Category — winter series

Greying sky and temperature drop. Shop girl moves pavement display inside. Few pedestrians circulate though two cyclists skid to halt by bookies. Man carries three bags for life. I feel draught and adjust shirt under coat. Baby cries outside post office. Hands in pocket dirty road home city needs a clean. Garage sells all coal. Soups stock’s out in supermarket. A nation anticipates snow.

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crowded café, quiet murmur
newspapers, smartphones, bacon sandwiches
outside, bright Saturday morning
sun competes with sharp frost,
most customers sit alone
TV switches on, intrudes
nobody watches, except I watch people
and pictures on wall
murmur volume grows
competing with ignorant TV
noisy advertisments
music switches on kitchen
in preference

I notice lights, wonder if dark without
11 am in February

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It’s January and everywhere is dark and wet and miserable.
The Lincoln slate sky covers a time of drabness day,
Flat blue-red-brick- beige-grey-dark in the paint-damp-run drizzle,
Orange branding tries vainly to B&Q brighten the desperate place,
Over the neon road, lights just make it though the gloom:
SCS, Pets at Home, Starbucks, Staples, Comet, PC World, Currys
Countrywide conformity reflected in dark and miserable grey.

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A walk in the woods
Lit by winters candle
Subtle colours
Show the frozen way

A breath of purpose
Clouds the trail before us
Hasten home
As night descends on day

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The half frosted field
And bright twilight
Of the cold winter afternoon
Shadows lengthen
Invisibility cloaks

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wanlit lake, mists, frost, empty trees, swans, frozen sheep, county gate, footpath, bracken bronze copper, hurdle, reflections off the bank

winter, not always dull – beauty lies in its depth.

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A filthy night,
Of penetrating damp,
Ruins the chest,
Kills weak souls,
Bring back ice,
Cleansing frost,
Pristine killer,
Silent execution.

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The crisp,
quiet ending to a year
that reached crescendo,
celebrated not lamented,
the flickering fire,
log fed, crackles,
fat bellies sprawl
and nothing moves,
a cold induced lock-down
pending new hope.

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As I was asleep in bed,
The little snow fairies came,
They danced in the air,
Bringing snowflakes falling everywhere.

I woke up next morning and guess what I saw,
What the little snow fairies had made,
On the way to the pool (to train of course),
My dad we’re not going to get there,
How disappointed I was but I still got to play in the snow.

So if you look out your window,
And see a land of white,
You’ll know that the snow fairies came.

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The worst has arrived.
Not the drifting, car-swallowing, pristine flurrying whiteness
of the Christmas card
nor the cold cosy backdrop to dim lanterned carollers,
woolly scarves and cheeks aglow.
Instead
ugly ice melt pavement rinks,
reappearing dirty greenery,
pitiful frozen survivors
and a long way to go ‘til spring.

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I saw a leaf fall,
and thought to catch it
though this seemed futile as
I could not stem the flood
of those that would follow.

All I could do was sit there
looking out of the window
at the steady accumulation on the lawn
whilst the tree grew
an air of melancholy.

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The tree skeletons
Stand out in the fields
As I pass by,
Their stark, nakedness
Presenting no embarrassment
As might such frankness of expression.

In a time of want and austerity.
The countryside around is barren
But the coat of death
Has not yet turned to decay,
The deep freeze a desperate grasp on what was
But may no more be.

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The crash of the glass

Came as a sudden shock

Though looking back

I can see it in slow motion

As the coat swept across the table

And knocked it to the floor.

The connection with the hard tiles

Set off an explosion

Also available in slow mo replay

With shards scattering

In a wide arc around him

Under the other tables.

The immediate shattering silence

Turned into a pause of anticipation,

He deciding in his mind on an approach,

Every eye in the café upon him,

Including the staff behind the counter,

Themselves assessing the moment.

The decision arrived and apologies forthcame,

Answers calming the room,

Encouraging familiarity

And heartfelt sympathy

From the other diners,

Short-lived in their quiet discomfort.

The plateau reached, of mutual satisfaction,

He put on the coat,

Paid for his drink and left.

The girl swept up

Restoring harmonious order.

New diners arrived, oblivious.

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The woman on the train

Would have been quite attractive

But  for the disturbance

That kept the smile from her lips.

Her phone call bore no fruit,

“It” hadn’t arrived yet and

She arranged to call back

On the way home from work.

She was in her mid-30s I supposed,

Sitting there in contemplative silence,

Her long dark hair contrasting

With the creamy wool of her coat.

On the table in front was

A pair of red leather gloves

With a velvet scarf that

Matched her crimson lipstick.

When we got to Peterborough

She pulled on the gloves

And, moving down the carriage,

Left the train.

I noticed she wore black boots

As I watched her walking

Off along the platform

The rain beating heavily against the window.

The train pulled away

And I sat there wondering

What her problem might be,

Then I moved on.

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