Posts Tagged ‘winter’

Not another haiku, I hear you say!

No, not at all. TWO haiku (haikus?).

We had a welcome visitor this week who has stayed around and I love him. It’s a Great Spotted Woodpecker. Difficult to capture on film without him seeing me and zooming back over the road to the forest. So this image is from Pixabay, which is free to use here.

Screen Shot 2017-12-02 at 20.10.26

Isn’t he just beautiful?

 

 

 

 

 

 

I then wrote haiku number one:

Tap tap tap tap tap –

something pecking on the wood

of my bird feeder!

(Pity this feeder is mesh!) I think he came because it got cold up here and started snowing. But I’m glad he’s stayed.

And because I didn’t go walking in the snow, I wrote haiku number two!

Grey-white snow, and mauve,

spread in crystals on my lawn,

lounging till the thaw.

Which is what I propose to do – lounge till the thaw. I go out when it’s deep and fun, like the snow my hens here are enjoying; not when it’s thin and icy and then slushy!

pic 2 for snow

 

A winter world up front

Posted: December 19, 2010 in poems
Tags: , , ,

frost on window

Along with most other people this side of the world, my house is surrounded by deep snow. I’m stacking logs on the two fires and wearing some old-fashioned leg-warmers to fight off the draughts. I knew it was a bad move to buy this somewhat open-plan cottage up in north Northumberland! But the plus points are that it’s a brilliant place to work from home and to write. There’s always peace and there’s always a view that inspires. And I happily share it with the wildlife.

So this is day one of my new writing blog. My professional shop-front freelance writing site  is still at www.eleanorpatrick.co.uk.

I’ll tell you about my current writing projects soon, but here, to kick off, is a winter poem I wrote. You’ll quickly find out I’m not a poet but I do like to have a go sometimes. Enjoy!

Epiphany from the kitchen door

Winter sprang forth at dawn today

and offered me a gravelled drive

set sharply in an icy claw.

 

I noticed then a larch nearby

and how it sketched in hoary rime

a range of whitened cones against

the hawthorn hedges forced to bear

a frozen shield of sparkly light.

 

I challenged winter’s frosty glare

and boldly answered: ‘Though you dare,

to rule with bleakly iron fist, there’s

spring to come in nature’s round. And

leaves and shoots yet sound asleep

will rise to brush away your grasp.’

 

I shut my door.

Outside is fine for foreign kings

cloaked and bearing precious gifts

(a winter tyrant welcomes such).

Inside, the blaze of oak and elm

invites me to another realm.