashes against the rocks.
Click the latch and the Kettle, warm safety of our houses, the monster firmly shut behind the solid door.
Vivid black Windows, glass cold to the face, peering out towards the night.
Branches battle violently, silhouettes to Orion's glory, the vast hunt of eons past.
Silence roars in warming ears. The coat drips on the radiator, the reminder that it was real.
Courage returns to the Castle. Mug too hot to hold. Hard to believe Spring is coming.
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Author:
Jeremy Leach (
Offline) - Published: January 18th, 2020 11:26
- Comment from author about the poem: Trying to distill some feelings of Winter.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
Offline)
Comments2
A fine write Jeremy. Sometimes, or part of the time, it may not be decidedly Wintry.
I start itching if it's too cold. Not got fleas(!) but mild urticaria - a skin rash. I mean if its's 100 below zero. Well, about 10 below zero really!
Thanks orchidee - I hope it warms up !
A very vivid picture you've given. Much enjoyed.
Thanks Nicholas, that's much appreciated.
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