Early Winter Canvases

A few poems I have written over the last week or so about the onset of winter

The end of November was, for me, a dark cape of festering field mouse and gelatinous slug.

Once Guy Fawke’s Night had passed with its shrieks and swirls, I experienced the rest of the month as a disappointing dimmer switch.

The weather around here didn’t so much spit out a succession of grim Sundays, but rather hack them up in mucus. Worst, were the days I felt I was suffocating inside a cruel grey beard. Fog obscured with an albumen veil so persistent, it sought entrance in my nostrils and lips, wandering as choking explorer down my throat to finally lace my blood and ice my bones with its chill.

But now………*drum roll* it is December!

The thing I adore about December is the glorious skies. It Box-of-Delight’s my senses with a myriad of spectacular sunrises. Who knew such rose rivers meander above us and tide in courts of cloud?

They offer, I believe, some of the most stunning natural beauty of the entire year.

The heavens stew as plums before bleeding, bold as beetroot into traffic, water, meadows…..

There, they merge with street lamps, ripples and rustles to bewitching effect, configuring living paintings.

The first two poems today, were written in the rat-tail end of November but you see my mood gently shifting into winter light.

Be sure to enjoy her free shows!

For some, it’s all about Christmas.

For me, it’s all about sky.

The screams of trees

.

The screams of trees 

Wind can’t appease

They’re weighted to one spot

Fate shackled roots in muddy boots

So trunks can sit and rot

The snaps of rage

As petrol waged

Fist storms that clenched them broken

The finches flinch 

Through summer stench

Their swallowed truth unspoken

My winter arms

.

My winter arms are blossom-less

Provoking fuschia sky

I host cobwebs of gossamer 

As green finery must die

.

My winter arms are fruitless

I’ve nothing to deliver

The frost I feared the most is here

And I must stand and shiver 

.

My winter arms are resting 

The crack of jack returned

No hint of love birds nesting yet

Old structures must be mourned

.

Winter Scenes

.

Transported into winter scenes

Spectator at a window

All my favourite evergreens

Play as a girl’s last match glow

Families with their crackling fires

Sweethearts stealing glances

I lose myself within the wealth

Of fairytale romances

December canvases

.

December grazes canvases 

Cloud washes sky serene

Blushes of peach flushes

Sandwich rhubarb in between 

Magenta cries of cherry pie

Each sunrise boasts new blessing 

The sheet of dark holds hidden spark  

Keep faith in light, the lesson