Tag Archives: winter

Pollarding the Hazel

January 16, 2021garden, poem, Poetry, winterGardening, Hazel, poem, poetry, pollard, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife

Mist loiters on the edge of vision
our overgrown hazel reaches up
pleading, as we snip and saw

Time and the Winter

December 19, 2020Corona, poem, Poetry, wintercorona virus, Covid 19, poem, poetry, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife

Leaves are lost in the wind
that complains all the night

Today I walked, bartered space with others on the street
apart, always to be apart now
then, tired of it all, came home to play with words

Winter prepares to enter bodies
it may have already entered my heart

Winter evening 2020

December 7, 2020poem, Poetry, winterMoon, poem, poetry, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife

Moon cut like watermelon
lights rags of clouds
making a ghost chandelier

Summer’s loss

September 12, 2020beauty, Fantasy, nature, poem, Poetry, summer, winterautumn, equinox, Mythology, poem, poetry, summer, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife

Heart broken she withdraws
as every winter
into dark soil
as every winter

The promise of the stars nightly turning
the sinking and turning of constellations
the track of planets wandering across the sky
say that she will return

Time past she was encouraged
by midwinter fires
now we trust to orbital mechanics

Bone, bird and air

February 1, 2020beauty, England, nature, poem, Poetry, Wild life, winterbird, nature, poem, poetry, Red Kite, wildlife, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife

Bone, bird and air
conspire to create grace
joy, a tumbling skydance
life exuberant, bright
triumphant over cold and hunger
here this icy winter day
knitted in those bones
are genes we share
we each breath the air
but only she flies
painting her joy onto the sky
cavorting into heaven

Winter Dance

December 21, 2019history, poem, Poetry, winterdance, history, Neolithic, poem, poetry, prehistory, solstice, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife

The long dance of winter
starts slow as starlight
children stamping hard cold ground
cracking ice over peat

Slipping through fog’s silence
the women have donned heavy antlers
to creep around the trees
circle the swamp
clasp hands and spin
as the sun spins and turns
so do they

Men spurt from the longhouse
Pelts moist with sweat
Leap and cry out

Songs build to a crescendo again and again
until the true sun reveals herself
and we put out our puny fires
sit
eat
laugh

I haven’t written a poem imagining our pre-historic ancestors for a long while. Others on this blog can be found at:

https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/2019/01/30/crafty-eyes-see-the-deer-2/

https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/2019/06/22/the-aurochs-and-the-pink/

https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/2019/08/07/we-live-on-the-high-ground-2/

Winter Journey

December 18, 2019poem, Poetry, winterjourney, poem, poetry, travel, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife

Sunset bruised sky
Hangs over
Road jeweled across the night

For all those making journeys this season.

Winter Twilight

November 20, 2019beauty, poem, Poetry, winterpoem, poetry, Sunset, twilight, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife

At the end of a long and busy day
The sky is dressed in lacy gray
With a sigh she dips her toes
Into a twilight of delicate rose

Axe

November 12, 2019Life, philosophy, poem, PoetryGrief, Kafka, Life, longing, poem, poetry, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife

Tumbling memories
Stir forsaken emotions
Act as a cleaver
Chipping an iceberg of longing
Trapped in my frozen sea

Fireworks over England (Penny for the Guy)

November 5, 2019England, history, Life, poem, Poetry, winterBonfire Night, England, Fireworks, Guy Fawkes, Life, loss, poem, poetry, Tradition, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife

Flying across England on Fawkes night,
peering down onto fiery blooms
sending light into the night,
bright chrysanthemums burnt to celebrate failed terrorism.
Fireworks and neighbourhood bonfires spark and glow each November
in long and splendid tradition, now organised and commercial.

But where is my Guy Fawkes?
Built each childhood year from old clothes stuffed with straw,
wheeled around the street, “Penny for the Guy please?”,
burnt on the family bonfire amid fireworks bought with the proceeds of my begging.
Tradition lost in a land that wants to go back on itself once more.

We also used to play in the Trafalgar Square fountains,
splashing in icy midwinter,
kissing Policemen at the stroke of midnight,
fraternity with authority on the turn of the year.
Now crowds buy tickets to watch fireworks over the Thames, passively.
We no longer make our own festivals, they are arranged for us.

We need to take back the small anarchies,
set off Fireworks in our own gardens in November,
burn the Guy as effigy of all we are told to be frightened of,
embrace the neighbours, we are all in this together.
Whatever colour or creed.

Tonight, we British celebrate Bonfire Night with fireworks and large bonfires. The tradition of burning an effigy of Guy Fawkes on the bonfire has all but disappeared. We also don’t tend to set off our own fireworks in our gardens anymore, but go to large neighbourhood displays.

Of course, the classic poem, that we all learnt when very young, is:

Remember, remember!
The fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot;
I know of no reason
Why Gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!